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The only good thing about campaigns on the outer edges of the galaxy, as far as the custodian was concerned, was that they left him with unusual amounts of free time. Even the admittedly overengineered bodies of the Adeptus Custodes could only train for so many hours in a day and still remain combat ready. Most of his brother custodians were either senior enough to have other duties to fill their time or complained incessantly about boredom. The custodian put forth his fair share of complaints - it would look odd if he didn’t - but he relished being able to steal an hour or two to himself most days.
The custodian found more enjoyment in these hours than he did on most campaigns, for the simple, selfish reason that they were traveling with the Thousand Sons. More specifically, they were traveling with their libraries, and thanks to their close coordination with the Emperor, it was simple enough to access them. When the Emperor (or any of his subordinates fortunate enough to be housed on the Imperium’s flagship) was in tactical meetings with their primarch, the distance between their ships would often be spanned by a physical bridge so as to minimize the energy spent on teleporting personnel from one ship to another. This made it not just possible, but almost worryingly easy for him to sneak onto the Photep.
The library was no harder to enter. Even dressed as an ordinary (if somewhat tall) imperial official, he was able to pass its intimidating doors with only a single, narrow-eyed glare from the appointed guard at the entrance. The custodian had been sneaking into repositories of knowledge almost since he had been decanted, he knew that a simple disguise and an air of confidence was enough to get him almost anywhere. But he’d been getting caught at it for just as long, and it took some time not to be on high alert for any sign of his brothers.
Three days in, he was almost able to walk through the doors without a surge of combat hormones. He’d found a corner hidden from all entrances by tall bookcases, and as far as he could tell, he was the only person to walk through its doors while there were strategic talks to be observed. It was there, totally distracted by the book in his hands, that he was finally discovered.
“You’re in my chair,” a man said, his voice nasal and higher pitched than any of the custodian’s brothers. He also sounded totally incredulous, like he had never before had anyone sit in a spot his ass had touched. The custodian looked up, and found someone that looked- normal. And not special in any way. Definitely not worth paying attention to.
“I don’t see your name on it,” he responded, and turned his eyes back to the book. Whoever-it-was spluttered, clearly unused to backtalk. the custodian tried not to grin.
As one of the Adeptus Custodes, he technically outranked all but two people on this ship, both of whom he would have recognized on sight. So there was no reason not to take this guy’s ego down a notch or two. Even if he did manage to figure out who the custodian’s superior officers were, he probably wouldn’t have the balls to report him.
“How dare- get out of my chair.” The other guy was clearly trying to sound dignified, his arms crossed over his chest even as he puffed up with anger.
“You know, I don’t think I want to.” The custodian turned a page, with as much insolence as he could manage.
What’s-his-face stepped closer, frown growing ever more thunderous. “I don’t have time for this. Get out, or I will evict you.”
That didn’t even merit a response. The custodian was at the low end of his generational curve in terms of combat ability, but if he could be beaten by anyone less than a fully fledged space marine he wouldn’t have been decanted in the first place. This guy certainly wasn’t a marine, he was way too normal looking.
He was stronger than he looked, though. It actually took effort to bat away his first grab - for the legs if the custodian had to make a guess. The second strike was just as forceful - it didn’t land, but the effort of deflecting it put them both off balance. The custodian was closer to sliding off the armless chair than he would have liked, the other man was tipping forward, his hand outstretched for balance.
With the sudden clarity of combat hormones, the custodian saw that he’d made a mistake. The other man was further off balance than he was, a quick kick to the stomach would put him on the floor. But he wouldn’t be able to make that move before the man’s hand hit the book half-cradled to his chest, ripping it almost exactly in half.
This was what he got for not thinking, the custodian thought sourly, and let himself tip backwards over the edge of the chair. He curled up to avoid hitting his head, though not enough to recover with a roll. It would have bent the book, and it wasn’t like he had much dignity left after getting beaten by an unenhanced human.
He lay there for a moment, hearing the echoes of every lecture he’d ever gotten for failing a combat exercise, his legs still splayed over the chair. He expected a triumphant shove to come any second now, and some richly deserved gloating.
Instead, the other man awkwardly cleared his throat. The custodian looked up, and saw an outstretched hand, and a sheepish expression the other man most certainly hadn’t earned.
“I, ah, feel I must offer you an apology.” That was surprising enough that the custodian took his hand on reflex, letting the man bodily haul him off the floor and back into the chair. “I ought to have been more careful of the book.”
“Oh,” The custodian said, dumbly.
