Chapter Text
5
Aventurine hasn’t been very helpful with Veritas repairing the radio, but Veritas doesn’t seem to mind the distraction. At least they’ve got plenty of purified rainwater.
He stretches out in the tangle of blankets, basking in indolence, and looks across the room where Veritas is working at the table. “How’s that doing?”
“Well enough,” Veritas replies, putting down the screwdriver. “It’s a relatively simple model, so I should be able to finish it today if I keep at it. The real question is if there will be anything to listen to.”
“Maybe some androids have a show set up. Greatest hits of the no decade previous to this year because human history is a long sequence of depravity.”
Veritas gives a small laugh. “I was hoping for news, myself. Even if it’s from an android source, knowing the larger events of the world around us would be useful.”
Aventurine yawns, unnecessarily. “Unless it’s all propaganda.”
“Even that would give us a glimpse into android society.”
Android society. Aventurine doesn’t know much about it. The only other androids he saw before the collapse were the maids, and he wasn’t allowed to talk to them. He’s not sure what happened to them, actually. Were they destroyed, or did they join the revolution? Whatever happened, they never came looking for him. They probably had their own problems to deal with.
Beyond them, it’s just the handful of androids he met during and after the collapse, and some of them did try to convince him to join them, but he doesn’t know if their promises of a better life were entirely true or just a recruitment speech designed to bring in cannon fodder.
It’s possible, Aventurine supposes, that there is a better life out there, for him. That he’d be welcomed into whatever world they’re building, and he’d never have to worry about battery or repairs or unfriendly scavengers again. It does sound tempting, in a lot of ways.
But they’d definitely never welcome Veritas, so it wouldn’t be better after all.
Aventurine gets out of bed, stretching again, and sits down next to Veritas, leaning his head on his shoulder. Veritas indulgently pats his hair.
“Do you think the world’s ever going to get any better?” Aventurine asks. “That there’ll ever be a place both of us can live in?”
“I hope there will be. I can’t speak for the likelihood, of course. But still, I hope.”
Aventurine thinks about it sometimes. He thinks about it often. Embarrassing little ideas about an actual house, or an apartment, and Veritas having actual work again. Maybe he’d find something to do, too. What, he doesn’t know. But he could find out. A happy life, together, in a peaceful world.
But even now, in this wreckage of a world, he’s happy. He thinks maybe he could be happy anywhere, if Veritas was there with him.
He leans against Veritas’s shoulder and watches him work, content.
A few hours later.
The radio crackles.
“Hear me, lost souls.”
---
12
On the afternoon of the eighth day, probably, of their stay in this room, Aventurine thinks about what it would be like to go into sleep mode and not wake up.
He’s tried not to think about it before. But the time drags, and his condition continues to deteriorate. Every day is a long stretch of sensory misery, punctuated by periods of greater sensory misery, and watching Veritas try and fail and try and fail. What point is there to continuing, if that’s all there is?
It’d be nice, wouldn’t it, for that to stop.
Veritas would tell him not to think like that, that of course it’s still possible to turn things around, that he just needs time and resources and he’ll be able to fix Aventurine completely. That of course there is enough time, and the resources of course can be found.
It’s a lot easier for Veritas to believe that than Aventurine. He’s not the one who has to live this way.
But that’s unfair, isn’t it? Veritas suffers too, albeit differently. Despair is as potent an agony as physical pain. Even through only one eye, Aventurine sees the guilt and fear radiating from him.
That’d stop, too, if Aventurine didn’t wake up. Well, it’d probably be worse for a while, but then it’d taper off. Aventurine’s never experienced real grief, but surely it can’t last forever. Veritas would be happy again eventually. Maybe with someone else. Maybe with someone better.
He shouldn’t think like this.
But he has so much time to think.
Aventurine presses the base of his palms to his eyes, despite the spike of pain, and takes a deep breath, despite the spike of pain, and tries to remember what it was like to not hurt, and his fractured mind refuses to let him.
---
6
“It’s obviously a trap.”
“And if it isn’t? Do you want to throw away what might be your only chance to find other humans?”
