Chapter Text
Aventurine huffed, hefting the gaily wrapped gift in his arms as he strode down the Reverie's restricted hallway. He'd had to charm his way through the security that kept these rooms off limits to ordinary guests, but it was worth it. This time, Sunday had gone too far. If he wanted to play such stupid games, Aventurine was going to call his bluff.
Aventurine had known the Family would be difficult to manage, but Sunday was really a piece of work. His staff kept putting Aventurine off, making the most absurd and unbelievable excuses for Sunday's absence when there were extremely important matters Aventurine needed to discuss with him. This latest one—that Sunday was on extended paternity leave—was so ridiculous Aventurine had struggled not to laugh at the poor secretary.
He had looked thoroughly into Sunday's background before starting, and had the best information that money could buy. Sunday was unattached and had been for years. As the Head of the Oak Family, his conduct was impeccable, not even a one-night-stand to be found. If there was a child, surely they had appeared by means of immaculate conception.
More likely Sunday had told his secretary to make up whatever excuse she could to put off the IPC ambassador he didn't want to talk to.
But fine. Whatever. If Sunday wanted to play games, Aventurine would humor him. And so here he was, striding down the hallway towards Sunday's apartment with a wrapped present for the "child" in his hands. He couldn't wait to see what kind of excuse Sunday would make when confronted with a galactic diplomat bearing a baby shower gift for the baby he certainly didn't have.
A sharp remark on the tip of his tongue, he knocked hard on Sunday's door. After a moment, Sunday answered it.
"Ah, Mr. Aventurine." His brow furrowed. "I believe you may be lost. Only staff are allowed back here."
It took Aventurine a moment to answer. He was too distracted by how different Sunday looked, soft and domestic in a white sweater and loose slacks, his hands bare and his hair tied back in a messy ponytail.
"Not at all," Aventurine said, regaining his composure with some effort. "I heard the news. Congratulations are in order, it seems. I brought you a gift for the new addition to your family."
At that, Sunday did the oddest thing. Aventurine expected to be met by a sharp tongue and an even sharper wit, a battle for dominance through veiled allusions to power, influence, and culture. He'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it, that he hadn't fantasized after their last meeting of working out their conflict in a more pleasurable way. You didn't have to like someone to be attracted to them, after all.
But Sunday just smiled at him, a wide, radiant smile. "You brought her a gift?" he asked, and he sounded happier than Aventurine had ever heard him. "How lovely. Please, come in."
Was there really a baby in the picture? Or was Sunday just playing along with his ruse, trying to get a rise out of him? Aventurine followed Sunday into the apartment, puzzled.
A little girl maybe five years old was coloring at the table, her supplies set neatly beside her as she drew in the lines. She was obviously Sunday's daughter, as her halo had the same elements as his, her fine gray hair falling into her face as she concentrated on the paper.
How had Aventurine's private investigators missed the fact that Sunday had a daughter already? He was going to demand some answers when this was all over.
The girl looked up and saw Aventurine, and her back became very straight, her hands falling to her sides. It was a posture he recognized, because he'd often assumed it himself. She was assessing him to see if he was a threat, if he would hurt her.
"Mr. Aventurine, please meet the newest addition to my family. I call her Sugar."
"Hi, Sugar," Aventurine said awkwardly, wishing he'd bought a gift more appropriate for an older child. How was he supposed to know Sunday's weird situation? "It's good to meet you."
"Mr. Aventurine brought you a gift," Sunday said.
Sugar's eyes darted to the package in Aventurine's hands. They were a luminous golden color, just like her father's.
"I, uh, when they said 'paternity leave,' I was expecting you'd had a baby," Aventurine said, hefting the package in his hands. "You can open it if you want, just don't get your hopes up."
He handed her the present and she looked at him with mistrust, but her little hands clenched the packaging eagerly.
"Is it okay?" she said, looking to Sunday. "At the Temple, they said presents are bad."
Aventurine glanced curiously at Sunday. The Temple?
"Yes, it's okay." Sunday squeezed her shoulder. "You're never going back there, so what they said doesn't matter. Gifts can be a wonderful way to show someone that you care."
Sugar nodded and quickly tore the packaging. Aventurine winced as she lifted the baby-sized outfit out of the box, but she smiled widely, showing it to Sunday. It was meant to be tongue-in-cheek, an infant sized three piece suit complete with a golden tie. When purchasing it, he'd tried to find something that would really piss Sunday off; dressing Sunday's new baby for a day at the IPC offices seemed like just the ticket.
