Chapter Text
Chapter 2
"And it's hard to be at a party when I feel like an open wound
It's hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you
You're a flashback in a film reel on the one screen in my town"
“Don’t walk away like this!”
The words play on repeat through Peter’s head every night. No matter how many times he stuffs them in a file, for future consideration , they keep multiplying. Doubling, tripling, until he’s frantically bailing water out of a sinking boat.
“Don’t walk away from me!”
Until he can’t tell whether he’s sloshing around in the past or the present.
No matter. Peter knows how to swim.
A good thing, too, because two hours ago Juno stumbled into the meeting room in heels and a deep red dress slit halfway up his thigh to inform Peter that they are going to dinner earlier than expected.
Despite the hours Peter had spent spitefully winging eyeliner sharp as knives across his eyelids and fashioning a sharp smile to match… well. Then Juno stumbled in, and he felt like he was drowning.
Isn’t it ironic that after all the honey pot missions, after all the seductions gone right, a washed up detective-turned-criminal from Mars is the one to flip his own tricks back around on him.
Twice.
He allows himself a moment of weakness to observe the soft curve of Juno’s stomach and the way his hair has grown out just enough to be wrangled into a brush of coils on top of his head… and swallows painfully.
This isn’t productive, not for the mission, and not for Juno, who’s made his position so very clear.
Still, he doesn’t quite look away fast enough, and Juno’s face flushes under the attention.
“Leaving at 1800, Ransom. Captain’s orders.” The door shuts behind him with a bit more force than necessary. It’s been like this all week.
Juno, speaking as few words to Peter as possible. Peter, nursing his ego away from the prying, curious eyes of the crew.
It’s been a physical thing. Nothing to do with you, you’ve gotta understand...
Peter has never been on the receiving end of an “it’s not you, it’s me” speech- he’s generally the one giving them, wiping tears from distraught cheeks as he pockets one final keycard or bracelet- but he’d be a fool not to recognize the panic in Juno’s eyes.
A fool indeed. They might have crossed the threshold of mere crewmates, but to assume his amorous feelings were reciprocated?
The most frustrating part is that they’ve done this already. If a mourning, recently traumatized Juno didn’t want him, why would this new creature, softer and more confident, want anything to do with him?
And after what he saw in his past…
Well. If he examines it logically, any attention from Juno Steel is flattering. The blame rests solely with Peter for wanting assuming so much. For allowing that ridiculous show of emotion.
Maybe before the incident he could have kept things at a physical level. Maybe it would have been enough to have a piece of Juno, for however long he’d allow himself to be known. Now...
In lieu of a strictly physical relationship, clean professionalism is the best alternative.
This is what he tells himself as Juno slips out of the room, to a muffled voice in the corridor squealing, “Mistah Steel, oh, you look so nice! You’re gonna break some hearts tonight!”
Juno’s response is embarrassed. “I’m gonna break my ankles, honestly. But… thanks, Rita.”
File it away.
If the former detective wants “a physical thing”, that’s what he’s going to get. Peter Nureyev might have lost his edge to a pretty face.
But as Juno pointed out, he has plenty of identity crises to choose from.
“Another drink, Karalius?”
“Oh, don’t mind if I do-- my lovely companion is designated driver tonight,” Peter slurs, winking at Juno. He reaches up from where he’s slouched against the booth cushions to trace a pattern on his date’s bare shoulder. Juno catches his hand and removes it with a tired sigh.
Tonight they are Karalius Monn and Circe Deimos, full-time bachelor and rising triple-threat starlet.
“Anything for you, sweetheart?”
“Got anything for his dignity?” Juno jerks his head at Peter, who is currently pretending to slump into his neighbor's lap. Kyla only snorts. "No? I'm good then."
Apparently after the Zolotovna debacle, Juno decided he wasn't cut out for 'loving partner', and is leaning hard in the other direction.
Circe's main personality trait is exasperation.
