splinteredstar | Fic: Precipice

A fic i promised a follower an... appallingly long time ago. ‘sbeen a long year.

Shout outs: @saintarchie for the original idea, the title, on-the-spot Space Facts, endless encouragement and generally being the best Partner in Crime a writer could ask for; @nenya85 for encouragement, assistance and editing; and everyone else who’s listened to me whinge about this for ages.

Pregame by about 10 years. Technically Platinum, though that’s not relevant for this one. Features extensive headcanon work off screen and characters that look like OCs but aren’t.

Warnings: Alcohol, mentions of parental abuse, oblique references to self harm, terrible relationship dynamics.

In which there are drunk teenagers and life lessons are learned. (Unfortunately, they are the wrong lessons.)

Cyrus settled onto his normal spot on the cliffs surrounding Sunnyshore. His parents had some Event or another to attend, one of the few that did not require an appearance by their genius son, and had left him alone. He was ahead on all of schoolwork after, so as soon as he’d disabled the security system on the house, he’d snuck out of the elegantly decorated prison and came here.

He leaned back against a rock, his Zubat flittering around his head, and stared up at the infinity of space. He found a sort of peace, sometimes, in tracing the edges of the galaxy and tracking the movement of planets. Space was logical in a way that humanity wasn’t, the rules clear and agreed upon. This spot on the cliffs, away from the glares of the city lights and his father, had become a sort of private refuge, a world of his own creation.

Now, however….

"Hey!" He looked down from the sky, unsurprised at the interruption. Amber's grin was as bright as her flashlight, and her backpack jangled heavily as she sat down next to him. He raised his eyebrows at the noise. She just winked. "Sorry I'm late. My /brother/," The word dripped with venom, "is back from his trip, and everyone's celebrating and spending 'quality time' and just, ug." She rolled her eyes. "Took me a while to escape."

He shrugged, accepting her explanation. He had not been waiting for her. It was merely coincidence that /his/ spot on the cliffs was also /her/ spot on the cliffs, and as for why he hadn't found a less-occupied one, well.

Amber shut off her flashlight and stretched her arms out above her head for a moment. Cyrus looked up, waiting for his eyes to readjust to the dim light and listening to her fingertips beat a rhythm out on the rocks. Her brother, a prodigy gym leader whose effortless success grated on Amber every time she saw him, was home. But she was not angry, her energy all positive. Hm. His thoughts returned to the noise from her backpack.

"You're planning something." He said, glancing over at her long enough to see her smirk, before returning to tracking down Andromeda. "What did you steal?" His tone held no judgement and only a faint note of curiosity.

"Snacks!" She pulled her backpack into her lap, opening it and pulling out wrapped eggrolls and rice balls. She dropped rice balls into his lap before working on unwrapping one for herself. "Hey, shoo, you flying rat." She waved a hand to discourage a curious Zubat. He looked down at the rice balls and then over to her for a long moment, before unwrapping one in silence.

It wasn't something they had ever talked about out loud, and he wasn't entirely certain how she had figured it out. There was clearly some tell he hadn't caught, some hint that only she had noticed or acknowledged. Regardless of how she knew, it was a pattern now - he had received a test grade this week, and so she brought him food without being asked.

If she had hinted, he would have ignored it. If she had ever confronted him or asked him outright, 'did they let you eat this week?', he would have, at best, never spoken to her again. But she didn't – she brought it without comment and he accepted it without comment. It was a resource, and a transaction: she would bring him food and information, and for payment he would spend time with her and listen to her. Getting food and other resources from her required a lower investment of time and energy than from his parents, and so maintaining the association made sense. He did not understand her terms or her required payment, but acknowledged that the deal was valuable to him.

Cyrus investigated the first rice ball: filled with fish. His Zubat perched lightly in his hair, despite being a bit too big for it now, and chirped eagerly. He sighed and then tossed the rice ball into the air. Zubat trilled and leapt for it, catching it midair. Amber snorted beside him - he ignored it, having never understood her dislike of his Zubat, and began in on a rice ball for himself.

Amber hummed happily around her own snack, one hand tapping out a rhythm on the rocks and the other holding a rice ball. She was always in motion, cracking her knuckles or tapping her feet or pacing or gesturing, a crackling flame. Her rage was terrible, though rarely directed at him – her smiles made less sense, an offer he did not know the terms of.

The deal had been struck by her - Amber had approached him first, two years younger than he was and braver than any in his class. It had something to do with her brother’s association with Volkner, spite and anger like much of what she did – then she had remained, and proved herself useful enough for Cyrus to invest in the association.