“That’s a first edition Alfabusa,” he said, with visible pride, reaching out to brush a finger along the edge of the cover. “Eight thousand years old. You can’t imagine how much it took to restore it to readability.”
The custodian glanced down at the book in his hands, then back up at the other man. “Are you the curator of this library?”
“I- yes. You can call me Magnus.” It made sense that he’d have his own chair, by the sound of things, he’d put enough effort in to earn it. Suddenly, the custodian felt like a bit of a jerk.
Magnus gave him an expectant look, and the custodian suddenly realized that he was looking for a name. He couldn’t - even if he had managed anything great enough to be named for in previous campaigns, it’d be a dead giveaway that he was one of the Adeptus Custodes.
“You-” he hesitated. “You can call me Companion.”
Why not claim the title he’d always aspired to? It wasn’t as though an ordinary librarian would understand the significance of the name.
Just his luck though, that only made Magnus’ gaze sharper, more interested.
“Very well, companion,” he said, the word clearly a title rather than a name, “I have a question: what are you doing in my library?”
“Uhhh,” the custodian, through a heroic effort of willpower, managed not to immediately blurt out that he was sneaking away from his actual job to read. If Magnus ever realized that he was one of the Adeptus Custodes, his luck was terrible enough that he just knew word would get back to the Bucephalus and he’d have to answer about a thousand truly awkward questions from the Captain General. “I’m. I’m an assistant librarian. Back on my own ship.”
It was an awful lie, he knew it even as the words left his mouth. But Magnus, by some miracle, didn’t look skeptical. Instead, his sharp-eyed gaze was considering.
“Really?” Magnus sounded more intrigued than doubtful. “Do you help with the collections there?”
“Uhh,” said the custodian, “yes. Yes I do. I look for new material.”
This was almost not a lie. The custodian was searching for new things to read, almost constantly. It had taken him several centuries of reading (and rereading) to have every single book aboard the Bucephalus memorized, and several decades of moping thereafter to realize that there were books that hadn’t made it into Bucephalus’ (admittedly extensive) catalog.
Since that day, the custodian had spent every waking hour he wasn’t training or on duty looking for new things to read. Well, that or getting caught sneaking around and being punished for behavior unbecoming of one of the Emperor’s finest. At least they hadn’t discovered what he was doing. The custodian wasn’t sure what the Captain General would do with a custodian that snuck out to look for new reading material. He wasn’t sure any other custodian had tried.
“You must be very well read, then,” Magnus commented. “What do you think of my collection?”
“Well,” the custodian said, “obviously the Thousand Sons have the most extensive library of any of the legions. Not that any of the other legions are trying. Still, it’s impressive. This library has some books you can’t even find on the Emperor’s flagship! I’m particularly fond of the Spiderman comics.”
This, it seemed, was the right thing to say. Magnus brightened, practically sparkling with excitement.
“Have you seen the first edition Old-Terran copy of Spiderman #1200 we have in the archives?”
“I have not,” the custodian admitted. “I’ve mostly been looking at your Imperial Spiderman reboot comics. They’ve been hard to find since they were declared heretical in 875.M30.”
“I know,” Magnus muttered, “I still haven’t managed to find the 21st volume. Come, Companion, you really must see my collection. The archives have treasures beyond your wildest imaginings.”
The custodian doubted that - he’d done a lot of imagining since he was decanted. He was still tempted to see what the Thousand Sons had on offer - he hadn’t been in the archives before, not wanting to admit his rank to get access. Some thread of caution made him glance at the clock before he agreed.
“Shit!” The custodian exclaimed, scrambling to his feet. It was almost midnight. He had barely a quarter of an hour to get back aboard the Bucephalus. “I’m sorry, I have to get back - can you reshelf this for me?”
He held out the book to Magnus, who accepted it with a bemused expression. “Will you be returning?” the librarian asked.
“If I can,” the custodian said over his shoulder, already halfway down the aisle. “Goodbye, Magnus!”
-
There was a hard deadline on the custodian’s return, because tonight the Emperor was hosting the primarch of the XV legion for a formal banquet. It was the custodian’s rotation on guard duty, an assignment he had always privately dreaded. Most of the primarchs paid no more attention to the Custodes than the doors they guarded, but Magnus the Red had always looked more keenly than the rest of his brothers. Another custodian might not have noticed or cared, but this custodian had always known that he was somehow - different.
He would argue that different didn’t mean less effective. But - well, that was part of the problem. Custodes weren’t exactly supposed to argue. If anyone was going to notice him and report it, it would be the most powerful telepath in the galaxy, barring the Emperor himself. The custodian had, therefore, spent every previous moment in the fifteenth primarch’s company suppressing panic and trying to think inconspicuous thoughts.