But Sugar seemed to really like it. "Look," she said, "It's perfect for Teddy!"
Sunday smiled with a sincerity and warmth Aventurine would have thought him incapable of. "So it is. Please say thank you to Mr. Aventurine."
Sugar stared down at the floor. "Thank you, Mr. Ave- Avenshur-"
"Call me Churin," Aventurine said. It was the nickname all the kids at Jade's orphanage adopted for him.
"Thank you, Mr. Churin." She picked up the teddy bear that had been seated at the table beside her and laid him out over the coloring book, busying herself with tugging the suit onto the stuffed animal.
"Indeed, thank you, Mr. Aventurine." Sunday's tone was warm, his gaze lingering fondly on the little girl as she struggled with the ridiculous buttons on the stupid baby outfit. "This was incredibly thoughtful."
"What can I say?" Aventurine shrugged, feeling foolish. "Just thought I'd show a little friendly appreciation."
"We're very grateful. I'll admit, there have not been many who have come forward to show their support like this."
Aventurine smiled, but he was flushed with hot guilt, as showing support had not been even close to his original intent. Whatever happened to land this obviously traumatized five-year-old in Sunday's lap all of a sudden was probably complicated and the transition would be challenging for both of them.
"Mr. Churin?" Sugar blinked at him with huge, adorable golden eyes. She was holding up the clip-on tie that came with the baby outfit, frowning.
"Do you need help putting that on?" he asked her.
She nodded, and Aventurine sat down beside her to examine the situation. The teddy bear was half in the suit and half out of it, the buttons on the shirt misaligned and the trousers on backwards.
"Is it okay if I touch your teddy bear?" he asked carefully.
She considered, then nodded.
"Alright." Aventurine carefully unbuttoned the shirt and re-buttoned it correctly, fixed the pants, and clipped the little tie at the collar, wondering who in the galaxy thought this complicated outfit would be at all usable for an infant.
"Mr. Teddy looks quite dapper, don't you think?" he said, handing the toy to her. "Now he's ready for a day in the office."
Sugar smiled shyly at him, hugging the bear to her chest. "Thanks."
"Anytime, little lady."
When Aventurine looked up, Sunday was watching them with a tender wistfulness in his gaze.
"Would you like to stay for dinner?" he asked.
Aventurine blinked at him, taken aback. But he'd be a fool to refuse any sort of in with the guy he'd spent the last two weeks trying to track down. Even if negotiating for Penacony's demise with the cute little girl at the table beside them felt kind of scummy.
"I'd love to," he said.
Dinner was peaceful and made Aventurine feel warm in a way he hadn't experienced for a very long time. While he could tell from little signs, body language and subtle comments, that Sugar had been through some kind of complex trauma, he became more and more confident that Sunday wasn't the source of whatever harm had happened. Sunday was careful and gentle with her, quick to reassure her whenever she seemed worried or frightened, encouraging her to eat and join the conversation but never forcing or reprimanding.
She called him "Sunday," not "Papa" or "Father" or any other honorific, and Aventurine learned that she'd only been in his custody for a few weeks, but already Sunday was acting like a parent, and she was responding to it like a flower growing towards the sun.
It was disgustingly wholesome, but apparently "wholesome" was one of Aventurine's undiscovered kinks because every time Sunday leaned over to tenderly wipe Sugar's face or squeeze her shoulder, Aventurine felt the low burn of attraction and a desire that was less about sex and more about other things he didn't want to name.
After dinner, Sunday invited him to stay for a nightcap, so he lingered in the opulent living room while Sunday put Sugar to bed. Glass of whiskey in hand, he stood by the large windows that looked out onto the Reverie's dock, at the spaceships coming and going at every hour of the day or night, not that there was much of a day/night cycle on Penacony. Outside the dream, there was really just the Reverie, and the housing for the many workers who staffed the Planet of Festivities. It didn't seem like the greatest place to raise a kid, and most parts of the dream were so debauched and unrestrained that they had to be off limits to children. Aventurine wondered if Sunday would eventually consider moving, though it was hard to think of him as anything but the Family's stern administrator.
"Sorry that took so long," Sunday said, striding back out into the open space with a sheepish smile. He was holding a white box in his hand that turned out to be a baby monitor with a video screen showing Sugar curled up in her bed. "Sugar is afraid of many things. Bedtime always takes some coaxing."
Aventurine glanced at his watch and realized it had been an hour. "That's quite alright," he said. "I was just admiring the view."
Sunday set the monitor on the table and came to join him at the window. "I suppose I see this too often; it's lost its novelty for me."
