Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The hotel bar was the kind of place where discretion came with the premium, all low amber lighting and leather booths that swallowed sound. Ratio sat with his back to the wall, fingers drumming against a tumbler of scotch he hadn't touched, watching the entrance with detachment of a man observing a lab experiment.

Aventurine arrived exactly on time. Not early enough to seem eager, not late enough to suggest disrespect. He moved through the space like he owned it, all fluid confidence and charm, the kind of performance so polished it had become indistinguishable from the performer. His eyes, those distinctive violet-cyan heterochromatic eyes, swept the room and found Ratio immediately.

"Dr. Ratio." The smile was dazzling, professional. "You know, when I got the booking request, I'll admit I was intrigued. A man of your reputation usually doesn't need to pay for company."

"Sit down." Ratio's voice was flat, cutting through the pleasantries like a scalpel. "And spare me the preamble. You came highly recommended for your discretion, not your conversation."

Aventurine smirked. He slid into the booth with practiced grace, folding his hands on the table between them. Up close, Ratio could see the tiny imperfections in the facade: the barely-there tension at the corners of his mouth, the way his fingers rested just so to hide a faint tremor.

"Discretion is my specialty," Aventurine said lightly. "Along with making powerful men feel comfortable enough to say things they shouldn't. So what is it, Doctor? Corporate espionage? A rival you need information on? Someone's dirty secrets you need confirmed?"

Ratio pushed a folder across the table. "I need you to attend a fundraising gala next Saturday. There's a man there named Senator Brennan who has information I require. He has a particular... type. You fit it. Get close to him, get him talking about his dealings with Metis Pharmaceutical, and record everything."

Aventurine didn't touch the folder. His smile had gone sharp at the edges, brittle. "So you want me to be your honeypot. How novel."

"I want you to do what you're paid to do. Sell the illusion of intimacy to extract something valuable. The only difference is that this time, the buyer is me and the commodity is information rather than the fantasy of being wanted."

The words landed like a slap. Aventurine's expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted, a subtle closing-off. When he spoke, his voice was silk over razorblades.

"You really don't pull your punches, do you? Most clients at least pretend there's some dignity in the transaction. They call me a 'companion,' book me for 'social engagements,' pay extra so they can pretend it's a date and not a purchase." He finally reached for the folder, flipping it open with one hand. "But you're right, of course. We're all whores, Doctor. We sell different parts of ourselves. I sell the fantasy. You sell your mind. The Senator sells his integrity. At least I'm honest about my going rate."

"Your honesty is precisely why I chose you. You understand the transactional nature of human interaction. No sentimentality, no self-delusion. You do the job, you get paid, everyone walks away with what they came for."

Aventurine studied the file and photos of the Senator, background information, details about the pharmaceutical scandal Ratio was investigating. When he looked up, something cold and ancient lurked behind his practiced charm.

"You know what the difference is between you and most of my clients, Doctor? They need me to pretend I'm not for sale. They need the illusion that I'm actually interested. That's what they're really paying for—not my body, not even my company. They're paying for the lie that they're not the kind of person who has to pay for connection." He closed the folder gently. "But you don't want me to lie to you. You want me to lie to someone else while you watch with that magnificent brain of yours and judge exactly how well I perform my function. Honestly? I'm not sure which is more depressing."

"I'm not interested in your existential crisis," Ratio said, but there was something different in his tone now, a hairline fracture in the ice. "The job pays triple your usual rate. If you're not interested—"

"Oh, I'm interested. I'm always interested when the money's good enough." Aventurine leaned back, and the smile returned, but it was all wrong now, too wide and too empty. "You want to know the really funny part? You called me because you needed someone who understands that everything is a transaction, but you're sitting there judging me for it. You want me to whore myself out for your noble cause, and you think that makes you different from the men who pay me to stroke their ego or warm their bed. At least they're not pretending it's for the greater good."

The silence that followed was suffocating. Ratio's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

"I'm not judging you. I'm using you."

"Are you?" Aventurine's laugh was soft and terrible. "You know what I think, Doctor? I think you hired me because you wanted to look in a mirror. You wanted someone who'd confirm your worldview, that we're all just commodities in the marketplace, selling whatever we have to get by. But here's the thing about mirrors: they show you exactly what you're running from."

He stood, pocketing the folder with ease. "I'll do your job. I'll smile for the Senator and make him feel like he's the most fascinating man alive. I'll get you your information, and you'll pay me, and we'll both go home knowing exactly what we are. But don't mistake efficiency for wisdom, Doctor. Just because you can reduce everything to a transaction doesn't mean you should."