"What else did you steal?" He asked, holding up an egg roll in one hand. His Zubat sniffed at it and then trilled disdainfully, so Cyrus set it back down again. Amber raised her eyebrows in faux-innocence, her mouth full and smirking. Cyrus' expression didn't flicker. "I heard metal when you set your pack down."

Amber swallowed, winking. His did not frown, but it was a near thing. She knew full well his opinion on unknown variables. She pulled her backpack into her lap and unzipped it to pull out -

"Beer?" He stared at the cans, incredulous. It glinted dimly in the faint light, the label hard to read but still identifiable. "You stole alcohol? Why?"

Cyrus had never understood the point of alcohol. His parents served imported wine at social functions, and Cyrus had often witnessed professionals making fools of themselves and blaming the drink. And they did this willingly, as if losing control was something to be chased after.

Perhaps the drink was an excuse for their actions, a polite fiction people used to hide reality just like “we love you” or “we’re proud of you.”

Amber only grinned at him, showing off her chipped front tooth, and tugged out a second can from the depths of her backpack. She held it out to him with a smirk, challenge in the twist of her mouth.

“Because my parents would hate it, duh. And yours would too, so come on.”

She shoved the can into his lap before he could react. Zubat trilled at her in annoyance from its perch on Cyrus’ shoulder. He blinked at the can, not opening it as Amber did her own. It was warm, he noted absently, and bore a brand name he didn’t recognize.

He turned the can over in his hands and turned her suggestion over in his head. Rebellion, for its own sake; angering others for no reason other than to cause anger. It seemed – illogical at best, and a waste of effort. Why intentionally attract negative attention, when the only result was punishment? He supposed there was some value in hidden rebellion, if only to test his own skill at avoiding detection – he figured out how to disarm the security system on the house for a reason – but there were far better ways to test that.

Amber took a long drink and sputtered, sticking her tongue out with a laugh. Cyrus raised his eyebrows at the sound and tilted the can again. He paused, weighing the other side of the issue. It could be valuable, perhaps, to test the true effects of alcohol now, in a setting under his control. Maintaining Amber’s association was important as well – she had proven herself valuable, and agreeing to her plans would strengthen the association. He narrowed his eyes down at the can, and nodded.

He tilted the can right side up, and popped the tab. Next to him, Amber cheered and then apparently tried to drink half the can at once. She sputtered again, laughing and wiping dripped beer off her chin. Cyrus sniffed at the open can and then recoiled. It smelled… sour. He glanced over at Amber, who was still sputtering and laughing. “…does it taste better than it smells?”

“Nope!” Amber grinned with her chipped teeth and took another drink, without sputtering this time. “Come on, Cy, no one drinks this stuff for the /taste/.”

“Don’t call me ‘Cy’.” He said, reflexively. The instruction hadn’t stuck yet, but he was unwilling to use more severe methods to teach her. It was an acceptable irritation for the relationship. He sniffed at the can again and let out a breath. Research, he thought, and took a drink. He did not sputter as she did, but only just.

He swallowed very deliberately. “….it tastes like I’m trying to drink bread.”

Amber snickered into her beer. “You get used to it,” she said, and indeed, she was sipping at her drink easily now. She crossed her arms over her knees, with her beer in one hand, and leaned against the rock to look up at the stars. They were brighter here than anywhere else in the city. “You were telling me about spectrographs, last time, right?”

Cyrus took another sip of the beer. Surprisingly, it went down easier this time. “I was.” He’d found that repetition, and the act of explaining helped him understand theoretical concepts. Amber was always willing to listen to whatever he wanted to talk about, and sometimes asked questions leading to new angles of analysis. The vast difference in their knowledge levels sometimes frustrated him, but it gave him practice in adjusting his language and dealing with those less expert than he. Tiring, but necessary. “Now, spectrographs function because of atomic energy levels….”

Cyrus slowly worked Amber through atomic structure, such as he could with her knowledge base. He found that the explanation was easier than he’d expected, analogies coming easier. She passed him another can of beer and he opened it and began drinking without a second thought. When she understood the idea she gestured with her hand in celebration, beer splashing out of the can and onto the rocks. Zubat perched on his leg and licked at a puddle of spilled beer and then jerked back, fluttering and chirping in annoyance.

Amber laughed, loud enough to echo over the distant swell of the waves below them. Cyrus shook his head and gestured to his Zubat to settle down. It did, on his head, but he found that he minded less than usual. Amber continued to giggle into the sleeve of her torn sweatshirt. His parents would never approve of them meeting outside of school. They only tolerated it within school because Cyrus tutored her in math and science, and tutoring even the black sheep of a family like Amber’s was impressive enough that it pleased his father.

