Chapter Text
Ratio is rudely awoken by the mirror image of himself.
To be precise- it’s a man, slightly scrawnier in build but possessing the same key features. The dark hair with the curls that he could never flatten down, the hooked nose he inherited from his father, and sharp orange eyes that Aventurine had once compared to the sun.
(Aventurine had slid up next to him, a mischievous grin lining his face, and had then said one of the cheesiest pick-up lines he’d ever had the displeasure of hearing: “I never need to see the sun again, because your eyes light up my world.”
He’d run out of the office and slammed the door shut before Ratio’s chalk could lodge in his head.)
Apart from those features, however, everything about this man was different. He was dressed in tight- fitting clothes, fabric covering every inch of his body up to his neck. The choice of colours was also another big change. Ratio usually gravitated towards whites and dark blues, but this man donned reds and black- no, dark blue pieces.
The biggest change of all was how the Other Ratio was hovering inches over his face.
“Fascinating,” Other Ratio said, as he peered closer at Veritas. “It seems that I’ve visited an inferior version of myself.”
Veritas should probably avoid aggravating a stranger that had broken into his house, but the insult was unacceptable. “Coming from someone with no manners to mind personal space? How trite.” Pushing himself up from the bed, he began surveying his surroundings for anything that he could use as a weapon. Unluckily, his tablet was out on the dining table. Perhaps he could make a break for it? To buy time, he began rattling off any questions he could think of. “Care to introduce yourself, at least?”
“Doctor Veritas Ratio.”
Veritas frowned. “That’s my-”
“Number 85 of the Genius Society.”
-
It was very hard to put labels on any relationship with Veritas Ratio, Aventurine pondered, as he stood in the lift of Ratio’s apartment block.
To begin with, Ratio was not a sociable man. He would take any chance he could to skip out on events, gatherings, even simple invites out to bars. Aventurine had tried to bribe him into attending the celebration gala for the success of Penacony by offering him an ancient tome of some kind. Something about the unique engineering of a planet? Ratio fulfilled his end of the deal by arriving exactly on time, staying for exactly 5 minutes, and then leaving again.
(Aventurine had done the math. Ratio’s transportation took 2 hours. He stayed at the gala for less than 5 percent of the time taken.)
Despite all those trials and tribulations of Ratio’s character, Aventurine found him to be an excellent companion. Ratio, too, echoed the same sentiment, if his leniency towards Aventurine’s antics were any indication. Aventurine had recently taken to visiting Ratio’s apartment without prior notice (as he was, right now), and Ratio had taken one look at him, sighed, and gave him a copy of the key.
Would that make them friends? He was fairly sure they were, but you could never tell with the doctor. He didn’t know if it was tolerance or genuine affection. His own bias was definitely skewing the evaluation, but Aventurine had contingency plans, such as the ticket to an early-access viewing for a new museum exhibit that Ratio had been eyeing.
(He’d gotten himself one, too, on the off chance the doctor asked him to accompany him. He didn’t hold out for that possibility, though. Ratio enjoyed viewing such exhibits in peace and quiet, and Aventurine was anything but. If it didn’t work out, well, Aventurine could pass them to his secretary as a treat. He himself couldn’t care less for rusted artefacts from aeons ago. He really only wanted things that could ensure his survival.)
Humming to himself, Aventurine fished the key from his back and opened the door. Ah, the doctor was such a fascinating person, wasn’t he? Truly one of a kind. Which was good, because the world probably couldn’t handle two Veritas Ratios.
He opens the door to see two Veritas Ratios sitting on the couch, both with fierce scowls on their faces.
“Buh,” Aventurine says eloquently. “Is this… a bad time?”
-
“...and I can’t believe that in another universe, you have the time to laze around and wake up so late! Where is my- your sense of proactiveness! I should be in the lab by now!”
Veritas Ratio tried to block out his other self’s rants as he passed Aventurine a mug of warm coffee. “If the coffee tastes odd, it is because this-” he gestured to Other Ratio “-madman decided that regular coffee wasn’t strong enough, and now the machine is smoking.”
“It’s all part of the process!” Came the indignant screech. And then, “The audacity to call me a madman, when you have done nothing! Nothing!” Other Ratio grabbed Veritas by his shoulders and leaned in close. “How are you satisfied living like this? The inefficiency, the slow speed of it all. Absolutely unacceptable.”
Aventurine took a small sip of his coffee and discreetly spat it out. “Perhaps we should start by introducing ourselves? I’m Aventurine, one of the IPC’s Ten Stonehearts.”