Ratio watched him go, watched the way Aventurine transformed the moment he left the booth; shoulders back, smile bright, every inch the beautiful illusion he'd perfected.

He thought about the tremor in Aventurine's hands, carefully hidden. He thought about the way the smile never quite reached those mismatched eyes. He thought about his own reflection in the dark window, alone in a booth in a hotel bar where everyone was selling something.

We're all whores.

The worst part was realizing Aventurine wasn't wrong.

Chapter Text

The week before the gala, Ratio found himself doing something he'd told himself he wouldn't: researching Aventurine.

Not for the mission. He had all the operational details he needed. This was something else, a compulsion he refused to name, scrolling through carefully scrubbed social media profiles and society pages. Aventurine appeared in dozens of photos. Always on someone's arm, always impeccably dressed, always wearing that same dazzling smile that Ratio now recognized as armor.

There were no photos of him alone. Nothing personal. No digital footprint that suggested a life beyond the performance.

Discretion is my specialty.

Ratio closed his laptop harder than necessary.

---

Three days before the gala, Aventurine appeared at Ratio's office unannounced. His assistant tried to stop him, but he swept past her with the kind of apologetic charm that made resistance seem churlish.

"We need to coordinate," Aventurine announced, settling into the chair across from Ratio's desk without invitation. He was dressed more casually than before, but still expensive casual, the fit that cost more than business attire. "If I'm going to sell this convincingly, we need a story. How did we meet? How long have we known each other? What's my cover for being there?"

Ratio looked up from his work, expression unreadable. "You're my date. We met through mutual acquaintances. Keep it vague."

"Your date." Aventurine's eyebrow arched. "Doctor, no offense, but you're not exactly the type to bring escorts to charity functions. People who know you will find that suspicious."

"People who know me are aware I occasionally require social companionship for professional obligations. Your presence will raise no eyebrows."

"Social companionship," Aventurine repeated, tasting the euphemism. "Is that what we're calling it?" He pulled out a small notebook, Ratio noticed, not a phone. "Fine. But if anyone asks direct questions, I need details. What's your favorite color? What do you do for fun? Where did we have our first date?"

"This is unnecessary—"

"This is my job, Doctor." The lightness had vanished from Aventurine's voice, replaced by something sharp and professional. "You hired me because I'm good at what I do. I'm good at it because I'm thorough. So humor me. Unless you want the Senator to take one look at us and know immediately that you're running an operation."

Ratio set down his pen. "Fine. Purple. I read. We met at a lecture on socioeconomic theory six months ago, and you were the only person in the room who asked an intelligent question. Our first date was dinner at Veritas, where you ordered the sea bass and I corrected the sommelier on his wine pairings. Satisfied?"

Aventurine had been writing, but he paused at that last detail, something complicated crossing his face. "You're a good liar when you want to be. That almost sounded real."

"The best lies are built on truth. I do prefer purple. I do spend my evenings reading. And anyone who knows me would believe I'd be attracted to someone who could keep up intellectually." Ratio's gaze was serious. "The key to a successful deception is internal consistency."

"Internal consistency," Aventurine murmured. He closed the notebook. "Right. Of course." He stood, and for a moment he just looked at Ratio, like he was trying to solve an equation. "Can I ask you something, Doctor? Off the record?"

"You can ask."

"Why this? Why the pharmaceutical scandal? You're brilliant, you're successful, you could leave well enough alone. Why risk your reputation digging into Metis?"

Ratio's expression hardened. "Because they're falsifying clinical trial data and people are dying. Because the Senator is taking bribes to push through FDA approval on drugs that don't work. Because someone needs to do something about it."

"Ah." Aventurine's smile was sad and knowing. "You're one of those. The true believers. The ones who still think the system can work if we just expose the right corruption." He moved toward the door, paused with his hand on the frame. "I used to be like that, you know. A long time ago."

"What happened?"

Aventurine glanced back over his shoulder. In the harsh fluorescent light of the office, he looked younger than he had in the bar, and infinitely more tired.

"I figured out that everything is a transaction, and the house always wins. But hey—" The smile returned, bright and empty. "Maybe you'll be different. Maybe your righteous crusade will actually change something. I hope it does, Doctor. I really do."

He left before Ratio could respond.

---

The night before the gala, Ratio's phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.

Picked up your tux from the cleaners. Wore the blue tie, not the gray. Trust me. - A

Then, a minute later:

Also, Senator Brennan has a gambling problem. Just thought you should know. Makes people chatty when they're bleeding money. See you tomorrow.

