Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Muffled as it was by the wooden walls of the Per Aspera, the cacophony of Limbo’s ever shifting chaos echoed in VR-LA’s small room. The light coming through the porthole strobed with the fiery red of a dying sun one moment and flickering lightning the next. Sometimes water would ripple past, making the colours refract into strange shapes that danced across the shadowed forms of splintered furniture. VR-LA stood in the doorway, staring at his broken desk and chair. Once neatly stacked papers were torn and scattered, while a puddle of dark ink (or was it his oil blood?) had spilled across the floor. He watched the hazy reflection of firelight dance on it, before it abruptly vanished as stone obscured his window, casting the room into darkness. Eyes dim and shoulders slumped, he moved to his stasis corner. Glass and splintered wood crunched underfoot, but he paid it no mind as he put his back to the wall and slid to the floor.

Usually he’d stand when he went into stasis, allowing for his joints to lock as the rest of his body powered down. Tonight even that felt beyond him. His core framework ached and his outerplatting was littered with dents. He gave a self deprecating scoff. He’d been the one least hurt by the Inevitable. There was a sting in his chest as his gears shunted at the thought. They’d taken most of the damage for him, even Vhas who he barely knew had used his ward to take on some of VR-LA’s hurt. In the end they were victorious, he’d managed to argue the Inevitable into submission. But not before most of the damage was done. 

His head fell against the wall with a dull clank, and he stared at the lights flashing across the ceiling. The thunderous crashes from outside bounced around in his skull, the volume making his clockwork rattle. Steam curled through the air as he sighed, the muted grey painted in bruised purples and yellow by the light. The tension in his joints eased a little, and he was glad for his choice to sit down. Standing wouldn’t have given his battered mechanical muscles the chance to relax.

The past two days had been nonstop. From fighting a lich, to a wedding party, to saying goodbye to his old self and trying to say goodbye to MR-SN. Then Lula came. Cressida was in trouble. They’d found the nautiloids, Ione found them, Kyana tried to keep fighting and Dani stopped her, and they had just barely saved Cressida. Dani became captain, and as much as VR-LA was happy to call her as such, the staticky sting of grief and fear when he did was there all the same. Even then it hadn’t stopped, as the moment they had rested they were off again. They fought a kraken, an elderbrain, they stole a nautiloid. They named the nautiloid Steve. Mindflayer plans were uncovered, as was knowledge kept secret for over a thousand years. From before Karsus’s Folly. Knowledge forbidden under the governance of the former Mystra herself and sealed by a contract between her and Primus. An Inevitable. If he had not been so caught in trying not to die and arguing against it, he may have taken time to try and question the being, curious as it was. A being of utmost law. A contract incarnate, written words given form and power. It was fascinating, but the force of its unerringly accurate blows and the holes still punctured in his chest curbed his desire for any second chance at speaking with it.

To put it plainly, VR-LA was the most exhausted he’d been in almost his entire memory. On only a few occasions, his time adrift and suffering from the madness of Zuggtmoy, had he felt worse. It wasn’t the pain, nor even entirely his tiredness, but rather the weight of everything he had done and everything left to do. It settled over his mechanics like a layer of lead, making his gears grind slow and harsh. He shifted in place, hissing as oil trickled from the torn metal of his chest. Most of it had been healed through his own and Vhas’s magic, but still there were deep tears in the metal, some of which he could already tell would end up as golden scars.

As had become habit in times of stress, his hand fell to the comforting weight of the staff, retracted and holstered at his hip. The metal was cold to touch and hummed faintly in steady pulses. So very different from the raging chaos outside. He traced the grooves in its casing, the Weave twinned around it brushing across his fingertips. The threads were straight and orderly, golden geometric fractals that spiralled outwards into the twisted knots of Limbo. An anchor in the chaos.

VR-LA had never been able to figure out exactly when the tick of Mechanus and pull of Maxim’s magic had become such a comfort to him. From the moment he first entered the plane, first heard its unfaltering tempo, first felt clockwork magic thrumming throughout Maxim’s sanctum, his own whirring mechanics had steadied. Stablaised. But for all that it was indeed a new experience, the feeling had carried no uncertainty or suprise. Just a familiarity, a feeling of peace unmoored from any memory he had then possessed. If he were to try and guess, the Balhanoph seemed to point to the idea that this was an old feeling of safety. Older than the person he existed as now at the very least. But time nor amnesia had diminished it. Rather, with every visit he had felt the Clockwork Nirvana, and his former friend who dealt within it, bring him more and more comfort. It was a constant unchanging point in his otherwise turbulent and unpredictable life. 

Or at least, it had been.