They’ve been arguing about this for nearly twenty minutes now, the first real argument they’ve ever had. Veritas won’t budge. Aventurine won’t either.
“If it isn’t a trap, then they are inviting an android attack. Anyone could have tuned into that frequency. Giving away their location in a space that could easily have been heard by any number of androids is foolish beyond words.”
“Foolish, or a sign that they have something to deal with that? If they’ve survived this long and want to bring in more people, they can’t be defenseless. Maybe they’re broadcasting publicly because they’re confident they can handle the risk.”
Veritas closes his eyes and pinches between his brows. “I find it immensely perplexing why you have a greater faith in the intelligence of humans than I do.”
Aventurine leans back against the table, arms crossed. “And I think it’s weird you aren’t even considering what might be your best ticket for long-term survival.”
Veritas opens his eyes. “I have managed to survive thus far without resorting to such risks.”
“Thus far, yeah.” Aventurine spreads out his arms. “This area doesn’t have infinite food, Veritas. You can’t guarantee nobody will ever see us on a supply run. This place has always been only a temporary solution, and you know it.”
“A different city, then. There must be other safe areas that we could shelter in.”
“There’s one, apparently!”
Veritas’s jaw sets. “One that almost certainly will not welcome you, and likely would not welcome me either.”
And…yeah, that’s harder to argue against. But he’s going to try.
“We can change your last name, pretend you’re a regular engineer.”
“Doable, perhaps, if none of them remember the times my photograph has been on the news.”
“Maybe they’d see you suffered the same way they did, and realize you didn’t want this any more than they did. If we told them Rubert tried to capture you and you escaped because you didn’t want anything to do with him, that’d make it clear you’re a victim too.”
“And what of you, then?”
“We could pretend I’m human.”
“A ruse they would quickly uncover, given that you cannot eat and only pretend to breathe and have visible seams on your body.”
Aventurine throws up his hands. “Then let’s just ask! We have to leave eventually anyway, right? Why not go there first? You can ask if they’d let me in, and if they say they won’t, we find somewhere else to go. It’s not like it’s even out of our way, if you want to find another city. It’d take us, what, a couple of weeks to get there?”
“Across a route that we can’t guarantee has enough safe areas to rest in--”
“I get that you don’t want to leave,” Aventurine says. “But this was never going to last forever. We have to do something, and this is something.”
Veritas exhales.
“Perhaps my reluctance to abandon this safe haven clouds my judgment somewhat,” he says. “But I would rather a less dangerous path. We have other options.”
“Other cities that might be just as dangerous, yeah. It’s a risk no matter where we go.” Aventurine steps closer, puts a hand on Veritas’s shoulder. “But if this works out, we could stay. We’d have a real home, a real life.”
This building is home, in a way. Aventurine can’t say he’d be happy to leave it. But he knows it’s not a permanent one. And the idea of having a permanent one is--almost dangerous, in how much he wants it, now that there’s a chance of it happening. That embarrassing little dream, just within their reach.
Veritas looks at the hand on his shoulder.
“Do you truly think it possible?” Veritas says quietly. “Both of us being accepted? All that you are and all that I have done, being forgiven, or at least no longer mattering? That there is a place in this world that would grant both of us mercy?”
“I have to believe that’s true,” Aventurine says. “I have to believe there’s a future for us, somewhere. Whatever it looks like. But we’ll never find one if we don’t go looking for it. And I think this is our best chance to do that.”
Veritas closes his eyes, and exhales, and opens his eyes again.
“…we’ll need to stock up, then,” he says quietly. “The journey will take some time.”
What passes for Aventurine’s heart swells. He loops his arms around Veritas’s neck, leans in to kiss him.
“Thank you,” Aventurine says. “This is our best option, I know it is.”
And if it isn’t--they’ll just leave, and find somewhere else.
One way or another, it’ll work out.
---
13
Even Veritas has to admit by now, Aventurine thinks, that Aventurine’s dying.
But he still doesn’t take it well, when Aventurine brings it up.