Other Ratio scoffed. “The IPC. Typical. Though…” he squinted his eyes and moved uncomfortably close to Aventurine. “You don’t look much like the Aventurine that I know.”
Aventurine tilted his head. “What was your Aventurine like?”
“A stubborn man. Violent, too. Used to always have one slave or another trailing behind him. He funded a lot of our projects, and requested quite a few too.” The Other Ratio sniffed haughtily. “I never did like him. Always making me clean my equipment from the mess he made in my lab.”
Veritas’ morbid curiosity wanted to ask what kind of mess he made, but judging from Other Ratio’s sullen expression and the way Aventurine went eerily still, he didn’t press the matter. “For efficiency’s sake, how should we address you?”
Other Ratio didn’t even bother glancing up. “Simple. I am Doctor Veritas Ratio, and you are… the other one.”
“You do understand that you are the visitor of this world, correct?” Veritas ignores the scoff that his other self lets out. “How about we call you 85? That is your Genius Society number, after all.”
Aventurine has no large reaction to the statement, but Veritas has long since learnt to read him. The twitch of his eyebrow, the slight widening of the eyes, and a finger that began tapping on his folded arms.
“I am agreeable to that name.” Other Ratio downs the last of his coffee. “You may call me Doctor 85.”
-
“So, Doc,” Aventurine grimaced. “Maybe I shouldn’t call you that for now. What’s the plan for that guy?”
They were hiding away in Veritas’ bedroom- ironic, that Veritas had to hide in his own home- in an attempt to regroup and figure out how to handle the situation. They’d passed Dr. 85 some books to distract him, and given how silent the house was, it was working. It was oddly reminiscent of putting a pacifier in a baby’s mouth, except that the baby was a middle aged certified genius.
“Unfortunately, given his resemblance, I must keep an eye on him.” Veritas pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Perhaps it’s best to reach out to the Genius Society, to run some tests on him. There are too many unknown variables at play as of right now.”
Running through Aventurine’s words in his mind again, he quickly adds on, “As for how you should address me, you may call me Veritas. Only temporarily.”
There is a light in Aventurine’s eyes that makes Veritas wary, on instinct. “Veritas! Why, what an upgrade. If I knew that all it took for us to become closer was to bring in a clone of you, I would’ve done that years ago!”
“Cease your nonsense at once.”
“Alright, Ve-ri-tas.” Aventurine grinned cheekily. “That man did surprise me, though. He said that he was a Genius Society member?”
Ah. The title brought back memories of past wounds that he wasn’t ready to unearth yet. “Just another difference in our universes, I suppose. Certainly, though that man is me, he is a different version, which means that his life has- why are you still drinking that.”
Aventurine paused, lowering the mug of horrific coffee from his lips. “Actually, the more I drink this, the better it gets! It kind of reminds me of the stuff I used to drink as a low level employee, to keep myself awake and working. What were you saying about Dr. 85?”
Ratio snatched away the offensive cup, ignoring Aventurine’s protests. “Stop diverting. This… beverage, if it can even be qualified as that, is most certainly a health hazard. You are not allowed to drink any more of this.”
“Then how will I stay awake?”
“Through normal, healthy means?” Ratio’s eye twitched. “Gambler. There are plenty of healthier ways to ensure work efficiency, such as a proper diet and sufficient sleep. No one should be desperate enough to rely on this abomination.”
Aventurine rolled his eyes. “Yes, doctor. Whatever you say. I’ll be heading off soon. See you tomorrow for lunch?”
“Even if I said no, would you let me?”
“Nope!” Aventurine raises his hand to wave as he opens the door. “I’ve got your schedule, Veritas! You can’t avoid me!”
Unfortunately, one other person who they could not avoid was waiting outside of the bedroom door.
“These books are elementary.” Dr. 85 snapped a textbook shut, a tower of books teetering behind him. “Is there anything else worthy of my time?”
Aventurine took his chance. “That’s my cue to leave! See you, doc!”
“Which doc-”
Laughing, Aventurine slammed the door shut behind him.
-
Trying to engage in conversation with another version of yourself was infuriating.
For one, where would he even start? Veritas had so many questions. How was life in the other universe? What was the Genius Society like over there? Where was Aventurine? His parents?
Who was he, if fate had twisted differently?