Their target finds this endearing. Kyla Umbrian, firstborn of business mogul Morra Umbrian, adjusts their suit and swans off to order another round of shots. It’s their fifth round in two hours (not to mention the novelty drinks).
Peter tells himself he’s only acting for the part; Monn is known for his overindulgence, and it’s not like Peter’s actually drinking on the job. But the annoyance on Juno’s face as Peter finds ever more elaborate ways to dispose of his drinks (swapped with a neighbor, dumped on a plant, in the brim of an especially elaborate hat)? Priceless.
The central area has been cleared for dancing, a few standing tables scattered around the edge of the floor and an open bar curving around the perimeter. Private booths for the VIP’s dot the outskirts, and Peter cinched an invitation to Kyla’s early on.
Since then, he has been not watching Juno field offer after offer to dance, fiddling with the straps of his dress. He didn’t notice the surprised way Juno’s head jerked up at an apparently familiar song, or find it at all endearing when Juno started mindlessly mouthing the lyrics (he caught Peter’s eye and his mouth snapped shut, neck flushing).
He certainly can’t be bothered with the way Juno’s eyes trail their overly flirtatious waiter.
It’s simply not relevant.
Peter does take notice when he orders food in fluent Cyllene (a blatant flattery attempt directed at a nearby Kyla) and Juno turns to him, mouth hanging slightly open.
The thief raises an eyebrow. “You’re going to catch flies, my dear.”
“I--” Juno clears his throat. “I didn’t know you spoke Cyllene.” To Peter’s delight, his face flushes slightly. He leans in, dropping his voice to a teasing whisper.
“Why, I would have told you much earlier if I knew it would elicit this sort of reaction,” he brushes a thumb over Juno’s cheek.
Juno jerks back so fast he almost topples his chair over. “I need another drink.”
This sort of behavior isn’t out of character for an overwhelmed pop star on his first social appearance (or a former detective playing backup to a thief). But at one point he reaches to casually massage the tense lines from Juno’s shoulders, and Juno actually knocks a drink onto his dress.
“Whoops, looks like I ruined my favorite dress. Better go freshen up.”
His tone is completely flat (if not outright hostile). Peter hopes their current party will be too tipsy to notice.
No one blinks an eye, but he still waits a few moments before rising to weave through the crowded ballroom after the furious lady. He finally catches Juno in the deserted hallway outside one of the smaller bathrooms.
“Circe!”
Juno ignores him, reaching for the door, and Peter catches his arm in a light hold. “Are you all-”
Juno wrenches his arm out of Peter’s grasp like he’s been burned. Peter tries to back up, but in the small alcove his back hits the wall.
“What is your problem tonight, Ransom?” Juno hisses, and Peter is reminded of a prey animal backed into a corner, hackles raised, trying to appear larger than it actually is.
He raises his hands instinctively. Glances down the hall. They’re alone. Softens his voice.
“I just wanted to make sure that you’re alright, Juno. That’s all. I worried this might not be… it doesn't all seem part of the act.”
An unreadable expression crosses Juno’s face, and he searches for something in Peter’s eyes. Whatever he’s looking for, he doesn’t find it. He visibly deflates.
“Whatever. Could you just--” he runs an awkward hand up and down his arm, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. “Forget it. Let’s just get what we’re after and get out of here.”
The door swings shut in Peter’s face with a rush of cool air. He reaches to catch it, to say something, do something …
...and lets it close silently, resting his fingertips on the dark wood for only a moment before turning back to the party.
Peter blocks out everything but the mark for the next hour. It's what he should have been doing the entire time, trusting that Juno can take care of himself. His partner returns shortly and seats himself as far from Peter as possible.
Before, he might have read into this. Now he forces a chuckle and leans towards the woman next to him to ask after their host's whereabouts.
He's sure Kyla is minutes away from passing over the prize; keycards that allow the owner into Umbrian’s galaxy-renowned after parties.
