Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Adjusting to the ship is hard, Juno thinks as he washes the breakfast dishes in the tiny ship’s kitchen. It’s soothing, to scrub and rinse and dry and put away. He can adjust to chores, adjust to teamwork and duties and making the whole functional even if the part isn’t. Adjusting to meals is harder. He’d made dinner last night, just rice and cloned chicken and frozen vegetables and whatever spices he could find. Comfort food, like he’d make as a teenager for Mick and Sasha and Ben to share on the good nights, paring down elements as food ran low.

Hunger is familiar to Juno. As a kid, there was never enough food – school breakfast and lunch, whatever he could steal or scrounge for his and Ben’s dinner. Things were better when he was younger, he thinks – his ma gave up trying to hold down a job around their eleventh birthday, leaving him scrambling to pull together the rent.

it’s been three days, your stomach hurts and your head is spinning, you feel a hand on your shoulder, Mick’s eyebrows are drawn together and you can’t remember what that means

jay, buddy, do you want to sit down? you look like you’re going to fall over

Juno shakes his head like he can shake the memory out. He’s an adult. He can feed himself. Admittedly, he’s never done a great job, but he’s alive, isn’t he? And he’s getting better. He’s doing better, in the ways that count. He’d spoken to Nureyev, apologized in as many ways as he knew how, and he’s trying to get used to the feeling of being forgiven. It sits heavy on his shoulders. So what if he forgets to feed himself sometimes. 

It’s just difficult. His eyes slide to the stove burner, still warm from Jet’s early-morning omelets.

ask me for dinner one more time little monster

no ma please don’t –

Juno rubs the heel of his left hand, phantom pain shooting up his wrist. Sometimes the skin still feels tight, and he feels like crying. But the dishes are done, and put away, and he’s okay. He sits heavily in one of the kitchen chairs, burying his face in his palms.

He’s okay.

Just in case, he pockets a nutrient bar. Eating on schedule with the others is hard – Juno tends to eat a lot, sporadically. Maybe one meal a day, maybe every two days, but he eats more or less what he needs to, to be okay. He’s never been thin, anyway – a lifetime of processed food and takeout makes him broad and all the running and fighting he does makes him solid, muscular and hard to knock down. It’s usually hard to feel like he deserves to eat, honestly. He decides abruptly that he cannot handle eating lunch with the crew.

So he goes back to his room and stares at the ceiling. He thinks about having Benzaiten in the next bed, close enough to touch hands across the gap. He thinks how Benten would laugh at him now for being a goddamn space pirate, Super Steel, you wanted to be a space pirate when you were four -

And then he shuts his eye tight and does not think about being four and continues not thinking about being four until he hears a tap at his door. He startles, sitting up and reaching to his hip for a blaster that isn’t there.

“Darling? It’s Buddy. Open up,” she calls through the door.

Juno cautiously opens the door, stands on the threshold. Buddy is dressed comfortably, red hair falling over her face as always. Buddy is difficult to get a read on, for Juno – he trusts her, but he knows a wrong move could get him flushed out an airlock. So he tries to be useful.

“May I come in?” Buddy asks, and unlike most people, she asks it as a real question.

“Yeah.” Juno steps aside, sits on the bed. Buddy sweeps in and takes a seat at the desk.

“Dear, I think it’s time for us to talk about your work as part of this crew,” Buddy starts.

Juno’s heart sinks. He’s useless, and Buddy’s finally figured it out. Fuck.

Some of Juno’s inner monologue must have shown on his face, because Buddy quickly says, “Not like that, Juno dear, you aren’t being fired.” She laughs. “I can’t help but notice you skipped lunch again.”

Juno scowls. “I can eat on my own time.”

“You can, of course, but I don’t think you do,” Buddy says, staring him down. “But that’s neither here nor there. You are aware, of course, that each of us have an assigned job while we travel to each destination?”

“You mean like the chore wheel in the kitchen?”

“No, darling,” Buddy sighs. “I handle navigation; Jet does maintenance; Vespa handles medical duties. Moving forward, Anais will take over supplies management and the armory – similar to a Master at Arms - and Rita will handle communications.”