Ratio stared at the messages for a long time. He'd never given Aventurine his number. Hadn't asked him to pick up his dry cleaning. Hadn't mentioned what he was planning to wear.

Thorough, Aventurine had said. He was good at his job because he was thorough.

Ratio typed out a response, deleted it, typed another, deleted that too. Finally settled on:

Noted. Thank you.

The reply came immediately:

Don't thank me yet, Doctor. You're paying for it. Remember? Everything is a transaction.

Ratio set the phone down and returned to his case files, but the words kept echoing in his head. Not Aventurine's cynical maxim, but the other thing he'd said, quieter, almost lost in the conversation:

I used to be like that. A long time ago.

He wondered what had broken that faith. Wondered if he was using Aventurine or just exploiting someone who'd already been used up by people exactly like him.

Wondered why it bothered him that he couldn't tell the difference.

The scotch he poured himself that night tasted like guilt.

Chapter Text

The limousine arrived at seven-thirty sharp. Ratio was already waiting outside his building, uncomfortable in formal wear despite having worn it a hundred times before. Tonight it felt like a costume, another layer of deception in an operation built on lies.

When Aventurine stepped out of the car, Ratio forgot how to breathe for a moment.

He'd seen Aventurine polished before, but this was something else entirely. The tailored suit fit like it had been painted on, deep emerald that brought out the colors in his eyes. His hair was styled with casualness, and there was something about the way he moved, like he had all the time in the world and knew exactly what he was worth.

"Close your mouth, Doctor," Aventurine said lightly, though his smile had a brittle edge. "You're supposed to be used to how I look."

"You clean up well," Ratio managed, climbing into the car.

"I clean up for a living." Aventurine settled beside him, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. He pulled out a small device, a recording pen disguised as an expensive fountain pen. "This is voice-activated. Keep it in your jacket pocket. I'll try to steer the Senator somewhere relatively private, but in case we end up in a crowd, it's got a five-meter range."

"You've done this before."

"Information extraction?" Aventurine's laugh was soft and dark. "Doctor, everyone I sleep with tells me their secrets. The pillow talk alone could fill a blackmail database. The only difference is that tonight, someone's actually paying me for the intel instead of just the illusion of intimacy." He paused. "Speaking of which, we should establish boundaries."

"Boundaries?"

"Physical ones. For the performance." Aventurine's voice was carefully neutral. "I'll need to touch you. Hold your arm, maybe your hand. At some point, I'll probably need to lean in close, laugh at your jokes, look at you like you're the only person in the room. It's part of selling the relationship. But if there's anything you're uncomfortable with—"

"Do whatever you need to do," Ratio interrupted. "I understand the operational requirements."

"Right. Operational requirements." Something crossed Aventurine's features, too quick to identify. "Just remember, when we're in there, I'm yours. Completely devoted, utterly enamored, hanging on your every word. Try not to let it go to your head."

The car slid through the city, and they sat in silence. Ratio found himself hyperaware of the space between them, the careful way Aventurine maintained exactly three inches of distance. Like he'd measured it. Like he'd calculated exactly how close to be without actually making contact.

"You're nervous," Aventurine observed quietly.

"I'm not—"

"Your left hand. You keep clenching and unclenching it. It's a tell." Aventurine reached over without looking, his fingers brushing Ratio's wrist. His touch was light, impersonal, gone almost before Ratio registered the touch. "Relax, Doctor. This is the easy part. All you have to do is stand there looking intelligent and vaguely possessive. I'll handle the rest."

"That's what concerns me."

"Ah." Aventurine's smile was sharp. "Worried I'll enjoy it? Worried the Senator will be too easy to manipulate? Or worried that you hired exactly the kind of person you claim to despise for doing exactly the kind of thing you need done?" He tilted his head. "It's okay to be hypocritical, Doctor. We all are, eventually. The trick is learning to live with it."

---

The gala was everything Ratio hated about high society. Ostentatious wealth masquerading as charity, people buying moral absolution for the price of a five-thousand-dollar plate. The ballroom glittered with crystal and hypocrisy, and somewhere in this crowd was a Senator selling his vote to the highest bidder while terminally ill patients died waiting for treatments that would never come.

Aventurine transformed the moment they crossed the threshold.