"It happens. I feel the same way about the view from my penthouse. You can only admire the skyline of Pier Point so many times."
"I understand." Sunday's smile was soft, disarming. "Thank you again for tonight, Aventurine. I won't forget your kindness to my daughter. In the morning, you'll be able to pick up your items at customs in the dream."
Aventurine had done plenty of terrible things for the IPC. He'd sold out entire planets, robbed indigenous species of their rights and livelihoods, helped colonize civilizations that had stood proudly for millennia. But somehow this comparatively tiny act of deception made him feel like the worst sort of scum. He was going to steal Penacony from Sunday and shape it into a high performing asset for the IPC, until it became unrecognizable to those who originally inhabited it.
Sure, he didn't particularly like Penacony. The carnival reeked of cash, the joy it sold was pure consumerism, and profit was the only thing that really mattered to the Family. But it was Sunday's home. The residents were Sunday's people. And Aventurine was going to take not just their resources and real estate, but their very identity, as the planet would be remade into another cookie-cutter IPC-run world.
But he didn't really have a choice. So he smiled and thanked Sunday as though it was no big deal, then quickly turned the conversation to other topics.
Sunday was too easy to talk to, his mind as quick and clever as Aventurine's own, and they talked about everything from gambling and probability to dreamweaving and how Penacony was built.
"So you can create anything you want in the dream?" Aventurine asked. He hadn't realized that Sunday was a skilled dreamweaver, but he supposed that made sense for Penacony's administrator.
"Anything I have seen before is easy to create," Sunday said. "If it's something that doesn't exist in the real world, it is more complicated, but still possible."
"That's amazing."
Sunday smiled, his cheeks slightly flushed. "I have a few projects I've been working on. I'll take you sometime."
Aventurine couldn't help but match that smile. "I'd like that."
And then, because he was the worst sort of person, he leaned in and kissed Sunday. Just briefly, just a chaste press of his lips.
For a second, Sunday blinked at him, clearly caught off guard. Then he huffed a soft laugh. "I had thought you disliked me."
"I did," Aventurine admitted. "But now I know you better. I had fun tonight."
"I had fun too," Sunday said, leaning in again so his lips were just an inch from Aventurine's. "If I'm being honest, I—"
A shriek came from the baby monitor on the table, and Sunday was off the couch and hurrying towards the hallway before Aventurine fully processed it. Curious, Aventurine watched through the video monitor as Sunday ran to the bed where Sugar had kicked off the covers and was flailing her little arms and legs against the mattress, sobbing loudly.
Sunday's halo glowed as he reached for her, a soft melody coming through the monitor. He seemed to be humming, and as he did so, she went limp, and he collected her into his arms.
"It's alright," he murmured, soft and gentle. "You're safe. You're on Penacony with me, and you're safe. No one is going to punish you or hurt you now."
Her sobs slowly quieted as Sunday rocked her in his arms and hummed the same tune. Aventurine's heart ached with some unknown yearning, watching the two of them on the monitor's little screen.
"I'm sorry," she finally said, sniffling.
"It's quite alright." Sunday kissed the top of her head. "You did nothing wrong. Nobody is going to punish you. Everyone has nightmares from time to time."
"Even you?" Her voice was so tiny Aventurine could barely make it out.
"Even me."
"What are your nightmares about?"
Sunday hummed softly. "When I was little I used to dream that I made mistakes when playing the organ for services and got punished for it. But most recently, I had a very scary dream where I lost you. I looked for you everywhere and couldn't find you. I woke up very afraid, just like you did tonight. But then I looked in your bedroom and saw you there, and I knew it was just a dream, just like yours is just a dream."
"I won't get lost," Sugar said, relaxing further in Sunday's arms. "I promise."
"If you do, I will find you," Sunday said. "I promise."
After that, Sunday tucked her back in, then sat on the side of the bed and began to sing, the lullaby filling the air with a golden haze. Little glimmering angels made of light came to dance around Sugar, each diving in to kiss her on the forehead.
The music was so soothing, like nothing Aventurine had ever heard. Like being cradled in a mother's arms and rocked sweetly to sleep. Before he knew it, his own eyelids had drifted shut.
He woke in an unfamiliar place to the sensation of being watched, and warily peeked at his surroundings, only to see a pair of golden eyes staring directly at him from a foot away.
Sugar held her finger to her lips. "Sunday is sleeping," she whispered. "He's tired."