“What will I be doing?” Juno asks tonelessly.

“Would you be willing to take over the job of ship’s cook? You seem to be reasonably talented – everyone liked the cricket pad Thai you made last week, the chicken last night was very good, and you seemed to enjoy making it. Jet is a good cook but doesn’t have the time with all his maintenance work, Vespa hates cooking, and I can’t eat – “

“What about Anais?” Juno asks before he can help himself. He knows so much about Nureyev’s past to know so little about his present.

“Anais? Good god, he’s a horrible cook. Inedible. I’ve seen him burn water.” Buddy smirks.

“I’m not, like, good at this,” Juno says, brow furrowed. “I can feed myself and that’s about it.”

“Even so,” Buddy says, standing and sweeping out of the room, “you are the only one aboard with the time and anything approaching the skills.”

Juno can understand that. Make the whole function even when the parts don’t. He nods. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he says, shaking his head as Buddy disappears into the hallway.

This is how he finds himself in the kitchen the next day at seven in the morning, grumbling to himself as he mixes up pancake batter. It’s too goddamn early.

juno, you aren’t in trouble, but can you tell me why you always put your breakfast in your backpack instead of eating it in the cafeteria before class?

because ben needs it more than i do, okay? he’s always dancing and –

do you and ben have enough food at home?

juno you need to tell me -

Fuck. The pancake he flips is a few shades past golden brown. He resolves to eat that one himself, so he doesn’t subject anyone else to his fuckups. His stomach lurches with the force of the memory. 

After pouring the next pancake out onto the griddle, Juno suddenly cannot stand the thought of standing there and watching it bubble and crisp. He turns and starts brewing a massive pot of coffee. Measuring the grounds, pouring the water – it’s calming. It used to be the one thing he could do right, when he was a kid.

nobody makes a cup of coffee like my juno

A spidery hand ruffles his hair and he flinches but he smiles because maybe if he makes it perfect she’ll start buying groceries again –

A sudden pain jolts him back to the present. The mug he was filling with coffee has overflowed, spilled onto his hand. He sets the mug down and runs his hand under cold water before starting another pancake and cleaning up the spilled coffee. He can do this.

He's just flipping another pancake when he hears footsteps. He whirls around, and the pancake lands on the floor.

“Fuck,” he says, bending down to pick it up. He’ll eat that one too –

wasting perfectly good food, you don’t deserve to eat at all you little fucking parasite, you little monster –

He puts it on a separate plate. No need to contaminate other people’s food with his mistakes.

“Good morning, Juno,” Nureyev says smoothly, coming up behind him and sliding an arm around his waist. Juno feels Nureyev kiss the top of his head.

Juno feels trapped by Nureyev and so, so guilty that a simple embrace makes him want to run. “Morning,” Juno says with more confidence than he feels. “Coffee’s in the pot and pancakes are nearly ready. Help yourself.”

“Thank you,” Nureyev says as he steps out of Juno’s space to get a mug, to get some coffee, and Juno fights the twin urges to pull him closer and run from the room. Juno shakes his head without realizing it, and Nureyev tilts his head in silent confusion.

“Everything all right, detective?” Nureyev asks gently.

“Yeah, fine,” Juno says, turning back to the stove. “Syrup’s on the table.”

“Delicious,” Nureyev proclaims. “I’ve never enjoyed Martian cuisine very much, but these are excellent.”

“Martian cuisine?” Juno has no idea what Nureyev is referring to, but it’s a good distraction as his heart rate slows.

“Too many crickets for me, darling,” Nureyev says. “How did you learn to cook?”

ben burns his hands reaching up to stir the pot and juno shoves him away, i’ll do it myself ben i’ll do it i’ll do it

we should bring ma some, she hasn’t eaten in days

she’ll hit me if i wake her up, you better do it

Juno clears his throat. “Trial and error,” he says weakly. “Had to figure it out. When I was a kid.”