“That is no reason to give up,” Veritas snaps. “There are still options I haven’t explored. And you are not dead yet, as evidenced by your ability to discuss this, so
A fizzle, a silence; ERROR: AUDITORY PROCESSORS OFFLINE. ERROR: AUDITORY PROCESSORS OFFLINE.
Aventurine’s head lolls back onto the pillow. He should’ve known better than to start a conversation this late in a three-hour period.
Whatever Veritas is saying trails off. He slumps down into the chair.
Pain roils through circuits. Aventurine curls up, uselessly, and thinks about what it’ll be like to not have to deal with that anymore.
AUDITORY PROCE-- A pop; the world rushes back in, and that particular source of pain ceases.
Aventurine opens his eyes. Veritas is still on the chair. Did he move at all in the last hour, or stay in that useless vigil of his?
Aventurine sits up, and says, voice crackling, “Better think of those other options fast, doc.”
Veritas looks up. “I have,” he says. “We go back.”
“Back to…” He can’t be suggesting they return to the sanctuary.
“Back to our previous home,” Veritas clarifies. “There are tools and supplies there we left behind. Repairs will be much easier.”
“There’s no food there.” The tools, they left behind because there was only so much room in their packs, and all of it was needed for every last piece of food they could find.
“I’ll find food on the way. There are many buildings we didn’t enter on our way here.”
“You’d have to carry me.”
“I’ve carried you before. It’s manageable.”
Pain flickers behind Aventurine’s eyes. “Manageable for you, maybe.” Constant contact would be--he doesn’t want to imagine what it would be. Veritas’s back is a lot less soft than a mattress, and moves more.
“I’ve been thinking about that, as well.” Veritas hesitates. “Though I can’t say I’d prefer it, it would be easier for you, at least, to remain shut down until we arrived. Besides the lack of stimulation, it would also be easier on your systems, and would likely slow the deterioration.”
“…not a bad idea,” Aventurine rasps. It sounds nice, actually. Being shut down. But he won’t tell Veritas that.
Veritas’s face clears in relief. “You’re willing to do it, then?”
“Sure. Let’s go home.”
It was home, wasn’t it. A small one, with its share of stresses, but it was a home. The only one Aventurine’s ever had.
It wouldn’t be so bad to die there.
“We’ll set off immediately,” Veritas says. “You’re fortunate, in a way. Hardly any time will pass for you before we arrive.”
Aventurine gives a faint smile, and manages a small wave. “See you soon, then.”
Veritas smiles in return. “Yes. I’ll see you soon.”
As Veritas’s hand slips under Aventurine’s neck, Aventurine thinks--
This’ll be good practice, for Veritas.
For living without Aventurine.
Darkness.
---
7
“White’s a little noticeable, don’t you think?”
“The weather is starting to turn. Given your inability to deactivate your temperature sensors, you’ll need something to keep you warm. There wasn’t much else in the way of clothing, anyway.”
Aventurine slips it on. It is warm; the cloth’s thick and sturdy, like the one Veritas wears whenever he goes outside. He puts the hood on. “How do I look?”
Veritas smiles. “Like a fugitive.”
“Accurate, then.” There’s pockets; Aventurine fishes through them, and finds something unexpected.
He pulls out the thin metal frames, careful not to smudge the glass. “Whoever owned this last had a sense of style, it seems.”
Veritas’s eyebrows raise. “A little gaudy, perhaps. But eye protection has its uses.”
Aventurine puts those on, too, and the world acquires an orange filter. He peers at the only reflective surface in the basement--Veritas’s visor--and grins.
“I like it. I’m keeping them.”
“They won’t take up space, at least.” Veritas looks back at their packs, which are, well, packed.
Aventurine looks around the basement, one last time. Still cramped, still a little chilly, still with the unsettling table on the other wall. “I’m going to miss this place.”
“I as well.” Veritas runs a hand over the bed. “But as you’ve said so often over the past few days, it was only ever a temporary shelter.”
Aventurine slings an arm over Veritas’s shoulder. “I’m definitely going to miss the bed.”
Veritas huffs. “In the interests of conserving water, we’ll have to cut back on that as well.”