Now he was about as far away from that feeling as he could possibly be. All the way at the opposite end of the Planescape from it. His hand fell from the staff to the sending stone strapped alongside it. The stone to Ione was rough hewn and slightly green in colour, but the one to Maxim was smooth and cold. He removed it from its pouch, watching the light make its golden brown surface shimmer as he turned it in his hand. It didn’t have the same Weave pattern as the staff, but as he concentrated on it he swore he could feel the perfect tapestry that was the magic of Mechanus on the other side. It was probably nothing but an idle fantasy, but it didn’t stop him from turning his focus on the stone in search of comfort. For a moment he considered activating it. He imagined Maxim’s voice sounding from the other side, the crackling bass cutting though the constant roar that proved inescapable in Limbo. But as fast as the thought came it left. 

Maxim had made the terms of their relationship clear. It was professional, distant, and certainly no place VR-LA should be demanding comfort from. Not when he had none to offer the sorcerer in return. The sharp ache of his guilt flared once more, the electricity from his powercore staticky in a way that made him feel slightly sick. Maxim had been firm in his rebuff of VR-LA’s offer of friendship, but not unkind or cruel. He gave a short laugh, wondering if the sting and sadness would have been easier to take if he had been. But in the end, the sorcerer had seemed just as hurt as him.

Never before had VR-LA heard Maxim’s voice break.

It was always steady, slightly rough, but calm and unflinchingly direct. But that day it had held the sound of grating metal and shuddering gears, like an engine stalling out. A machine breaking down.

You could try.

Rather than any fond memories or reassurance, it was those words which replayed in VR-LA’s mind. The one and only time he had ever heard Maxim plead. There had been no confidence, no dignity, nor hope in the words. Just desperation. VR-LA balled his hand into a fist, sending stone clenched tightly. Out of everything the sorcerer could ever ask of him, it was the one thing he was unable to give. The one way in which he was sure he would never, could never, change.

What a pointedly cruel twist of fate that was for both of them.

He sighed again, turning his gaze back to the ceiling, debating if a fitful stasis would help ease the ache in his body and heart. It probably would. Rest was, if not a cure, at least a balm for many ailments. But even as he closed his eyes to block out the flashing lights, his thoughts remained as turbulent as the chaos outside, circling through memories of Mechanus. They caught on the deal with Kinziru, when he had been a bottled up mess of anger, fear and guilt at using the wish and losing the ship. They caught on how easily talking with Maxim had cut through it. How the hours they’d whiled away in conversation of whatever took their fancy had eased his stress, and left him feeling truly well for the first time since the Zuggtmoy incident. Perhaps it was selfish of him to have taken something that had never been offered, but still he mourned the loss of such comfort, tainted with guilt as it now was.

With the stakes growing by the day and the constant race forward that showed no sign of stopping, he wished for little more than that time to decompress. To indulge in all those little luxuries he usually had to forgo. Like safety, relaxation, and comfort. He wouldn’t trade adventuring for anything, not even MR-SN, but more often than not he’d find himself wishing for more time to spend elsewhere. More time to simply exist without pressure.

But wishing for that in itself was an indulgence he likely didn’t have time for. Apparently, he had a Githzerai king, or something, to meet with tomorrow. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t something to be faced in his current state. He closed his eyes tighter, the four metal plates that made his eyelids grating together. Rather than letting himself fall into stasis naturally as he usually did, he directed his attention to manually shutting down his body, forcing stasis upon himself in a way he rarely had to. It was a skill he had learned during his time adrift. Where rest, no matter how forced, had always proved to be less painful than consciousness.

He turned the sending stone over in his hand a few more times before his joints stiffened and stasis began to overcome him. It hummed ever so slightly as it pulled gently upon the Weave. He could feel the threads falling between the fabric of worlds, reaching through the cracks in the cosmos, linking the stones. A direct line from one plane of existence to another, despite the vast cosmological distance between the two. It brought VR-LA no comfort. The absence of Maxim’s voice somehow managed to fill the cacophony of Limbo with solemn silence. But still, he resisted the urge to activate the stone, even as his mind grew clouded with stasis induced static.

It was for the best, he thought. At least in the silence he would not accidentally unearth any more hurt for his former friend. No chance for making another mistake, even if he wanted to try and mend things for both their sakes. There was a guilt which weighed heavy on him for not being able to be the kind of person Maxim so clearly needed. Someone capable of understanding people in a way VR-LA had never been able to. Someone soft, and patient, and not still plagued by the remnants of their own grief.

Someone safe.

VR-LA knew very well that had Dani not found him adrift, he’d be long lost to this world. He’d never wish that feeling, a solitary and inconsolable grief, upon anyone. A sigh escaped him before his body shut down. He hoped that, one day, Maxim would find the person he needed. Before it proved too late.