Thankfully, Jet and Rita come in at that moment, Jet listening patiently to Rita’s babbling about some stream or other as they settle into chairs. Juno puts plates in front of them.

“Thank you, Juno,” Jet says solemnly after taking a bite. “These are very good.”

“Yeah! Mistah Steel is a good cook! He won’t ever make me anythin which I think is real rude,” Rita says with her mouth full.

“Well, I’ll be making you plenty of food now,” Juno says, turning off the stove and pouring himself coffee. He grabs his burned and dropped pancakes and slides into a chair. “I’m the ship’s cook or something now. Ask Buddy.”

Rita screeches at that, and Juno winces. “Mistah Steeeeeel that’s so good! I’m real proud of ya!”

“Juno, why are you eating a burned pancake?” Nureyev asks, shifting to the seat next to his. “You made plenty to go around.”

“Yeah, I fucked some up,” Juno mutters into his coffee. “Sorry.”

“It’s… fine, detective,” Nureyev says, fixing him with an odd look.

Vespa and Buddy come in, arms wound around each other and deep in conversation. Juno’s chest aches at the intimacy. Buddy sweeps into the room with such charisma that it takes Juno a moment to notice that she’s got a needle in her arm attached to a bag of nutrient sludge on a rolling IV pole.

It’s not the same thing, but Juno’s brain flashes back.

tie it off up here – yeah, like that – then i’ll do the needle part for you this time so you can see how -

feels good doesn’t it

juno closes his eyes and floats away from his body

it’s not like ma’s pills, ben, I swear it isn’t like that

Juno shuts his eye tight and drags himself back to the present. So that’s how Buddy eats. Vespa looks like a moth, raggedly fluttering around Buddy’s light source.

Juno picks at his pancake. Drains his coffee. Pours himself another cup. Doesn’t look at anyone.

“We dock on Venus in about an hour,” Buddy says without preamble. “We don’t meet our contact until tomorrow night, so everyone has the day off after we dock – call it shore leave. Jet has generously volunteered to watch the ship this time so the rest of us can have the night off, but please know that in the future we’ll have a rotating schedule. Juno, Anais – you’ll take this afternoon to replenish our supplies, in case our meeting goes south and we have to make a hasty exit. If you have supply requests, please let Juno or Anais know.”

 “I am allergic to strawberries,” Jet says pensively.  

It takes Juno a moment to understand that it’s meant for him. “Uh. Okay. Thanks for letting me know, big guy.”

“You are welcome.”

“Uh, anything else?” Juno asks awkwardly.

“I got a list for you, boss, but I’m gonna send it straight to your comms since it’s real long – “

“I am not getting you salmon flavored dusty whatevers – “ Juno starts, but Nureyev cuts in.

“I’m happy to get your snacks for you, Rita,” Nureyev says gallantly. “Just send the list to me.”

“It’s on your head when she gets salmon paste in the comms array,” Juno mutters, rolling his eye.

Rita grins and gets up to rinse her plate, chattering at Jet about snacks. Jet smiles easily and follows her out of the room. Buddy and Vespa share one of those glances that seems to be a whole conversation, eyes flicking to Juno. Juno pretends to be annoyed.

“I’ll send you a list of medical supplies, Anais,” Vespa says vaguely. Her hands shake a little, and Juno knows that Buddy sees it. A dark corner of Juno’s mind is happy he isn’t the most fucked up person aboard, but Juno blinks the thought out of his head.

“Let’s get ready for shore leave, love,” Buddy says, getting up from her chair. Buddy pulls her IV pole behind her and Vespa follows wordlessly.

It’s good. Even if Juno still feels like shit, the crew is fed and everyone is okay.

ben honey did you make these?

no ma it was juno he makes real good pancakes

who taught you to fucking cook? maybe you aren’t as useless as i thought.

not you

don’t you roll your fucking eyes at me -

In his mind, Juno can still hear the crack and shatter of dishes against the wall. Dishes clink together in real life, water runs, and Juno tries not to flinch.

“I’ve got the dishes, don’t worry about it,” Juno says, surprising himself.