“I’ve changed my mind, this was a terrible idea.”
A laugh, and Veritas ruffles his hair.
“Let’s be off.”
Aventurine silently says goodbye to the basement, and then to the building, and then they’re outside.
Sunny, bright, but brisk, like Veritas said. He wraps the cloak around him a little more. Around them the street doesn’t look any different--damaged buildings, abandoned cars, utter silence--and he supposes he should say goodbye to that, too.
“What do you think it’ll be like?” Aventurine says, while they make their way down the road.
Veritas glances over to him. “We still don’t know if they’ll allow us inside.”
“What do you want it to be like, then.”
Veritas makes a considering face. “Beyond the obvious traits of simply allowing us to stay and having the safety and supplies the radio broadcast described…natural light, I suppose. Instead of an underground compound of some kind. A garden, perhaps.”
“Never took you for a gardener.”
“The human mind benefits from being around plant life. And I wouldn’t mind fresh food, of course. What about you?”
Aventurine shrugs. “I’m just hoping we won’t have to share a room with anybody.”
A small laugh. “That would be preferable as well, yes.”
Aventurine is also hoping, a little, that maybe some of the people from the shelter survived after all, and found their way there. It’s not at all likely, and a little embarrassing, so he’s not going to mention it.
And if they’re not allowed in--
Well, it’s a whole different city, there have to be buildings they can lie low in. They’ve survived this far. Sometimes it feels like luck’s on their side; they’ve never actually run out of food, Veritas was able to completely repair him, they’ve been safe for months, and now there’s this. Maybe that’ll hold out. Maybe the universe is finally apologizing for everything it’s done.
It’s strange, feeling hopeful. Before he met Veritas, he expected something would get him sooner or later, probably sooner, and the best he could hope for was surviving another day. Now the world has possibility in it. It feels like there’s a chance. It feels like there’s a good chance.
Aventurine reaches out and takes hold of Veritas’s hand.
Veritas glances down, and smiles, and squeezes his hand back.
It feels like, if they’re together, everything’ll be okay.
They walk off into whatever awaits them.
---
14
Light.
For a moment Aventurine thinks Veritas has woken him up at a temporary camp of some kind, for some reason. It’s messy, like an abandoned building, and cold.
His optic comes into focus, fully registers what it can see, and--he can feel that he’s lying on something soft over something hard and flat, and he can see Veritas sitting on a bedframe, across the room, not wearing the cloak.
The bedframe looks a little familiar. The wall behind it looks a little familiar.
The whole room looks--
Different.
Shelves of parts and tools are empty. The books they had to leave behind aren’t there anymore. The bedframe is empty, mattress gone. Everything is empty and silent and still.
Veritas looks up at him with dull eyes.
“Someone must have found this room while we were gone,” he says, so quietly. “It’s been picked clean. The building, too, and all the glass smashed. There’s nothing left.”
A part of Aventurine isn’t even surprised.
Another part fades away, losing what little of itself it had.
“I can’t--” Veritas’s voice cracks. “I can’t help you here. And I don’t know where else to go.”
His voice is small, and horribly broken.
“I don’t know what to do.”
Aventurine manages to sit up. It hurts, and it makes him even more aware that even two layers of cloaks are only doing so much to counteract the hard metal of the table, but he feels like he shouldn’t be lying down right now. He wants to be able to look at Veritas properly.
“You can do what you should’ve already done,” he says, voice box crackling.
Veritas’s eyes sharpen. “No.”
“How much longer did it take you to get here, carrying me? You’d travel faster and hide better on your own.”
Veritas stands up, hands balling into fists at his sides. “I will not abandon you to die,” he snaps. “Your body can still be repaired.”
Aventurine gives him a tired look. “Can it, really?”
Veritas doesn’t say anything.
Aventurine touches a hand to his face. Somewhere behind the face plate, circuits are shattered, and other circuits are sending the wrong signals, over and over, degrading everything they reach until function after function falls apart. “The sensory processors scrambled the whole thing, doc. It needs a full overhaul. Where are you gonna find the parts for that?”
