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He shouldn't be here.
The thought floats across Nureyev's consciousness but dissolves when he reaches for it, leaving him grasping. Where is 'here?' Where had he been going, and how did he get waylaid, leaving him in a darkness with all the aesthetic charm of a bruise?
He strains to recall. A faint warmth, a bubbling across his tongue. Champagne, perhaps. Had he blacked out from inebriation? The thought sits poorly with him. It's as Mag always said: lesson one of thieving, don't ever let your guard down. And Nureyev, attentive to the last, never had, except for the one time he'd gotten carried away flirting with -
Juno. Juno, whose voice the void had swallowed as Nureyev pulled the pod door release.
The memories crash over him. No wonder he feels as though he shouldn't be here. By all rights, he shouldn't be alive. For now, though, he seems to have dodged the proverbial bullet - if he were dead, his face probably wouldn't hurt this much.
He does his best to take stock of his surroundings without revealing he's awake. It's an old habit, one to keep him from blowing his cover while his brain comes back online. Measured exhales, muscles relaxed. He's lying flat on his back, the air smelling faintly of metal. A light weight, most likely a blanket, drapes over his body. He can hear the worm drive of the Carte Blanche humming away, as well as the gentle breathing of someone nearby. Normally the prospect of being watched while unconscious would rub on every nerve Nureyev possesses, but he's slept next to Juno often enough to recognize his breathing pattern.
A door hisses open. Nureyev hears a huff. "Moping won't make him heal faster."
"Think I'll take my chances," says Juno, his voice coming from just beside Nureyev's bed. "How's it feel to not be dying anymore?"
"Peachy," Vespa growls, making Juno chuckle. "When your boy wakes up, tell him I owe him one, and that if he ever pulls that spacewalking stunt again I'm going to cram catheters in places he'll never forget."
"I'll take that under consideration," Nureyev says, his voice raspier than he'd like. He swallows, wincing at the burning in his throat.
Gentle fingers brush his hair away from his face. "Hey, Ransom," Juno says softly.
"Juno." Nureyev reaches toward his voice, and Juno catches his hand. There's a thousand things Nureyev could say, promises and pleas which snag on one another and lodge in the back of his throat. For now, he squeezes Juno's hand and asks Vespa, "How bad is the damage?"
"Nasty sunburn on your exposed skin, irritation of your throat and eyes from water boiling off." Ah, that explained the memory of bubbles on his tongue. "Be glad you're alive. Another couple minutes, and if your lungs hadn't shredded the hypoxia would've got you."
Nothing so invigorating as a good brush with death. "Dare I ask the prognosis?"
Vespa scoffs. "Long as you don't annoy me, you'll be fine. Bandages off." There's a tugging near his temple, then a swift rip. Nureyev flinches away from the sudden brightness. He blinks, his eyes stinging, as the room resolves itself into the Carte Blanche's small med bay. Unsettling anatomy posters share wall space with an array of surgical blades that even Nureyev has to respect. He has just enough time to catch Vespa's rude gesture before she stomps out again.
Juno leans an elbow on Nureyev's mattress, his thumb sweeping in a gentle arc along Nureyev's wrist. Nureyev drinks in the sight of him, greedy with the knowledge that he'd almost lost this for good. Noble or not, his airlock stunt hadn't been one of his brightest moments. He won't be so reckless again.
Juno's wearing the same dress as when they started the heist, its blue tulle singed and ripped. Someone managed to split his lip, and the dark circles under his eyes suggest he's been waiting here for Nureyev to wake up for quite some time. "Juno, how long has it been since you slept?"
"Doesn't matter. How are you feeling?"
"You heard Vespa, I'll be perfectly alright as long as the burn doesn't make me peel." He'll need to pay extra care to his skincare routine over the next few weeks. His cheeks already seemed determined to droop off his skull, and sun damage won't help. Nureyev retracts his hand. "So please do yourself the kindness of a shower and a well-deserved rest."
Juno crosses his arms. "You saying I smell?"
He does, of smoke and skin and rose perfume. It isn't helping Nureyev's concentration. "I'm saying you needn't put yourself out over me."
"As if I were the kind of lady who puts out on the first date."
Nureyev's glad he can blame the warmth in his cheeks on the sunburn. "I believe we're rather past the first at this point. Unless the arrests and car chases weren't enough to woo you?"
Juno raises an eyebrow. "When they say spice it up in the bedroom, they don't usually mean sending assassins after you in your sleep."
"But my dear detective, you cut such a dashing figure while running for your life." Juno chuckles at that, which quickly turns into a yawn. Nureyev makes a decision and scoots over. "This is ridiculous, climb in."
"What?"
"There's room in this bed for two, and I will not risk being dressed down by Vespa for letting you concuss yourself when you collapse from exhaustion." Nureyev rolls onto his side, facing away from Juno, and holds his breath.
For a terrifying handful of seconds, Juno hesitates. Then the blanket pulls back long enough for Juno to slip in next to him, and an arm encircles his waist. Exhaling, Nureyev laces their fingers together and sinks back into the warmth of Juno's body.
"Missed this," Juno murmurs.
Nureyev flips through a dozen responses ranging from cutting to pleading before settling on, "Indeed."
They lie together quietly, letting moments slip by as they breathe. Nureyev had forgotten how relaxing it was to be held. Juno's softer than the last time they'd been together like this. Miasma's hospitality had whittled them both down, leaving Nureyev with ribs that jutted out and even bonier elbows than usual. It's a relief to feel that aspect of her cruelty wiped away.
"I'm sorry," Juno whispers into his hair.
"If you mean about the hotel, Juno, we agreed to put that night behind us months ago."
"Not that." Juno shifts, tucking Nureyev closer against his chest. "When you were about to jump out the airlock, I, I thought. You weren't listening, and I was trying - I used your real name, in front of the crew. And I'm sorry. I had no right to do that."