Nureyev raises an eyebrow. “Well. Let’s head down together, then, once we dock.”

Juno nods tersely and turns to the dishes. “Yeah, sure.” Juno doesn’t hear footsteps.

“Juno?” Nureyev says softly.

Juno shuts his eye tight. “What?”

“Are you all right?” Nureyev asks, taking a step forward and putting a long-fingered hand on Juno’s shoulder. Juno wishes he could take a step back away from Nureyev, shrug off his hand, and then he pushes that irrational thought out of his head. Nureyev wouldn’t hurt him.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Juno says flatly. “You wanna give me some goddamn space, Nureyev?” His shoulders are tense, hovering below his ears. He hears Peter step back. Feels the room grow colder.

“I’ll see you in an hour,” Nureyev says, and Juno can hear the hurt underneath his casual tone. The kitchen door slides shut with a snap and Juno is finally alone.

Good going, Steel, Juno says to himself as he rinses the last dish, wipes his hands on a towel, and shuts his eye tight.  

Chapter Text

After his outburst at breakfast, Juno was fully ready for Nureyev to be angry, or hurt, or even apologetic.

i’m sorry my little monsters i’ll never do it again

you’re lucky i’m marrying you juno, you’re so fucking difficult i don’t know who else would

i’m sorry juno i didn’t mean to -

Juno isn’t entirely wrong. As he walks towards the cargo bay and its ramp down to the surface, Juno can see that Nureyev’s brow is furrowed, and he looks like he’s going to say something.

Juno cuts him off. “Not right now?” he asks softly as Nureyev takes a breath. “Just. I’m sorry for snapping at you, but can we talk about it later?”

Nureyev opens his mouth to say something and clearly thinks better of it. He nods and holds out his long-fingered hand.

Juno doesn’t know what he wants. Was Juno supposed to give him something? He feels frozen as he watches Peter’s smile fade and his arm drop to his side. Peter’s eyes slide forward.

“You don’t have to,” Peter says quietly, looking away as the ramp unfolds towards Venus’s surface.

you don’t have to, juno, i know you don’t like to -

no, babe, of course i will

juno thinks he would do anything for diamond anything anything anything they are so in love love love love fingers intertwined juno is floating -

“Oh,” Juno says, and takes his hand. Peter blushes, half-smiles, and they step forward into the Venusian air.

Venus has three major cities as compared to Mars’ two, but the streets are just as crowded as Juno’s ever seen. The yellow mists of the planet surround the dome and obscure the harsh sunlight. The spaceport gleams, with clearly marked footpaths towards the market district. Juno, with all his opinions on Mars’ beauty and flaws, finds himself appreciating decent urban planning. Juno and Peter walk in silence as the street gets louder with chattering pedestrians and vendors shouting about their sales, until they are fully immersed in the outdoor market. Peter looks over his shoulder a lot, but Juno chalks that up to understandable paranoia. Being a master thief must mean always looking over your shoulder to make sure no one you’ve double-crossed recognizes you. They walk silently, still holding hands.

It’s nice, Juno decides, not to be recognized. No glares or taunts from policemen, no childhood neighbors, no coworkers, no one he knew from past cases or high school or people who had a bone to pick with his mother or nice things to say about his brother.

mister steel! she yells, throwing an arm around his waist. i been practicing my arabesque like you said, why ain’t you been at dance class? miss fallon is boring, not like you  -

uh, i’m officer steel, i don’t  –

i’m sorry, she thought you were her dance teacher, sorry, sorry to bother you, we’ll be going now come on

“What the hell is that?” Juno asks, pulling himself out of his reverie. The thing in question is yellow and long. It’s expensive.

“It’s a fruit,” Peter says, laughing.

“Clearly,” Juno snipes, “but why is it yellow?”

“It’s ripe,” Peter giggles. “You’re really never seen a banana before?”

“Look, I’ve never even been off Mars before getting on this damn ship.” Juno straightens his collar. Venus is hot, the ship is cold, and Juno is wearing both a trench coat and a turtleneck. “Old Earth fruits don’t grow well on Mars.”