Coincidentally, the keycards are rumored to be coded with the same technology that powers their father’s new security system. Score a couple of those, escape under the guise of a small distraction, and make it back to the Carte Blanche where Rita is waiting. Clean. Simple.
“WHA- what the fuck is that?!”
If he weren’t so disciplined, Peter might have flinched. Kyla has returned to their table balancing a round of shots that they neatly maneuvered onto the table… over Juno’s shoulder on his blind side.
The shots also appear to be on fire, shooting flames at least a couple feet into the air.
Juno stumbles back in shock, his chair tipping into some swotty socialite who serves him a dirty look. Peter half rises to do-well, something to make sure Juno's all right salvage the situation- when Kyla flips one shining braid over their shoulder and lets out a cackle of delight.
“Oh, you- you poor dear! New money, am I right?”
The tension breaks. They flash a conspiratorial look at the rest of the table before turning back to Juno. “You all right, sweetheart? It’s only Phantasy Flame, of course!”
Relieved, Peter sinks back into his seat and raises a napkin to his mouth to hide the very un-Monn-like grin creeping over his face. Juno splutters, one hand thrown up like he’s trying to pull words out of the air. It’s so familiar it nearly breaks Peter’s heart.
“Well I- excuse me for not wanting to stick my arm in your alcoholic bonfire! I left my fireproof suit at home tonight,” he snarks.
Kyla’s voice turns conspiratorial. “Oh no darling, I didn’t mean to embarrass you in front of your dashing date. Please, come back to the table? I promise I’ll protect you,” they weave their hand in and out of the rising blue flames with an easy smile to demonstrate its harmlessness.
“Thanks, think I’m gonna grab my own drink,” Juno grits out, stalking away towards the bar.
It truly isn’t the former detective’s fault that he isn’t familiar with the powders the Cyllene elite like to mix with their drinks. Peter’s seen a whole host of unnatural effects, many of them less than legal (and often flammable). He quickly dismisses the urge to follow Juno- to soothe the crease in his lady’s brow, maybe tease out a real smile. Too uncharacteristic for the drunken narcissist he's playing.
Besides, Juno isn’t "his" anything.
Not here, as Circe Deimos, and certainly not back on the ship. Not in any galaxy, because in every single one there is Juno, walking away, and there is Peter, trailing behind and hoping for scraps.
It feels like the edge of a revelation, or deja vu, but Peter trails a finger through the flakes of glitter on Kyla’s shoulders and forces his mind back to the present.
He can’t help but wonder if Juno’s watching as Kyla leans in to whisper in his ear-
“I haven’t had this much fun in ages.” They slip a hand into Peter’s suit pocket to withdraw his spectacles, perching them on their nose with a smirk. “You can’t imagine how bored I’ve been, same old faces, all my father’s friends. Your gal is a scream.” They press two small cards into Peter’s palm. “For later. You’ll need these to get in. Ah, and you can tell your girlfriend they’re in gypsum cases- fireproof.” They wink, and then turn back to one of their neighbors.
Well. That’s it then. They have what they came for, and it isn’t even midnight. All that’s left is to collect Juno from where he’s slouched at the bar, downing a water and eying an attractive waiter carrying flutes of champagne.
He feels a flare of irritation. Kyla doesn't seem to be planning on returning his glasses after all, and they were his favorite pair.
Peter clutches the crystal keycards in his pocket until his palms sting, blinks furiously, and then slips from the booth.
Vespa scowls deeply at the comms screen.
“Rita could’ve handled this remotely with her hands tied behind her back. Literally. You only sent them because they’re fighting again.”
Buddy shoots her a wicked grin, winding her arms around her girlfriend’s waist.
“Well of course I did, darling. It’s an incredibly low stakes mission, there’s no way they can muck it up.” She adjusts the pins in her hair and rests her chin on Vespa’s head. “And you have to admit the pining was getting unbearable.”