This strategy had served him well, the fifteenth primarch had never paid particular attention to him before, but tonight, it failed him.
Magnus the Red had come into the hall with his eye already scanning the crowd, as though searching for something. The custodian had tried to stand as still and inanimate as the piece of statuary next to him, hoping that the Cyclops' eye would pass over him as it had before. But as soon as the primarch's head turned in his direction, Magnus the Red started to move.
At first, the custodian wasn’t concerned. The primarch didn’t seem to be moving with purpose. He was sort of ambling from table to table, pausing to speak with his father or one of the Thousand Sons in his entourage.
But, the custodian noticed, Magnus the Red’s meandering path was drawing him slowly, inexorably closer to the humble balcony door the custodian was guarding.
The custodian tried to shrink in his armor, to look exactly like Neros, guarding the door on its other side. Relax, he told himself, there’s no reason he would be here for you. All you need to do is - ohshit he’s looking at me.
Panic, adrenaline, combat hormones flooded the custodian’s blood as the fifteenth primarch made paralyzing eye contact with him. For a frozen half second, all he could feel was the terror of what might happen if Magnus the Red figured him out.
Then, the primarch turned on his heel, and walked away.
The custodian sagged with relief, and then signaled Neros that there was no danger when his brother sent him a questioning ping.
Across the hall, Magnus the Red had the heel of his hand pressed to his forehead. When his first captain, Ahriman, asked if there was something wrong, he shook his head.
“Only a miscalculation,” the primarch said, “it is nothing to be concerned over.”
-
“I don’t know,” said Magnus, meditatively flopped over his chair, “sometimes I feel like my brothers don’t truly respect me. Like they think I’m the weakest of them, and they’re only waiting until I’m not around to discuss it.”
The custodian, browsing the books to Magnus’ left, barely suppressed a snort.
“What?” Magnus asked, crabbily.
“Believe me,” the custodian said, “if your brothers thought they could get away with it, they’d have knocked you down a peg or two by now.”
“You sound...very sure about that.” The custodian could feel Magnus’ eyes on the back of his head, intent.
“Oh, I am,” the custodian turned around and grinned at Magnus’ nonplussed expression. The man was very definitely not used to people talking back to him. “I’m speaking from experience when I say that being weaker than your brothers teaches way more humility than you’ve got.”
“That,” Magnus said, still nonplussed, “does not sound like a compliment.”
“It was not one,” the custodian agreed. “I was insulting you, actually.”
Magnus spluttered, and the custodian kindly declined to laugh at him.
“Well,” Magnus huffed. “Maybe they just don’t like me.”
“Maybe,” the custodian agreed.
“You’re supposed to reassure me, companion,” Magnus muttered.
“You’re an ass, Magnus,” the custodian said, companionably. Genuine hurt flashed across Magnus’ face, and the custodian, feeling slightly regretful, reached out, setting his hand on Magnus’ forearm. “And I can’t speak for your brothers, but I like you just fine.”
“Even though I’m an ass?” Magnus raised a skeptical brow.
“Because you’re an ass, actually,” the custoidan said. “All of my brothers are en- well, pretty much made to be perfect conversationalists. They’re all humble and polite and continuously courteous, and they only ever complain about the same things.”
“That sounds-“ Magnus was frowning at him.
“Boring as fuck?” the custodian asked.
“Pretty much,” Magnus replied.
“Well, it is,” the custodian said. “None of them are assholes. That’s what I’m saying, Magnus. You’re enough of an asshole to be worth talking to.”
That, the custodian was pleased to note, surprised a laugh out of Magnus. The smile that spread across the other man’s plain face was beautiful, bright as sunlight across the void of space.
It made the custodian’s heart skip a beat.
“For what it’s worth, companion,” Magnus said, his tone warm, “I like talking with you too.”
-
That night, the custodian had to leave early as well, though not before Magnus showed him his archive of Spiderman comics. It was the second night of the party, and just like the first, the custodian was on guard duty.
It would be a shame, the custodian thought, to finish this engagement and never see Magnus again. Magnus the librarian, he thought, as Magnus the Red was currently holding court with his sons on the far side of the Bucephalus’ massive ballroom. The custodian would certainly meet the Emperor’s son again, although it could be some centuries. More time than a mortal librarian had, the custodian suspected.