Peter looks at him oddly. “Really, you’ve never been off-planet? Not even to one of Mars’ moons?” They walk past the fruit stand.

“Never.”

“I don’t think I can really imagine that,” Peter says eventually.  

Juno just shrugs and pulls out the list he’d written out. “Hey, what’s the budget for this little excursion anyway?” Juno tries to remember how much groceries cost, to try to estimate what it’ll take to get everything.

It’s Nureyev’s turn to shrug. 

Juno’s stomach lurches. “But – “

“We usually just get what’s on the list,” Nureyev says, raising an eyebrow. “We are thieves, after all. Money isn’t always an object.”

“That’s – that’s – what?”

get whatever the fuck you want but you better stop complaining

the openhanded slap still rings in his right ear as he picks himself up off the ground

spending money we don’t have on shit we don’t need, greedy little monster

but we need your fucking pills right? that’s more important –

- pain like a starburst behind his eyes and blood on his teeth -

“Juno? Juno?” They’ve stopped. Nureyev looks concerned, with a hand on his shoulder. Juno resists the instinct to shove Nureyev away, and sheepishly lowers his own hands, trying to block a thirty-year-old blow. “Are you all right?” Nureyev is looking into his eye and Juno is deeply uncomfortable with that.

“Yeah, I’m good, don’t worry. What’s next on the list again?” Juno takes a deep breath, and then another. Breathing is important. Juno keeps walking. If he says he’s fine enough times, he may actually be okay. He can almost hear Rita in his head saying that isn’t true, but, well. He’s doing his level fucking best and he’s barely even hyperventilating.

Not for the first time, Juno wishes the ground would swallow him whole. He’s having a damn panic attack over a shopping list. Pathetic, he tells himself.

pathetic, little monster. suffering is good for the soul.

(andromeda suffers, and the world loves her for it)

“Juno, what is going on?” Nureyev catches his hand.

Juno squeezes his eye tight and casts around for something non-concerning to say that isn’t an absolute lie. “I, uh, I’m just a bit overwhelmed. Can we, uh – “

“Yes, of course,” Nureyev says neutrally. Juno lets himself be steered into a building. Juno is so relieved to be out of the persistent noise of the market district that it takes him a moment to realize where he and Nureyev had ducked in.

“Luckily,” Nureyev says with an exaggerated wink, “you had good timing.” Nureyev approaches the hostess. “Good evening,” he says with a blinding smile.

“Good evening. Do you have a reservation?” the young woman says in an exaggerated Venusian accent.

“Yes, under Duke and Dahlia Rose,” Nureyev says smoothly.

Juno’s heart still may be beating overly fast, but he’s got enough wherewithal to roll his eyes. Nureyev’s smile widens, revealing his canines. Juno privately finds this very attractive and it distracts him enough from the knot of panic in his chest that he can simply follow Nureyev to their table and sit down.

“Thank you,” Juno murmurs. “This is a fancy place, huh?”

“Not terribly,” Nureyev chuckles. “There isn’t even a dress code. To be honest, it’s a pretty popular lunch spot I ran across a few years ago and thought you might like.”

“Fanciest place I’ve ever been,” Juno mutters, glaring at the cloth napkin like it had personally offended him.

“Don’t tell me no one’s ever taken you out for a nice meal?” Nureyev’s voice lilts, teasing a little. He’s trying to figure out a way to take it back when the waiter saunters up to their table.

“Not really,” Juno admits. Nureyev frowns, and Juno feels guilty. He’s trying to figure out a way to take it back when the waiter saunters up to their table.

“Any drinks?” the waiter asks as he hands them menus.

“Several,” Juno quips. “Whiskey, neat.”

“A Ring of Saturn for me,” Peter says with his winning smile and reaches out to take Juno’s hand. Peter’s hand is long and spidery, soft, so different from Juno’s stubby fingers and ragged nails.

Juno opens the menu with his other hand and drops it in shock.