Vespa scoffs. “Again. It was getting unbearable again. Seems to be a pattern with those two.” But she leans into Buddy’s embrace. On screen, Juno nurses a water and stares longingly at the flutes of champagne parading past. “At least he’s stopped draining our liquor supply dry.”
Buddy chuckles, the warm puffs of breath lifting her cropped hair. “Self-destruction is often described as a “spiral”, is it not? Recovery could be... similarly shaped.”
Vespa gets the sudden, unwelcome impression they aren’t just talking about Juno anymore. And yeah, to be fair, taking a shot at Juno’s addictions was a low blow. But still.
“Straight on, it looks like you’re going in the same circles,” the captain muses. She smiles down at Vespa, drawing her chin up. “But step to the side, and it’s clear you’re headed somewhere entirely new.”
Vespa’s face burns. She pokes a finger at Buddy’s chest. “Oh no. We are not making this about…” As if she has anything in common with the crass detective. “This is making fun of Steel time. If you love me, you’ll let me have this.”
Buddy’s laugh is loud and easy. “Careful, love, or I’ll start sending the two of you on missions alone until you can get along.”
“You wouldn’t,” Vespa growls.
Buddy sighs fondly. “No, I suppose that’s more likely to end in flames than reconciliation.”
Vespa settles back into her partner’s embrace until she glances black at the screen- and does a double take. With wide eyes, she thumbs at the comms screen. “Speaking of flames.”
Somehow, in the last twenty seconds or so, chaos has descended upon the party. Red and orange sparks lick at the camera lens tucked in one of Ransom’s shirt buttons. The camera is wildly swinging. Juno’s voice crackles over the comms.
“PEACHES. This is, uh, definitely a peaches situation, there are many, many peaches. Rita? Rita?! Oh, f--” Juno’s voice cuts out as something large slams into Ransom’s shirt camera, and the unit cuts out.
Buddy pinches the bridge of her nose and swears tiredly.
The ride up from the outer docking station is entirely silent.
Juno fiddles one-handed with the straps on his heels, finally snapping the buckle off one in frustration. He slumps back against the old cargo box he’s seated on, injured arm cradled in his lap. Every once and a while he tries to cross his arms out of habit, wincing when the second degree burns stretching down his shoulder and left arm protest.
It’s painful to watch.
The compartment fits into the decompression chamber with a click, and Juno doesn’t even budge. A quiet hissing fills the air.
He’s shivering, Peter can see from his position leaning against the wall a few feet away. Too far to reach unless one of them moves closer.
Peter removes his singed jacket and tosses it lightly at Juno’s feet. His eye widens, but he still doesn’t look up as his fist closes around the silky fabric.
“Looks like I should’ve brought the fireproof suit after all,” Juno murmurs with a self-deprecating chuckle, as if he knows the joke will fall flat. Suddenly Peter’s thoughts are a swirling cloud of red.
Panic as he rolls to the floor and wrestles with his burning coat.
Confusion as a warm weight slams into him from above, rolling him away from the collapsing bar just before something under the counter explodes.
The knife in his hand before he recognizes the familiar face buried in his neck.
Peter raises his eyes to the man who told him he couldn’t handle a relationship and then shielded Peter’s body from a blast of fire with his bare shoulders.
“You really are something,” he forces out. If they've been walking on glass this past week, that glass has shattered.
He had almost reached Juno’s perch at the bar when everything went south. The bartender must have bit off more than he could chew- a tall woman near Peter sloshed a novelty drink down her front, and the next thing Peter knew she was stumbling sideways into the thief, screaming as real flames licked the front of her suit.
Security managed to put out the fire reasonably quickly, but not fast enough to save the extremely flimsy (and flammable) bar station. Not fast enough to save Juno’s arm.
Juno registers Peter’s words before registering the tone- You really are something- and glances up with a pathetic hope in his eyes. It flickers out under Peter’s furious gaze.