It must be odd, having the same name as the primarch whose ship you served on. The custodian mentally shrugged, and put it out of his mind. Primarch Magnus, Magnus the Red, was heading towards the dance floor and one of the custodian’s batchmates, Custodisi, was on an intercept course. Gossip in the barracks was that Custodisi was looking for a little more than a dance, and the smart money was on the Emperor smiting him down to his auramite boots for trying. The custodian was certain that live footage of whatever fate met Custodisi would go for more than a few shift swaps in the barracks, and had his helmet cam primed, ready, and aimed in the general direction of that disaster.
Unfortunately for the custodian’s more sensationalist (or was it more bored?) brothers, Magnus the Red accepted Custodisi’s request, at least for the duration of a single, stilted dance. Then, the primarch brushed him off, rather brusquely too, if Custodisi’s body language was anything to go by, and sent a searching glance around the room.
The custodian was probably imagining it, but it seemed as though Magnus the Red’s eye lingered slightly longer on his corner of the room than the rest. The custodian, knowing full well that he could agonize about this for the rest of the millennia in his existence, decided to put it from his hand.
The more pressing question, one the custodian chose to contemplate while idly watching the party for signs of trouble that would likely never come, was how he was going to say goodbye to his Magnus. The few hours he could snatch away the following evening would likely be the last time they’d see each other - probably ever. They’d known each other for a scant few hours, little more than an eyeblink for one of the Emperor’s own. But - in spite of that, or maybe because of it - the custodian still thought he would miss him.
-
The following evening, it seemed like the universe itself was conspiring to keep the custodian from meeting his friend. The Sheild-Captain ordered an inspection of their bunks, which would have had no consequences for the custodian if Whammudes hadn’t chosen this week to attempt to hide his pornography instead of shredding it and buying more. Thus, the custodian was stuck in the barracks for the thirty-minute dressing down. Then, the Thousand Sons decided to do some sort of military drill squarely in the middle of the bridge between ships, delaying the custodian another hour as he waited for them to stop.
So it was that he skidded through the doors to the library barely a half hour before midnight, hoping that Magnus hadn’t given up on him. But, no, Magnus was there, sprawled out over his chair, listlessly contemplating one of the Multiverse Spiderman comics.
He perked up at the custodian’s approach, setting his feet on the floor and setting the comic aside.
“Companion,” Magnus greeted him, “I thought you might not join me tonight.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” the custodian said, stepping closer and leaning on one of the bookcases. “I just got caught up-“
The custodian trailed off and shrugged, awkwardly. There wasn’t really any way he could explain it, without going into all the mundane and classified details of life as one of the Emperor’s chosen.
“I understand,” Magnus said, fiddling with the armrest of the chair.
Then he went silent, and the custodian couldn’t think of anything to say.
“So,” Magnus started again, after a truly awkward pause, “it’s the last night of the campaign.”
“Yeah,” the custodian said. “At least I can stay past midnight tonight.”
“You can?” Magnus perked up.
“Yeah,” said the custodian. “There’s no party tonight.”
Magnus laughed, a soft little chuckle, perfectly congruous with the gentle shadows and low light of artificial evening aboard the Photep. “Well, there’s another reason to be glad I- we can duck out, that is. So, companion, what are we going to do with all our extra free time?”
Magnus had leaned in just a hair, his voice pitching slightly lower. It was only a subtle difference, but-
“Wait,” the custodian said, “was that a come-on?”
Magnus spluttered at him. “I- um, well, that is-“
The custodian got the sense that he was turning red, underneath all the ordinary-ness of his face. He stifled the urge to laugh. Magnus was already curling in on himself, ready to puff up into a defensive ball of sarcasm and spikes. Laughter wouldn’t help with that.
“Because if it was,” the custodian said, leaning forward and reaching out, “I think I’d like that.”
Magnus blinked at him, sitting slightly straighter. The custodian set his hand on the armrest of Magnus’ chair, almost touching but not quite. Magnus glanced down at it, then back at him, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.
“Really?” Magnus asked.
“Really,” the custodian confirmed, and he meant it. His prior sexual experience had been with his brothers - more as a physical distraction or a continuation of a sparring match than an act of real affection or tenderness. It would be - nice, the custodian thought, to try it with someone who he genuinely liked.
“Then,” Magnus said, and stopped, frowning. “Well, first, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“What-?” the custodian started, but he’d barely finished the word when he saw. It wasn’t a revelation, not precisely. Not like a curtain drawn back, not something hidden finally coming to light, not the final piece of a puzzle falling into place. It was simply recognition, visual information coming together in the custodian’s mind to inform him that no, the man in front of him was Magnus the Red, primarch of the XV legion, the Sorcerer-King of Prospero.
“Oh,” the custodian said, “shit.”