“We gotta go,” Juno says, pulling his hand away from Nureyev. “I can’t afford this. How can anyone afford this? Fifty creds for a single damn dish? Let’s go – “

“Shh, shh, Juno, darling, this is my treat. Call it a celebration.”

Juno’s dry mouth works for a second before he can get the words out. “A celebration of what?”

A flash of discomfort crosses Nureyev’s face. “Us… reconciling, I suppose.”

“Oh, so this is an ‘I’m glad we’re fucking’ lunch?” Juno crosses his arms and leans back in his chair.

“No,” Nureyev says slowly. “I am glad that you are back in my life and we were able to forgive each other for the hurt we’ve caused.” He pours water into his glass from a carafe between them and takes a long drink.

Juno feels like an ass. “Look, Nur- sorry, Duke - I’m sorry – “

why do you have to be such a dick when i’m trying to do nice things for you juno

if i buy you dinner will you shut the fuck up

“I accept your apology,” Nureyev says, and it sounds genuine. “Now, what would you like to eat?”

Juno is exhausted when they step out of the restaurant into the Venusian smog. He knows he doesn’t understand table manners on Mars, let alone what the Venusians expect. He and Nureyev had had light conversation and two drinks each – which, on Nureyev, apparently means some mild tipsiness. As they walk down the street to seek out a pharmacy, Nureyev coils an arm around his shoulder and kisses his temple. For once, Juno doesn’t want to run, and that feels good. He has to go up on his tiptoes, but he kisses Nureyev on the cheek.

Juno’s whole face is burning. He’s not twelve, so why did he just – it doesn’t matter, he tells himself firmly. No one on Venus knows him.

“Hey, can we stop here?” Juno asks, pulling Nureyev’s arm off his shoulders. They are stopped in front of a liquor store that is more high-end than Juno would usually frequent, but he hasn’t seen any other liquor for sale.

“Juno, are you sure – “ Nureyev begins, but Juno has already darted into the store.

Juno emerges three minutes later with a handle of vodka in a paper bag. “All set. The pharmacy should be a block away,” he says.

“Juno, I’m not really comfortable – “

i can stop whenever i want ben i’m not like ma

officer steel were you inebriated at the time of the accident

juno you can’t keep doing this it’s going to kill you one of these days

“You don’t control what I do,” Juno says flatly, and Nureyev flinches back visibly.

“I know that, I’m not trying to be controlling, but I’m allowed to be concerned about your well-being – “

“You aren’t allowed to worry about me. I’m an adult. I can take care of myself.” Juno begins walking towards the pharmacy, confident Nureyev will follow.

“Can you, though?” Nureyev says, loud enough to carry as his long legs keep up with me easily. “What about all the skipping meals? Eating burned food? Juno, I – “

“I am not having this conversation right now,” Juno announces, throwing open the door to the pharmacy. He privately thinks he won’t ever have this conversation if he has any choice in the matter. “Get what you need to for Vespa and let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“As you wish,” Nureyev murmurs reluctantly, and follows him inside.

Chapter Text

Juno can’t sleep.

He and Nureyev hadn’t spoken as they walked back to the ship. Juno would have normally complained about the humidity and the sheer number of shopping bags they had to carry, but instead he kept his mouth shut.

He’d silently cooked dinner for Jet and Peter – the only two aboard the ship right now, everyone else is still out on shore leave – and left without eating any of the soup he’d made. Jet had called after him, but Juno slammed the door behind him and pretended he hadn’t heard.

Maybe now he knows how to shut up, he thinks. It’d be a new skill for him.

super steel, you gotta give people a chance. you can’t push everyone away.

like who?

i don’t know. people who aren’t me, mick, and sasha.

Juno buries his hands in his hair and rolls over, mashing his face into the pillow. His stomach rumbles, and he wills it to shut up. He fumbles for the box of stolen nutrient bars under his bed, but his hand wraps around the neck of the vodka bottle instead. So, since he’s a massive screwup, Juno takes a few gulps of vodka and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

How does he manage to fuck up every good thing in his life? He’d gotten Peter back, been forgiven for his massive fuckup, and then somehow managed to screw everything up again. It’s all a spiral, and he’s wrong for thinking he could reverse its direction.