The night before came back to Aventurine slowly, dinner and then drinking with Sunday after. He realized he was lying on the long black leather sofa where he had fallen asleep, and that sometime in the night someone had tucked a pillow beneath his head and laid a woven blanket over him.
He sat up, scrubbing a hand over his face. Despite an impromptu night on the couch, he felt rested and rejuvenated. He'd slept much more soundly than usual, lulled into contentment by Sunday's song.
"Good morning, Sugar," he said, speaking softly for the slumbering Sunday's benefit. He realized that if Sunday was still sleeping, he was by default primarily responsible for her right now. So much for sneaking out the door without having to say goodbye. "Do you want some breakfast?"
She nodded. In one hand, she was clutching the teddy bear, who still wore his three piece suit, slightly rumpled as though he'd been hugged throughout the night.
Aventurine rummaged through Sunday's cupboards, taking stock. They were pretty bare; clearly Sunday wasn't much of a cook. But he did note some eggs and cheese, and bread and jam for toast.
Sugar nodded again when asked if she liked scrambled eggs, so Aventurine set to cooking. She came into the kitchen to watch him carefully.
"Do you like Sunday?" she asked, teddy bear clutched to her chest. An innocent enough question, maybe, but it still made Aventurine nearly drop an egg.
"Sure," he said, recovering quickly. "Sunday's a nice person. I'd like to be friends."
She didn't answer right away, chin tucked to her chest as though considering his response.
"Everything is so different from the Temple," she finally said. "I get confused about the rules."
"What is the Temple?" Aventurine asked.
Her brow scrunched. "It was a big place. All the kids went there. We had numbers and we had to be good or get in trouble. Because Xipe wanted us to be the same."
"I see," Aventurine said, though he didn't really understand.
"They told us all the rules," she continued. "Sunday doesn't say the rules. So I don't know what to do."
This conversation was well above Aventurine's pay grade, and he sent up a quick prayer to Gaiathra Triclops to help him through it.
"What kind of rules did they have?" he asked.
She counted them off on her fingers. "No names. No hugging or touching. No talking about life before. No running away. No making friends. There were lots more too."
"I don't think Sunday has all of those rules," Aventurine said.
"Well I just don't know," Sugar said, the hand that wasn't clutching Teddy coming up to pull at her hair. She looked distressed, agitated. "I get scared because I don't know his rules. I don't know."
"Sugar." Sunday's voice was soft, rough with emotion. Sugar and Aventurine both turned quickly to see him, so intent on their conversation they hadn't heard him approach. "There is only one rule you need to remember."
Sugar watched him, her eyes wide and frightened, as he got to his knees to be level with her and gently untangled her fingers from the strand of hair she'd been pulling.
"I love you," Sunday said. "Every rule I make for you is because of that. And if you ever don't know what is or isn't a rule, you can always ask me. I will never get mad if you ask me."
Aventurine felt a bit like a voyeur, intruding on a tender scene not necessarily meant for his eyes.
"But let's go over those rules you said," Sunday continued. "You are allowed to have a name. You are allowed to hug and touch other people as long as it doesn't make you feel afraid or uncomfortable. You may talk about anything you want."
"Okay," Sugar said. She looked a little overwhelmed, one hand reaching out to clutch at Sunday's sleeve while the other crushed Teddy to her chest.
"As for running away…" Sunday hesitated. "This is against the rules because if you ran away by yourself, you could end up somewhere dangerous or get hurt. But if it happened, I wouldn't be mad at you. I would just be afraid, because nothing scares me more than the thought of losing you."
Sugar nodded, tears glimmering in her golden eyes. "I won't run away."
"And as for making friends, well, it looks like you've already made one, and I'm glad." Sunday nodded at Aventurine. "I want you to have lots of friends."
"That's right," Aventurine said, recognizing his cue. "We're officially friends now."
Those golden eyes widened to an almost comical degree. "Really?" Sugar asked.
"Really." Aventurine dished up a plate of eggs. They weren't his best work as he'd been a little distracted by the heartfelt conversation—and he was alarmed at how attractive he'd found Sunday in that moment—but it was hard to mess up scrambled eggs even if he'd simultaneously made the disturbing discovery that he found a wholesome father figure to be sexy as all hell.
"Okay." Sugar's smile was slight, but definitely present. "Thank you for breakfast, Mr. Churin Friend."
Sunday's smile was wider, warm with approval. "Yes, thank you Aventurine."
Aventurine left an hour later, mildly aroused by nothing more than Sunday's chaste goodbye kiss and feeling like the worst kind of scum for the plans he had in store for his Cornerstone, now freshly out of impound.