They would be furious, he thought as he finished the can of beer and took a third without prompting, if they knew that Cyrus saw her out of class, had her number encrypted on his phone – if they knew that they were out on the cliffs drinking stolen beer. They would hate it, but they were never going to know, and had no power to stop it.

The thought settled warmly in his stomach with the tingle of alcohol, and he smirked before he could stop himself. Perhaps there was something in this – in breaking rules to prove they are breakable. So many people let themselves be controlled, out of obligation and expectations and /emotion/.

Amber looked up from her giggling and blinked at him, her expression shifting to something softer and unfamiliar. He raised his eyebrows at her.

“…what?”

She shook her head, her expression returning to a familiar grin as she looked up at the sky. “Nothing. Do you think we can see any planets out tonight?” Her bright eyes scanned every visible point of light. Before he could remember what would be in the sky at time of night – how late was it, anyway? – and in this season, she continued. “I wanna find Mars! That one’s my favorite.” Her smile turned vicious. “The bringer of War.”

Cyrus snorted and narrowed his eyes up at the sky. He realized he wasn’t sure what was visible right now, and frowned. He should know that. Didn’t he know that? “If you start talking about Astrology, I will push you off of this cliff.”

Amber rolled her eyes, still smiling. “It’s mythology, not astrology.” He glared at her, unamused at the claim to distinction. “Hey, mythology’s important! You know– those researchers, in Kanto – they found one of those,” she waved a hand, but he knew what she referred to regardless. “After lookin’ through the stories. You never know what stories will turn out to be true in the end.”

Cyrus swept out a hand, an unusually grandiose gesture. He narrowed his eyes at his hand for a moment and then shook his head. Everything was – unsteady, all of a sudden, as if inertia shifted slightly. He swallowed and tried to remember what he was about to say. Ah yes.

“Science,” He said very carefully, making sure that she was listening, “Should not waste its time tracking down every… fairy tale that civilization has created.” His words, despite his care, were coming slower than he wanted them to. “We cannot allow – emotion to… distract us.”

Amber stared at him for a long moment, and he thought, perhaps, she believed him. She had always been his one ally, and perhaps –

She burst into giggles once more, and something cold and sharp dropped down Cyrus’ spine.

“You’re –“ She broke into more giggling. “You’re /so/ drunk, Cy, oh my god, are you even listening to yourself?”

He stared at her, blinking – which only made her laugh harder, leaning against a rock. The sound bounced inside of his head, knocking things loose he thought long restrained. Heat flooded his face and with it, humiliation and anger and the sudden certainty that he was simply a /joke/ to her –

-he felt, and he /hated/ it, and he suddenly he couldn’t stop. He’d always been able to stop feeling before. The rage fed into itself, and she was still laughing-

He stood, a little bit unsteady on his feet. He hadn’t noticed how shaky his limbs were until he tried to stand. Her giggles got louder at his swaying, even as he as he turned to leave. She didn’t stop laughing until he was half way up the coast, away from the cliffs, with his Zubat chirping in alarm behind him.

Cyrus snuck back into his house before his parents returned, and showered until he no longer smelled of alcohol, until the water ran cold and his hands started to shake. The next day was spent fighting down vomit and taking notes with bleary eyes. It was not the first time.

He avoided Amber in school, canceled their tutoring sessions, and did not return to the cliffs for weeks. The association was no longer valuable, no longer viable, and he heard her echoing laughter in his head whenever his phone displayed her number.

He did not answer the first time she called, or any time after. Voice mail messages were deleted unheard.

Instead, evenings were spent studying: business, politics, engineering, physics. Nights were spent developing code and building circuits until he was too tired to think any longer. He tried to strip the feelings out of his mind, the sound of her giggling laughter, the taste of alcohol on his tongue and vomit in the back of his throat. He had been operating under the wrong assumptions, working with incorrect equations. He would have to find better ones, and then the problem would work out the way it should.

But emotion clogged in his synapses, lingering under every thought like a bruise. It was a loose wire in his mind - sometimes he would be half way through a thought and he would remember and everything would short out. He would remember her laughter and the shuddering realization that he was a /joke/ to her –

He growled to himself, ripping wires out of a half completed robot one night. What did it matter if she laughed at him? He had been laughed at before, serious-Cyrus with his nose in a book, and it had never /mattered/ like this –

He flung the wire away from him and dropped his pliers on the table next to the robot. His left wrist ached and he rubbed at it, almost unconsciously. Zubat fluttered above his head, chirping in concern - he glowered at it, letting go of his wrist to wave it away, because he wasn’t going to –

He took a deep breath, and then another. He did not grip at his wrist again. Instead, he very deliberately picked up the pliers up again and pulled another wire out of the robot. The wires he’d initially used were not insulated enough, and had melted delicate joints. Damaged parts must be replaced – unsuitable materials thrown away.