Chapter Text

Even through the thick metal and stone walls of Maxim’s sanctum, the relentless tick of Mechanus reverberated throughout the halls. It bounced off the cold uncarpeted floor and walls, doubling up on itself until it sounded like even the perfect clockwork that kept the universe in check was falling into disarray. It wasn’t, of course. However it did nothing to ease his own discordant mechanics.

The dancing lights in his workshop had dimmed to match the darkening environment outside, casting much of the room in shadow. What little light was still shed painted the heavy grey stonework in shades of rust, while the brass detailings reflected a dull gold. Maxim sat in an armchair, entirely unmoving. Made of gold and dressed in greys as he was, he appeared as little more than an extension of the building. Only his eyes, dim pinpricks of white light, stood out. His being slotted perfectly into sanctum, until at times it became hard for him to distinguish where the line between his personhood and home was drawn. It hardly mattered anymore, he thought, it wasn’t as though the two were ever going to be separated.

He should move to his chambers, but the effort of raising himself from the chair, let alone walking to the room, felt beyond him. Every piece of his machinery seemed leaden, weighing him down. So, he stayed there in the dark, eyes locked on the only point of contrast within the room. A palm sized blue stone, sitting inconspicuously on the tabletop. Most would probably mistake it for a paperweight, but even at this distance Maxim could feel the faint magical hum it emitted. It glittered with flecks of white crystal, like a shard of night sky, and the sight sent stinging electricity through his circuits.

For all his sanctum’s silence and emptiness, it had at the very least been devoid of ghosts. Up until now. But it had been why, when everything had gone wrong, when his old life was inhabited by nothing but hazy, bloody recollections, he had come here. To a place far removed from everything he had once fought for and loved. Untouched by the phantoms of his past. But now it was haunted by a ghost far more recent. By the memories of a chiming voice telling tales of adventure, thin silvery hands taking notes with a green feather pen, and glowing eyes made of gold glass. 

It was far too easy for Maxim to picture the wizard sitting opposite him, perched neatly on the edge of the lounge with a book in one hand and quill in the other. He’d write as he talked, not even needing to glance down at the page as he took notes on their topic of conversation. When he grew interested, he’d tilt his head in such a way that the light caught on the edges of his faceplate, edging it with a border of pale gold. Even when he wasn’t speaking, VR-LA’s mechanics audibly hummed. A soft buzz when he was nervous and a high whir when excited. But the only thing to be heard in the workshop that night was the discordant tick of Mechanus and Maxim’s mechanics. The lounge across from him was conspicuously empty, and the room devoid of silver or blue.

Well, not entirely.

Maxim stared at the sending stone to VR-LA, the hollow space in his chest gapping and raw. Like an old wound torn open anew. It had only been two days since they’d last spoken, but the silence had already turned all consuming in its absoluteness. No matter how many times he told himself it was for the better, that it would prevent him from becoming anymore attached, he couldn’t help but hope to hear it crackle to life. For VR-LA’s voice, its humming metallic chime, to sound from the other side. But it remained dormant, and Maxim wasn’t sure what else he was expecting. Barely any time had passed, and given the reinstatement of their professional relationship, VR-LA certainly was in no way beholden to maintain regular contact. It did nothing to stop his growing unease or the way the silence left him alone with nothing to distract from his thoughts.

He closed his eyes, the small white lights winking out, and let the gentle thrum of his sanctum’s walls bleed into him in a vain attempt to distract himself from the echoing tick. Rest would do him well. It would take him away from his worries and looping memories, both the old ones now unearthed and the recent ones he was trying to avoid.

Old painful memories always have a chance to be supplanted with better ones.

Though most of Maxim's face lack the ability to emote, his browns lowered reminiscent of a frown as the words replayed unbidden in his head. VR-LA had his back turned when he said them, standing on the boundary line of his sanctum, one step away from being beyond reach. He spoke quietly but his voice sounded clear and steady. The usual faint metallic fuzz it carried had been replaced by the bell-like chime of utter conviction. It felt like someone had torn his powercore from his chest, hearing him speak like that. Maxim thought he had learned not to believe in something just because someone else unconditionally did. Not to trust in someone just because they trusted in turn. It had only ever led him to ruin. Yet still, Maxim couldn’t help but for the briefest of moments believe him. But then the door to his sanctum slammed shut, like stone crashing down upon stone, and the sound echoed in his head. VR-LA disappeared beyond his reach, beyond safety. Just like it had with others in the past, any of the belief he had momentarily felt faded with his leaving.

There was nothing that could possibly displace the ache of his past, nothing that could ever overshadow his grief. There was no good strong enough to do so. The memory of VR-LA gleefully bartering with a devil, and the hours they’d spent in idle conversation afterward, flashed through his mind. At the very least, no good that was his to have. He sighed, steam hissing from vents in his body. Now they were left to fade and fester into hollow spectres, just like every other memory which had once brought him comfort. 