Little idiot, little monster

You are always going to be like this juno and I’m not sticking around to let you pull me down with you, okay? I’m sorry

I’m sorry too

Fuck, he’s hungry. He’s not hungry very much, especially when he’d already eaten today. It’s stupid, he thinks. In his twenties, he’d go days and days without eating, only giving in to his body’s calls for food alone in the middle of the night. Never at the HCPD. Never, never, never.

you don’t want to be weak do you juno?

nosir.

your weaknesses are a liability to me, juno. what good is a weapon that could break when you need it most?

i’ll be better, captain hijikata. i swear.  

prove it.

He’d passed out, a couple of times. Rita used to leave snacks on his desk in the HCPD, and Falco used to take him out for meals at the end of cases, meals he’d only pick at. By the time Rita had shown him the office and the detective agency she’d put together for him, he’d begun eating every day or so. And he’d survived, hadn’t he? Like every other godforsaken thing he’d been through.

He’ll survive this too.

So he sits up, drinks some more vodka, and staggers to his feet. He’s gonna go fucking eat something that isn’t a goddamn nutrient bar because he fucking deserves it no matter what his brain is saying.

He’s drunker than expected. A few weeks without alcohol aboard lowered his tolerance more than he currently cares to admit. He stumbles against the wall, waits a moment, and tries again. Eventually, he gets to the kitchen and wrenches open the sliding door. The kitchen is blessedly empty.

Juno wrenches open the refrigerator, lets the cool air clear his head for a moment. When he was a kid, his ma slept on the couch – there was only one bedroom in their little dump of an apartment, so Juno and Ben took the bedroom and Sarah took the couch. Sneaking around after Sarah had gone to bed was risky at best, but Ben and Juno still braved it from time to time – Juno stealing scraps of food and a cred or two out of Sarah’s purse, or, in Ben’s case, checking that Sarah was still breathing, getting her a glass of water, laying out an aspirin for her to take when she woke up.

Clutching the plastic container of leftover soup, Juno shuts the fridge, leans back against it, sucks in a shaky breath.

shut up juno! you’re going to wake her up

why do you do this for her? if she wakes up she’ll –

if you shut up it’ll be fine!

a shift, a mumble, a twitching silence and then silent footsteps and a carefully closed door, the lock slides home

The door slides open, and Juno flinches. His brain is shouting for him to run away, get away, she’s awake, run run run

he drops the container of soup and it goes everywhere

little monster how dare you

“Juno?” The voice is soft, low and delicate, and nothing like his mother’s.

Juno isn’t sure when he ended up sitting hunched on the floor. “Peter,” he tries to respond neutrally, quietly, but his voice comes out in a gasp.

“Juno, what’s going on? Why – what’s wrong?” Peter is crouching down in front of him, reaching out to him, and Juno tries to scoot away.

Diamond’s hand on his shoulder leaves bruises, finger marks where their nails dug into his skin

You can’t keep doing this juno  

“I’m okay, it’s okay, I’m okay,” Juno mutters, now sitting up against the cabinets. He pulls his knees to his chin and laces his hands over the back of his neck.

“I won’t touch you, Juno,” Peter says. “Not unless you want me to.”

With some hesitation, Juno reaches out a hand without looking. Peter takes it. Peter’s hand is warm and dry. Juno’s is sticky, wet, and cold with spilled soup. Juno feels dirty. Juno is dirty.

“I’m sorry,” Juno says, hoarse.

“It’s all right, dear, panic attacks happen, I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that,” Nureyev says airily.

“No,” Juno says, still curled up.  “I’m sorry.”

Juno hears Peter move to his side and sit up against the cabinets with him. “About today?”

Juno nods, lifting his head a tiny bit but not daring to steal a glance at Peter.