Nureyev sighs. "I'll admit I'd hoped to share that on my own time, but I forgive you. The conditions were extenuating. I know how it feels to watch your, ah," he swallows back the word beloved, "your colleague attempt to sacrifice himself."
"You're more than my colleague, Nureyev," Juno says, his voice low.
Nureyev's heart skips a beat. "Oh?"
"Yeah." Juno pokes him with a knee. "You're also a complete menace in the kitchen."
Nureyev gasps in outrage, which has Juno laughing again. He jabs the detective with his elbow. "I made one single, everyday error-"
"You lodged a pot lid in the ceiling."
"The pressure got away from me while I was reading the recipe."
"Cereal and milk doesn't come with a recipe."
"Of course it does, how else would you know when to add the horseradish?"
Peter Nureyev generally isn't fond of being laughed at, but it's different when it's Juno doing the laughing. He waits until the last vibrations of amusement trail out of Juno's chest, then asks something that's been bothering him. "Juno, if you don't mind me asking, how am I not dead?"
Juno snorts. "Turns out the Ruby Seven didn't take kindly to its driver taking a swan dive into the void. Did you know your car can fly in space?"
"If I had known, detective, don't you think I would have taken advantage?" Nureyev can't stop grinning. The possibilities are endless - soaring undetected through sensors designed for larger ships, slipping past planetary defense systems, robbing highscrapers on planets without atmosphere without ever setting foot on the ground.
"My turn to ask a question."
"You spent many years as a private investigator, Juno," Nureyev says, already planning how he'll maneuver the Ruby Seven through the mines in the Kuiper belt. "I can hardly fault you for being inquisitive."
"Fine. Did you mean it?"
Nureyev's navigation plans grind to a halt. "Come again?"
"On the pod. Just before you jumped, you said that we were both fools. Did you," Juno says, his voice steady but his heart pounding hard enough for Nureyev to feel it in their clasped hands, "mean it?"
"Well, detective, given that I can't prepare a bowl of cereal and you thought the purpose of a vacuum cleaner was to clean the literal vacuum of space, I think labeling the pair of us as fools is perfectly appropriate."
"Nureyev."
"Does it matter, Juno?" It comes out tired and defeated. "We tried once, and you saw how the chips fell. Lesson one of thieving, don't fall for the same con twice."
"Nureyev, look at me."
Biting back his trepidation, Nureyev rolls over so that they're face to face. He can barely breathe. The bed is so very small, and Juno is so, so beautiful.
Juno runs his fingers lightly down Nureyev's jaw, mindful of his burned skin, and cradles his face. He looks Nureyev in the eye. "I know I've apologized for leaving and for hurting you, but most of all I'm sorry I didn't tell you where my mind was. I was scared, and hurting, and honestly I was in a hole so deep I didn't believe it was possible for things to get better. I thought all I could do was drag you down with me. That's not true anymore. I promise you, I won't run away again."
"What changed?"
Juno sets his jaw. "I did. It's been hard, and frustrating, and sometimes it feels like I'm walking into the desert again with no dome in sight-"
"Did you say 'again?' Juno-"
"But I'm getting better. I'm a different lady than the one who wouldn't stay. So if you want this as much as I do - and god, Nureyev, I want this - then I'm ready to try."
Nureyev looks at him. Juno Steel, chainmail armor flung aside, breast bared and the blade pressed into Nureyev's hand, equal parts dazzling and terrifying in his vulnerability. "Are you absolutely sure?"
"I am. More than just about anything."
"Silly thing to want so much." A smile creeps across Nureyev's face. "But then, I suppose we are both fools."
Juno groans. "Seriously? That's going to be our catchphrase? When the historians are writing about the great romances of the galaxy, they'll point at us and go, look at these two, they're dumb as a couple of Ionian rock lizards."
"With all due respect, detective, you started it."
"Oh that's a damn lie, you're the one who-"
"QUIT YOUR YAMMERIN' AND KISS ALREADY," screeches the Carte Blanche's intercom system.
Nureyev and Juno freeze. "I take it," says Nureyev after a moment, "that you didn't sweep the med bay for listening devices while I was asleep."
"What can I say, got distracted by the view." Juno glares at the ceiling. "Rita, have you been listening in this whole time?"
"...No."
Juno runs a hand down his face. "Typical."
"You know," Nureyev muses, "my room is clean of listening devices, and my mattress is significantly more comfortable than this cot."
Juno raises an eyebrow, then in one fluid motion jumps off the bed and sweeps Nureyev into a bridal carry. Nureyev's brain stutters, caught between the words arm and nice and oh . Juno smirks at him. "Can't have you risk walking around while you're still injured."
"Don't be stupid, Steel," snaps Vespa over the intercom, "he's barely singed."
"Go suck a catheter, Ai," Juno yells back.
"Darling, I can't have you taking that tone with my wife," Buddy says, the intercom buzzing with her amusement.
Nureyev drops his head onto Juno's shoulder. "Were they all listening?"
"No," says Jet. "As your interpersonal drama holds little interest for me, I was preoccupied reading about the latest advances in the Dewey Decimal system until Rita began to yell."
Nureyev buries his face in the crook of Juno's neck to stifle a groan. How is he going to maintain his image as a suave master thief if their entire crew knows he's a hopeless romantic?
On the other hand, if the rabbit's out of the bag, there's no need to exercise restraint. Curling up on Juno's lap would make the next family meeting infinitely more tolerable.
Juno chuckles as though he can read Nureyev's mind. "Ready to leave the peanut gallery behind?"
"You're a thief now, Juno." Nureyev traces his fingers along the shell of Juno's ear, enjoying his lady's shiver. "Steal me away."