Maxim opened his eyes in an attempt to dispel his unrelenting thoughts, his half hearted attempt at falling into stasis thoroughly thwarted. The stone sat on the table, still and silent. Before he thought better of it he leaned forward, joints stiffened by his stillness creaking as he did, and took it in hand. It was heavier than it looked and felt far warmed than the rest of his sanctum. The tiny crystals scattered throughout it shimmered as he turned it. Unlike everything else in the room it wasn’t cast in a dull orange brown wash, but seemed to retain its colour perfectly. He passed his thumb over the smooth surface, imagining for a moment he could feel the sparking buzz of VR-LA’s magic coming through from the other side. But, besides its beauty, it remained dormant and uninteresting.

For a moment he considered activating it, letting it ring out until VR-LA picked up at the other end, hoping to hear a voice just as bright and pleasant as always. But he pushed down the urge the moment it came. He had no reason to call. No requests nor news. It would be unprofessional of him to instigate such a conversation, doubly so considering he was the one who established such boundaries. Despite that, he found himself more tempted to break his own rules than he had in years. He clenched his fist around it, hating the way it fit neatly into his palm, and gave a constant steady thrum.

Maxim had intended to keep the stone in his workshop, tucked away out of sight at the back of a shelf. But already he’d grown too accustomed to the comforting weight of it on his person. He’d taken to keeping it tucked inside his robes, separated from the metal of his chest by only a thin layer of fabric. Its gentle thrum permeated his mechanics, calming the too often stuttering gears. But as much as he enjoyed the comfort, it was but a small fragment of what he actually craved. What he couldn’t have. The one thing VR-LA couldn’t give him. Clinging to this remnant token of their friendship would only make the severance hurt more, he knew. But he carried it with him all the same, waiting for a call. A confirmation of his safety he doubted would come.

Sitting back in his chair, he took the stone in both hands, staring into its false night sky like he may be able to look through it and catch a glimpse of the Per Aspera adrift on the Astral Sea. He couldn’t, of course, and he had no idea if VR-LA was even on the Astral Sea. He could be anywhere. Maxim’s gears caught with a painful scrape as thoughts of every horrible plane VR-LA could be on flashed through his mind. Hell itself, with its infernal legions and manipulative niceties. Acheron, where the bloodlust of eternal war could see friends turned into foes. Or gods forbid, the Abyss, home of the worst creatures Maxim had ever been forced to face. He clasped his hands together, the stone nestled between his palms. He was not one to pray often, or ever, but he offered a silent prayer to any merciful being that may be listening, that VR-LA was anywhere but there.

For a while, he sat like that unmoving, not expecting for anything to break the silence but waiting all the same. Nothing changed, and Mechanus ticked ever onward. He had felt that sound echo within himself from the very first moment he was awoken, and its unchanging rhythm had followed him ever since. It had always been a comfort to him, especially when he had found himself far from home. But those were the days when he was young, and his gears still ticked along with it in perfect synchronisation. Those days were long behind him, and now it was nothing but a disjointed harmony. Off key and kilter. After over a decade of unending ticking and turning the sound was beginning to wear at his ever thinning nerves. He had found ways to hide from the sound, or drown it out. Usually he sequestered himself in his demiplane, which worked well enough. But nothing had ever been as effective as VR-LA. The wizard had by no means stopped the noise, but rather provided the harsh metronome with accompaniment. A melody. His presence pulled Maxim’s discordant mechanics into line, gave him something to follow, to anchor himself to. 

Now, it was gone. As per his request.

Maxim lowered his hands to his lap, and the tension in his posture drained away until he was slumped in his chair. He opened his hands, the deep blue of the sending stone peaking out at him. The hole within his chest ached, its ragged edges tearing further with each passing second. Each passing tick. 

It was like that, sitting slumped in the armchair across from where VR-LA had usually sat, that stasis finally overtook him. The emptiness and ache he felt permeating every part of his being turned to hazy, numbing static. His limbs began to lock into place. In the morning he’d regret resting in such a position, but he had no wish to disrupt it now, given the increasing difficulty he was having at falling into stasis. He closed his eyes so as not to continue staring at the stone in his sleep.

Wherever VR-LA was, on the other side of the sending stone, Maxim hoped he was safe. He’d long since determined that hope was useless and impractical, but there was little else he could do now. The wizard was beyond his reach. He’d let him go. Asked him to go. And once again Maxim was alone. His thoughts turned fuzzy, and stasis’s numbing quality provided him with much needed relief. Before he fell away from the waking world entirely, VR-LA’s parting words echoed in his mind. With all the vain and desperate hope that he wished he may be safe, Maxim hoped that maybe, just maybe, they were true.