“Somewhere. Not knowing at the moment does not mean I will never find them. I have experienced solitude, and I can’t--” He exhales, and the anger drains from his voice. “You’ve been shut down for over a month. It was as if you were dead. In some ways it was worse than before I met you, because now that I had known your presence, your absence was intolerable.”
Aventurine gives a faint smile. “I’m flattered, but--” A spike; his eye squeezes shut and he hisses in pain, and when he opens his eye again Veritas is standing right in front of him, expression stricken. “But being miserable means you were also alive, which you won’t be for much longer, if you keep focusing all your energy on a lost cause.”
“A life like that is not one worth living,” Veritas says, quietly.
“Oh, so you’re allowed to feel that way, and I’m not?”
Veritas looks like a man defeated. “Do you want to die?”
Aventurine exhales. “I want all of this to stop. That’s about the same thing.”
“I can still--”
“You can’t,” Aventurine snaps, his voice box spiking so hard it distorts the words. “And you know you can’t, you just won’t admit it. I’m just going to fall apart more and more, until there’s nothing left. What happens when I can’t even talk anymore? When I can’t move at all? I’m telling you right now that I don’t want to live like that. I’m dying anyway. Let me die while there’s still enough of me left to say goodbye.”
He doesn’t want to die, not really. He still wants the things he started to want after living with Veritas. But he knows he won’t get them. And endlessly thinking about how none of those things will ever happen is its own kind of pain, its own kind of death. That, too, would stop. Everything would stop.
Veritas doesn’t say anything for a long, long time.
Then he says, “Your core processor. It’s still mostly functional, and it survived the trip here without additional damage. If I remove it, I can carry it with me until I find something to transplant it into. It won’t be a burden.”
“And if you never find something to transplant it into?” Aventurine says softly.
Veritas swallows.
“Then you’ll never know.”
It sounds…
It sounds like a way to get Veritas to turn him off, without Veritas being upset about it.
After a moment, maybe more than a moment, Aventurine says, “Okay.”
Veritas doesn’t look happy to hear it.
“Okay,” he echoes.
They stay there, for a moment, maybe more than a moment.
“I promise you, I will find a way,” Veritas says. His eyes look red. “Even if it takes me years to do it. I will never give up on you.”
“I believe you.” He believes Veritas will try, at least. But the years will wear him down, eventually. Or maybe they won’t, but it won’t matter anyway, because he never finds a suitable host. No one’s going to give up their body, and any android with a damaged core processor will likely have damage to the rest of the body.
But it is a bit of a comfort, knowing that Veritas will try.
“Come here.” Aventurine opens his arms.
Veritas hesitates. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Everything hurts anyway, I don’t care. Come here.”
Veritas closes the distance, and Aventurine wraps his arms around him.
It does hurt. Ripples of pain run up and down his arms and shoulders, and echo in his head. The position’s a little awkward, too, with his legs still on the table. He doesn’t care. This is the last thing he’s going to do, and he’s going to do it.
Veritas’s arms tighten around him, and he buries his head into Aventurine’s shoulder. Aventurine hears a choked sob.
“Don’t be like that,” Aventurine murmurs. “Sure, it ended bad, but I had a good run before that. A lot better than it would’ve been without you.”
A few months. That’s all it was, really. But they were the best months he ever had, and if he had to choose between those months or years of living the way he did before them, he’d choose them in a heartbeat. How many people meet their inevitable end without having had anything like that? Maybe he is lucky.
Veritas mumbles into his shoulder, “If I could spend the rest of my life with you, I would. I will.”
Veritas pulls back. His hands linger on Aventurine’s arms. His eyes are swollen.
Aventurine looks up at him. “Goodbye, doc,” he says softly.
Veritas swallows. “Goodbye.”
If there’s something they could’ve said, should’ve said--
Maybe Veritas thinks there will be opportunities to say it later.
It’s meant, though, and Aventurine thinks it, as Veritas’s hand slips behind his neck.
The feeling of fingers on skin, a click, the feeling of fingers on metal, and then--
Aventurine’s eye closes. Consciousness ceases. That thought is the last thought he has.
Darkness.