“Stop glancing at me, and state your question clearly.” Dr. 85 barely glanced up from the tablet- Veritas’ tablet, mind you- as he scrolled through a paper that Veritas had written years prior. It was an odd experience, feeling a sense of insecurity from watching another version of himself evaluate his work. “I abhor inefficiency. Ask your question, sate your curiosity, and go back to your work.”
Veritas swallowed. There were many things that he could ask, but perhaps he should start slow, begin with something that wouldn’t send him spiralling down a rabbit hole. “What happened with your parents, in your world?”
“My parents?” There was an air of nonchalance that made Veritas shift in his seat. “I message them sometimes, though infrequently. They know the commitments of my work take precedence over them.”
“Till now?”
“Till now.” Dr. 85 spared him a glance. “Is it not the same here?”
To be honest, Veritas had no idea what he was expecting. Did he want to hear that in another universe, things had worked out between his parents and himself? Or did he want the vindictive satisfaction of knowing that no matter what world they were in, they were always going to leave?
This was starting to turn into an impromptu therapy session. It was a fairly daunting and borderline humiliating thought, to spill your family trauma to a stranger. He rarely even confronted what had happened between them to himself. He’d shoved it down, refused to acknowledge it, until the initial sting died down and the thought of his parents no longer brought tears to his eyes.
Because how was he supposed to face the fact that, when his parents realised that he would never be accepted into the Genius Society, distanced themselves further and further and further until they never spoke again? What words would he even use to explain that all attempts to reconnect with them were either met with excuses or ghosting? Anyone who had the heart to listen would never believe him because they saw him as a genius, and anyone who knew that he was no genius did not have the heart to care.
To be polite, he tried to calm his shaky voice as he responded. “I lost contact with them years ago. Possibly because I never became a Genius Society member.”
Dr. 85 raised his eyebrow. “Are you not one?” Waving the tablet, he floated out of his seat to stand to full height. Veritas had no idea what he was, because as much as he looked like a human, no human could parse through items or hover the way he did. “Your work is comprehensive and accurate. At the level you are currently at, it is uncommon that Nous adverts Their gaze.”
Veritas hates how his heart jumps, then sinks back down bitterly. Well, not good enough. Out loud, he tried to match Dr. 85’s nonchalance. “Regardless of the reason, this is the situation, for your curiosity.”
Aventurine had once remarked how terrible of a liar Veritas was. He’d never really believed him, until now, as he watched Dr. 85’s face slowly flush red. “Wh-what a preposterous assumption! This conversation was for your benefit, not mine! I hold no such inane thoughts, and certainly not the sort that you so clearly indulge!”
Veritas had to bite back a smile. Despite his mannerisms, Dr. 85 occasionally came off as a child who was trying to match up to the adults. It was oddly endearing and terrifying at the same time, because regardless of his personality, Veritas found himself intimidated by this version of himself.
“However, to answer your question,” Dr. 85 attempted to regain his composure. “I have avoided speaking to them for the most part. They rarely have much to offer apart from critique on my work, which I receive plenty of from my colleagues.” He turned to face the window, the sunlight streaming in. “Though I do not blame them for the way they think. They have grown up as academics. Their legacy, when they leave, will be their work. They think that, if you do not succeed to the level they expect in time, you will never be able to catch up.”
Veritas had spent years trying to dissect his parent’s psyche. He was no parent, but from observation of his peers, he’d concluded that parents were supposed to guide and oversee you. To provide the basic necessities, monetary support, and perhaps even attend some events for socialisation purposes. He’d never quite figured out why, despite his parents ticking all the checkboxes, there left a dull ache in his heart, a longing that grew bigger and bigger as he got older.
And so he turned to Dr. 85 and asked “Do you think there was anything we could’ve done?”
“Who knows?” Dr. 85 shrugs, but his voice hitches slightly. “What was it they always said? ‘Let our ceiling be your platform’?”
When Veritas was a small child, he’d won a nation-wide science competition. Elated, he told his parents, and as a reward they surprised him with a day off from school, but not from studying. He’d spent his whole birthday finishing workbook after workbook, with his father’s eagle eyed gaze boring holes into him, while his mother sat next to him and marked all his work. Afterwards, they’d asked if he enjoyed himself, and Veritas was too afraid to tell them that he never wanted to celebrate his achievements ever again.
Perhaps his parents were the type of people who would never be satisfied, the sort to stand in an ocean and demand more water. Perhaps there was nothing he could’ve done to change the course of fate. But knowing that something isn’t your fault does not free you of your guilt. Still, the reassurance is a soothing balm on a reopened wound.
For now, he sits with Dr. 85 until the sun goes down.