His hand slipped into the crook of Ratio's arm with easy familiarity, and suddenly he was radiant and animated in a way that seemed genuine even though Ratio knew it was performance. He laughed at the right moments, asked interested questions, remembered names and details with perfect recall. Several people stopped them, and Aventurine introduced himself as "Aven" with a self-deprecating charm that made the truncation seem like intimacy rather than evasion.

"Veritas never mentioned he was seeing anyone," said a colleague of Ratio's, eyeing them with undisguised curiosity.

"Well, you know how private he is," Aventurine said, squeezing Ratio's arm with exactly the right amount of affection. "He keeps his best discoveries to himself until he's absolutely sure of them. I took it as a compliment, honestly."

The colleague laughed, and they moved on. Ratio's jaw was tight.

"Too much?" Aventurine murmured, low enough that only Ratio could hear.

"You're very convincing."

"I know." There was something hollow in those words. "There's the Senator. Three o'clock, near the bar. Let me work."

What followed was a masterclass in manipulation so subtle it was almost beautiful. Aventurine didn't approach Brennan directly because that would have been too obvious. Instead, he positioned them near the Senator's orbit, laughed a little too loudly at one of Ratio's dry observations, let himself be luminous. Drew attention like a flame draws moths.

It took less than ten minutes for Brennan to notice.

"I don't believe we've met," the Senator said, his eyes lingering on Aventurine with an appreciation that made Ratio's stomach turn. "Senator Ben Brennan."

"Aven," Aventurine said, extending his hand. "I'm here with Dr. Ratio. It's wonderful to meet you, Senator. I've heard so much about your work on healthcare reform."

The lie rolled off his tongue like honey, and Brennan preened. "Well, I try to do what I can. It's a complicated issue, of course. Not everyone understands the nuances of pharmaceutical regulation."

"Oh, I'm sure it's fascinating," Aventurine said, and somehow made it sound genuine. "I'd love to hear more about it, if you have time. Veritas is brilliant, of course, but sometimes he gets a bit technical for me." He shot Ratio an affectionate, slightly apologetic look that sold the whole thing perfectly.

"Why don't I get us some drinks?" Ratio said, playing his part. "Aven, your usual?"

"Please." Aventurine's smile was warm, public, perfect. Their eyes met for half a second and Ratio saw the coldness underneath, a calculator running behind the charm, measuring angles and vulnerabilities.

He left them alone and headed for the bar, where he could watch from a distance. Within minutes, Aventurine had Brennan laughing, leaning in close, talking with the animated gestures of a man trying to impress. Aventurine touched the Senator's arm lightly, listened with rapt attention, asked questions that fed the man's ego while steering him inexorably toward Metis Pharmaceutical.

It should have been satisfying watching the operation work exactly as planned. Instead, Ratio felt sick.

Because he realized, watching Aventurine work, that this was who Aventurine was now. Not the cynical man in the hotel bar, not the tired professional in his office. This was the real thing: the perfect mirror, reflecting back exactly what someone wanted to see, making them feel special while taking everything they had to give.

We're all whores. We sell different parts of ourselves.

Ratio had hired him to sell this part. Had paid him to perform this exact service. And now, watching it happen, he understood with nauseating clarity that he was no different from all the other clients who'd used Aventurine's talents for their own ends.

The righteous crusade suddenly felt a lot less righteous.

---

Twenty minutes later, Aventurine returned, slipping back to Ratio's side with a subtle nod. The recording pen in Ratio's pocket felt heavy as lead.

"He's going to the terrace for a smoke in five minutes," Aventurine murmured. "Invited me to join him. Says he has some thoughts about Metis he'd be happy to share off the record." His smile was bright and empty. "Told you. Gambling problem. He's bleeding money to some offshore accounts and getting nervous about his arrangement with Metis. Give him a sympathetic ear and he'll sing like a canary."

"Good work," Ratio said, and hated how it sounded.

"Just doing my job, Doctor." Aventurine's eyes were distant. "Remember to look a little jealous when I go out there with him. Possessive, but trusting. Like you know I can handle myself but you don't like sharing."

"I don't need acting tips."

"Everyone needs acting tips. Life's just one long performance." Aventurine straightened his jacket. "Oh, and Doctor? When this is over, when you've got your evidence and you take down Metis and the Senator goes to prison... Try to remember that I was just the tool you used. You aimed me, you pulled the trigger. Don't pretend your hands are clean just because you paid someone else to get them dirty."

He walked away before Ratio could respond, heading toward the terrace doors where Brennan was already waiting. Ratio watched him go, watched the way he slipped back into the charming companion, the confidant, the beautiful lie.

The worst part was knowing Aventurine was right.