Everything the custodian had done to preserve his sense of self, every moment of evading his superiors, every second he’d hidden from Magnus, he’d undone it all. It was - he should never have gone to this library. He should have played it safe, should have lived with the boredom, should never have - oh fuck, he’d challenged a primarch, hadn’t he?
Distantly, the custodian noticed that his knees had given out at some point, that he’d sunk to the floor.
“Right,” said Magnus. “No sex today, then.”
Custodian training had covered glamours, foul sorceries that deceived the senses and tricked the mind. The custodian had thought he had seen them on the battlefield, one thing magicked to look like another. This, however, had been entirely out of his experience. It was like Magnus had taken the fraction of a second between the custodian looking on him and the custodian recognizing him, and stretched it out for three days.
Now that he had experienced it, the custodian would be able to recognize the feeling of his mind straining against the compulsion, attempting to comprehend the knowledge it was denied.
Well, he would. If he lasted that long. Absently, the custodian realized that his breath was coming in short, harsh gasps, that combat hormones were flooding his blood strongly enough to make him slightly dizzy.
“Companion- Companion!” Magnus the fucking primarch, holy shit, slid out of his chair to kneel by the custodian’s side. “It’s alright. I’m not going to- report you, or whatever it is you think I’m going to do.”
The custodian’s breath was still coming too harshly for him to reply verbally, so instead he shook his head and hoped his meaning came across.
“Breathe, Companion,” the primarch ordered. “I don’t - I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”
Which would have been comforting, the custodian thought, his throat still too constricted to speak, if anyone had ever thought that the conditioning counted as harm. Usually, the technicians thought they were fixing you.
“That’s bullshit,” the primarch said, and it took the custodian a moment to realize that he was responding to the custodian’s thoughts, “if it wasn’t doing you harm, you wouldn’t dread it so much.”
Bizarrely, it was that which allowed the custodian to finally get his breathing under control. Magnus had said it with such certainty...
“Besides,” the primarch said, awkwardly, “I rather like your mind the way it is.”
The custodian laughed, an uncomfortable, gasping sound. “I-“ he said, and swallowed, “thank you.”
They sat there for a moment, Magnus kneeling awkwardly, the only sound the custodian’s harsh breathing.
“You don’t have to go back there, you know,” Magnus said, softly.
“What?” the custodian glanced over at Magnus’ serious face. He wasn’t sure where it was he was going back to.
“I mean, my father’s ship,” Magnus said, interpreting this correctly. “You could stay here. With the Thousand Sons.”
“You know I can’t do that,” the custodian said.
“I don’t see why not,” Magnus frowned at him. “All you have to do is not go anywhere. You could help me manage the library, find and preserve knowledge and literature on the worlds we visit. You could-“
“And when the Emperor notices that one of his custodes has gone missing?” the custodian interrupted him.
Magnus’ words ground to a halt. He shot the custodian a helpless look.
“Even if we could figure that out,” the custodian said, “my loyalty belongs to the Emperor. It is my duty to fight by his side. No matter what the cost, I chose to follow that through to the end.”
“You deserve better than that,” Magnus said.
The custodian shrugged, uncomfortable. “Even so.”
“Well,” Magnus sighed, “I can see I won’t be persuading you otherwise. May I at least give you a method of contacting me?”
“Of course. I was actually going to ask-“ the custodian fumbled for the pen and paper he’d tucked in his pockets on his way to the ship.
Magnus shook his head. “I was actually thinking a little more direct contact. May I?”
He gestured towards the custodian’s head. The custodian blinked at him.
“If I can ask - what exactly am I signing up for here?”
Magnus didn’t seem offended. “I’m going to set up a semi-permanent psychic link between us. You can contact me with a thought, and I can do the same. Should you need to, I’m sure father’s psychic resistance training will be more than sufficient to block it off.”
“Oh.” That actually sounded convenient. “Alright then.”
Magnus reached out, gently cupping the back of the custodian’s head in his massive hand, and pressed their foreheads together. There was nothing - then, a faint tickling sensation in the back of his mind.
“Think of me,” Magnus said, and the custodian opened eyes that he didn’t quite remember closing, “and I will hear you.”
Their faces were awfully close together.
On impulse, the custodian reached back, cupping Magnus’ cheek in his hand and pressing a kiss to his mouth.
It was Magnus’ turn to be surprised, and the custodian leaned back before he could quite think it through.
“I’ll miss this,” the custodian said. “The library-“
“We’ll meet again,” Magnus assured him, “and there will be more knowledge to share.”
“Alright,” said the custodian, his mouth twitching upwards in a helpless smile. “I’ll look forward to it.”