“Wait, are you- what’s that supposed to mean? I- I guess I shouldn’t hold my breath for a ‘thank you’?!”
“Thank you? For uselessly injuring yourself by jumping in front of a-- a minor explosion? I thought we were past that behavior, detective,” he spits, hands shaking. Fileitawayfileitawayfileitaway-
Juno, flushed and indignant, rises from his makeshift seat.
“Uselessly- Right, because that’s how you see me, isn’t it? No matter how many times we start over, no matter what I do to prove I’ve changed- I mean... I’ll never come back from that, will I?”
Peter opens his mouth to argue, but he can’t pretend that his mind isn’t tracing patterns from the last job that led to catastrophe that led to Juno sacrificing himself that led to...
Juno scoffs at his silence.
“That’s- No. I get it. Whatever. You tried, it didn’t work. But look around!” Juno shakes Peter’s charred jacket with his bad arm and winces (Peter feels that wince in his bones), “Your one-man show isn’t cutting it anymore! And if I can’t- if you won’t let me-” his voice cracks. “I’m not going to apologize for saving your life, Nur- Ransom!”
Peter can’t tell if there are footsteps in the hallway or if it’s the blood pounding in his ears.
“I’m not asking-!” He smooths an errant lock of hair from his forehead. Forces his jaw to relax. “I don’t think you’re useless, Juno, of course I don’t. You’re not the detective I left on Mars. I just never expected…” as he’s searching for words, Juno sighs and drags a tired hand over his face.
“And that’s the elephant in the room, isn’t it? My name got you here, but you never thought you’d actually end up stuck in open space with me.” Peter’s eyebrows crease. What? “So what, I’m supposed to pretend we’re just- former colleagues? Flirt for the job, and then turn it off? That’s what you want? Because that… god, it hurts, but I’m really trying not to make this difficult on you, Ransom.”
Juno sounds exhausted, but Peter’s suddenly very, very awake.
“You’re- Juno, this is what you wanted. I’m playing by rules that you set,” he says slowly, feeling untethered. He doesn’t allow himself to hope, not a third time, but…
“What…rules, what,” Juno’s voice wavers a bit. “What the hell does that even mean-”
...There really is no way he could have misinterpreted what Juno said, is there?
There’s a hiss of air as the decompression chamber unlocks automatically. A small form is waiting on the other end, small hand clutched over her mouth.
Peter abruptly realizes that the decompression chamber walls are thick, echo-ey, and definitely not soundproof.
Rita waves a hand awkwardly.
“Uhhhh… sorry to interrupt Boss, but Vespa says we need to get that taken care of real quick or it’ll scar. Actually she said ‘or it’ll be more trouble than it’s worth and I might just go back to bed,’ I’m paraphrasin’. But I can tell her you’re havin’ a real important conversation with--”
“NOPE. No, hah, Rita, don’t do that, I’ll just, head over. Right now.”
He trails after Rita and only turns back once, throwing a soft, confused gaze over his shoulder.
So Peter nearly jumps out of his skin when he exits the pod to see Buddy, her flat gaze freezing him in his tracks. She pushes off the opposite wall to meet him.
“I prefer to stay out of interpersonal squabbles- bound to happen, especially in our situation.”
“Captain, I’m-”
Buddy cuts him off.
“But our next mission is more than a glorified grocery run. It’s all hands on deck, and this,” she gestures between Ransom and the space that Juno left, “isn’t going to cut it. I expect the whole, messy business tied up before next week.” With a pointed look, she’s gone.
Peter doesn’t remember making it back to his room, but the next thing he knows he’s latching the door shut behind him and stumbling to the floor behind the safety of his door. He curls his knees to his chest.