The physical actions helped ground the sparking cables in his mind, enough for him to think clearly again. Amber laughing at him mattered, in a way that laughter normally did not. He pulled out another wire out of the robot, pulled more answers out of his own mind. It mattered, because she mattered. He had opened himself up to happiness, and so he opened himself up to pain.

He had allowed her, and her opinions, to matter to him. He should have known what would happen.

His phone buzzed again. He ignored it. Zubat trilled, alarmed at something, and tugged at his hair. Cyrus jerked his head up, glaring -

-and saw his window.

In the dim glow of the house lighting, Amber was a smear of tension and clenched fists. Red hair, red eyes, red face – Cyrus could identify each part of her, but was unable to assemble it into any meaningful picture. Something thick and bulky was shoved into the side pocket of her cargo pants, making the fabric stretch. She brushed messy bangs out of her eyes, and he could see fresh scabs on her knuckles.

Amber met his eyes for a long moment, and knocked lightly on the window.

Zubat perched on his shoulder, fangs bared. Cyrus stared at her red-rimmed eyes and considered ignoring her. The security system would pick her up soon - she would be arrested for trespassing, and he would never have to deal with her again. Unless - she betrayed him, revealed what secrets she had coaxed out of him to the police. His left hand twitched – he disabled this section of the security system, and opened his window.

Amber opened her mouth, and then closed it again, wiping at her eyes. Cyrus crossed his arms and waited.

"Look, Cy," She started, her voice thick and ugly with emotion. "I fucked up, I know I fucked up, I'm sorry Cy, I," She trailed off, wiping at her face once more, and Cyrus did not understand. He reacted out of instinct to the one portion he recognized.

“Don’t call me Cy.”

Amber snorted, one hand covering her mouth. "Right." She dragged a hand through her hair and messed it up further, strands catching on the scabs on her knuckles. "Cyrus, I fucked up, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it. I, fuck I had this whole speech planned, too..." She pulled something out of her side pocket and held it out to him. “Look, just fucking take it.”

He took the package with narrowed eyes, still not entirely certain why she was here. On the cliffs she had laughed at him, used him as entertainment, and he had refused. But this was no response he was familiar with. His classmates would demand that he “learn to take a joke”; his father would not acknowledge that Cyrus objected at all.

Amber had provided him service and support, and he had repaid it with his company and instruction. He offered her nothing that she could not get elsewhere. Leaving that night should have dissolved the association – ignoring her afterwards would have definitely done so. And yet she persisted in trying to contact him, and now this.

He tugged a spare screwdriver out of his pocket and slit open the package. Inside was a graphics card that would fit his personal computer, and a new hard drive. He turned the graphics card over in his hand, mentally calculating the approximate cost compared to her normal supply of money.

She must have saved it up. Or stolen money. Or something.

She started babbling in his long silence and he glanced up at her. "I mean, I know you're pissed, and you've got every right to be pissed." She scratched at her arms, picking at one of the scabs on her knuckles. "I just, you're my best friend," illogical, too vague a word, what did it /mean/, "and I want - to hang out with you again, and for you to not hate me, and for us to be okay. I'm not – I mean, that's all stuff you could have gotten for yourself, but..."

Cyrus looked back down at the graphics card. He still wasn’t sure what she gained out of their association, but it was valuable to her; valuable enough that she would do this much to maintain it. She was willing to pay a higher cost for his company that he had previously realized – higher than he was willing to pay for hers.

Perhaps there was some benefit to maintaining this association, after all.

He looked up at her, her red rimmed eyes and bitten lips, fidgeting where she stood and tugging on her sleeves. The transaction was pending; her offer was on the table and he could accept or deny.

“…Don’t do it again.” He finally said, tucking the screwdriver back into his pocket.

She swallowed and nodded several times. One of the scabs on her knuckles had been picked off and was bleeding freely. “I won’t, I promise, I – yeah.” She let out a breath. “I – should bolt, before your asshole dad sees me, but,” she smiled tremulous and flickering, “See you this weekend?”

He should demand more of her, feel out the edges of this new set of rules and find the limits of what she was willing to do for him. Instead, he inclined his head.

“I will… consider it.”

Amber’s smile grew a little stronger and she nodded, glancing around her before ducking away from the window. Cyrus closed it behind her, and spent several hours of the night installing the new graphics card in his computer, Zubat flapping slowly overhead.

That weekend when she reached the cliffs, he was there waiting for her.