His breaths are coming strangely short, and it isn’t fair, it isn’t fair that he only has a broken heart and a distaste for card games when Juno has lost an eye and scorched his arm, and Peter comes out unharmed again like he always does, like he always will, as everyone around him suffers and dies-
A spark of pain brings Peter back for a moment. His hand has crept up to clutch his mouth and his chest is heaving. Panic attack, his brain supplies. He hasn’t had one in years, and resents that now that he’s physically safe he feels constantly on the verge.
It takes him a moment to pull his mind from the endless spiral, but finally, he begins to count. One, Juno, two, Brahma, three, Buddy, four, Mags, five, Juno, hold it for the same, then out for one, two, three, four...
Eventually, he’s aware of cool metal on his cheek. There’s a cramp in one leg and pins and needles in the other. The material of his shirt feels a bit scratchy. His face feels damp, and he’s surprised when he reaches a hand up and finds his cheeks wet.
He feels… not better. But more present. A bit sharper. He tells himself that he’ll go to the medbay now, and if Juno’s awake, he’ll sit down until he’s sure they understand each other.
When he gets there, the beds are empty and the lights are out. He sleeps on top of his sheets that night, burrowed into the pile of discarded clothes like a child.
The next morning, Peter is still trying to figure out how one instigates a conversation when one isn’t even entirely sure of the topic, when he exits the kitchen to find Juno leaning against the opposite wall. He’s swirling a cup of coffee around in his hand, but straightens when Peter emerges.
“Guessing Buddy gave you the “kiss and make up” speech as well, yeah?” A violent flush spreads across Juno’s face when he realizes what he just said. “I mean, no, that’s not-”
“Turn of phrase,” Peter forces out somewhat naturally, though his face feels warm as well. “Shall we…” he nods towards the empty meeting room. Juno nods.
They settle on the couch in silence. Juno starts picking at a frayed spot on the couch. His face is determined, and when Peter fails to speak for many moments, he sighs and glances up.
“Look, can we maybe just- I’m pretty sure I know where we stand on things. But you said some stuff last night,” he rubs an awkward hand over the back of his neck. “Can you maybe just tell me what you got out of that conversation the morning after I left?” He winces at the double implications, but pushes on. “But this time we’ll actually listen to each other?”
Peter straightens his glasses. His mouth is dry and he can't raise his eyes from the white swaths of fabric encasing Juno's arm.
"Don't." Peter's eyes fly up.
"I just-"
"You're staring at my arm like you killed it's pet or... something... ugh, bad analogy. God, Ransom, it wasn't your fault, can we please just drop it?" Peter sighs and leans back with a shrug.
“For now then, I suppose, our previous conversation would be a reasonable starting point." Juno makes a vague motion to continue.
"After you explained that I had made you uncomfortable by misconstruing the nature of our relationship-”
“Wait, after I what?”
Peter’s raises his eyebrows. “I thought we were listening-”
“No, sorry, you’re right... uh, go ahead then?” Juno draws his words out slowly. Peter rubs his thumb and index finger together, feeling a bit less confident.
“Well, after you communicated that you’d prefer to engage in a purely physical relatio-”
“Goddamn it, Ransom, I never- okay, unless I have an evil clone running around here somewhere? I have no idea what you’re talking about!”
Peter crosses his arms, agitated. “I’m not trying to guilt you Juno, I’m just trying to understand-”
“We weren't even talking about you-!”
“I am the one who assumed things, Juno-”
“Stop! Just. Stop, okay?” The words are harsh but his tone is almost... fond? “I know I said you could go first, but the things you’re saying are… very wrong. It’s my turn for a minute.”
Peter makes a disgruntled noise. Juno holds up a hand.
“I guess I didn’t really word this right at all, I’ve never… I mean, yeah, I’ve never tried to do this before, but I’m ‘asking for the things I need,’ so. Um. I didn’t leave because I was expecting anything from that night,” Juno’s eyebrows draw together, “I know talking about that stuff isn't easy for you, I was really happy you trusted me with it.
I just, I was so tired, and we had a job the next day, and I knew if I stayed I wouldn’t fall asleep. I… can’t, having people in… bed, with me, it just sets something off in my brain- it’s NOT you, it’s not- I mean, you’re-”
As comprehension dawns, Peter watches Juno struggle for words. It hurts almost as badly as seeing the bandages trailing up his arm. He worked up the courage to share something deeply personal and uncomfortable. And what had Peter done? Treated him with coldness and cruelty.
Peter listens, asks questions where it feels appropriate. The ship is beginning to wake up, and as the rest of the crew stirs, Juno shakes his head. “I guess… we should probably talk about this more later-” he falls silent as Jet’s heavy footsteps plod towards the garage. Peter takes advantage of the silence.
“You’ve had partners before, I assume?” he asks quietly. Juno nods.
“Yeah, I- yeah.” They’ve drifted closer over the course of their talk, and Peter resists the urge to take Juno’s hands as he worries at his nail polish.
“What did you do then?”
The detective shrugs. “Honestly, back then I was usually black-out drunk, high off my ass, or too exhausted to function by the time I stumbled into bed. I don't think anyone ever noticed, I mean... I didn't really think about it much."
“That doesn’t sound very restful.”
“Yeah, no. I know it's stupid, we’re safe- I mean, relatively, whatever-”
Peter thinks of the previous night, years of built-up fear breaking over him in the safety of his room behind a locked door. If you're a fool, then I am too. Though Juno might be too grounded to ever understand the itchy feeling of sliding into someone else's skin and forgetting how to take it off, there is more than one way to feel trapped.
He suddenly realizes that besides Miasma, he couldn't put a face to any of Juno's fears.
Juno is waiting for a response.
“I... you were right. What you said last night, I... didn’t expect to see you again.” Juno’s expression drops a bit and he rushes on, “but I had hoped! I- hoped, that I would, Juno. There wasn't a day..." he trails off and clears his throat. "That being said- forgive me for the crude phrasing, but you’ve seen the worst day of my life played out in high definition, yet you don’t know my favorite food. And I know the circumstances surrounding your brother’s death, but... I've realized that I don’t even know his name.”
Juno is silent for a long while, searching for words, and Peter almost wonders if he's said anything coherent thus far. Then- “Ben. His name was Ben.”
“I- thank you, Juno. I would very much like to know more about him someday, if you felt comfortable sharing? I want to understand. But I… I do hope you know I never want you to make yourself uncomfortable on my behalf. Of all the impossible situations we've encountered, I- well. This is not an impossible situation.”
His eyes land once again on the white bandages contrasted against dark skin. "And Juno, I'm so-"
"I will tell Vespa it was you who lost her knife on Proteus if you finish that sentence."
It's a decent threat. Peter blinks away the warmth behind his eyes and throws a dramatic hand across his brow. "You wouldn't dare, detective!"
Juno lets out a breathy chuckle, grabs Peter’s free hand, and sinks sideways onto the couch cushions. His hair brushes Peter's thigh and his eye drifts shut. Peter tries to compose his face into something less embarrassing. Less surprised, less... awestruck.
“What is your favorite food then, Ransom?” Juno asks playfully, without moving. The warm feeling rising in Peter's chest falters a bit.
“I don’t… I don’t actually know. I don’t think I have one.” He almost expects a 'we can figure it out together,' or some observation about the way he prefers his steak. It never comes.
Juno shrugs, eye still closed. “Not everyone does.”
Quick and simple. Not everyone does.
Maybe... he doesn’t have to have an opinion about everything. His aliases might have all the answers, but perhaps Peter Nureyev does not.
Perhaps that makes him a bit more human.
And if he starts that night in Juno's doorway and ends it curled around his detective on the couch in a sweaty pile, with Rita's foot in his face and some old children's stream in the background?
Well. At least they're trying.
"Could've followed my fears all the way down
And maybe I don't quite know what to say
But I'm here in your doorway..."