Peter sighs. “Something scared you,” he says slowly. “Something about the beginning of our shopping trip scared you until you shut down.” Peter’s hand clenches on Juno’s minutely. “I’m sorry for trying to stop you from doing what you wanted when you bought that vodka. I’ve just seen you make so much, well, progress, I didn’t want you to…”

“No, I know,” Juno says, sitting up a bit more. “I’m a mess, Peter. I’m a fuckup, and I’m trying to get better, but… maybe there’s a limit to what I can fix. Maybe some of it runs too deep.”

“You’re not a mess, Juno.”

Juno gestures to the spilled soup he’s covered with, looking up at Nureyev with eyebrows raised. Nureyev looks soft – no makeup, unstyled hair, a simple white nightgown. Juno feels privileged to even see this side of Nureyev.

“Current mess notwithstanding, you – “

Something occurs to Juno, and he cuts Nureyev off. “Oh no – your clothes – “

“They’ll wash, Juno.” Carefully, telegraphing his movements, Peter raises a hand and places it on Juno’s cheek. Juno nods, minutely, to tell Peter this is good, this is okay. “What was today really about?”

Juno says nothing. How is he, a grown lady, supposed to admit that three meals a day is a terrifying concept?

Peter suddenly stands up, and Juno half-flinches again.

if you won’t fucking listen to me then i’m not going to try to help you

i think you’re just too broken juno

i’m going back to bed

Peter frowns. “Can I show you something?” he asks, holding out a hand for Juno to take. With only a moment’s hesitation, Juno takes his hand and gets to his feet.

They walk down the hallway, holding hands in the glow of the emergency lights. Juno is silent, but it’s different now. They stop in front of Nureyev’s door. Nureyev places his palm on the lock, and the door slides open noiselessly.

Peter steps in, and Juno follows. They’re still dripping soup, Juno remembers belatedly, but he doesn’t say anything. The light flicks on, and Juno blinks in the sudden brightness.

The concern in Peter’s gaze is nearly too much. Juno looks at the floor. It’s cold and metal. This room doesn’t look like Peter, he thinks. It’s not even decorated.

Peter opens his closet. “I keep food in here,” he says, voice oddly blank. “I don’t know why. I can’t go anywhere or do much of anything without keeping some food on my person.” The box he’s looking at appears to be an oversized shoebox, but when he opens it Juno catches a glimpse of foil-packed rations and nutrient bars. “Just in case, I suppose. Emergencies, or something else.”

“Because of Brahma?” It feels like the words take a while to work themselves up from somewhere deep inside of him. He’s more blunt than he’d like to be.

Peter closes his eyes tight. His fingers twitch, once. “Yes. Because of Brahma.” He sits on the floor, leans against the closet’s door frame. “Correct me if I am wrong, Juno, but I believe we both grew up without as much as we would like.”

Juno sits next to him, uses some long-buried reserve of courage to bury his head in Peter’s shoulder. “That was years ago,” he mutters.

“It helps me, still, to keep food around. Makes me feel more secure. But when I was eleven or twelve, after he took me in, I…” Peter trails off, lost in thought.

“Mag?” Juno whispers, and it hangs in the air.

“Yes,” Peter sighs. “I didn’t trust him. I had learned not to trust anyone, especially when it came to food. I think I was a little… feral. But he was consistent, and eventually I learned to trust him. I didn’t eat until I made myself sick every time his back was turned. But it took years.” Peter takes a long, steady breath. “All of it came back, worse, after I… after he died. After I left Brahma behind.”

Juno says nothing. A long silence passes between them.

we’re both sarah steel’s kids, juno

we both inherited that weight around her neck

“Juno, I’ve been off Brahma for most of my life,” Peter says suddenly. “You’ve been off Mars for three weeks.”

“Oh,” Juno says, feeling a tiredness slip down into his bones. “So you’re saying…”

“Even if it was years ago. Like you said at the market, this is your first time off of Mars. Away from the place all of it happened.” Peter’s voice is quick, sharp.

it’s called a flashback, mistah steel, frannie gave me a book about it i think you should read

have you ever thought of seeing a counselor or a therapist, juno?

do you really think some problems are enough to call yourself trash?

“Okay,” Juno says weakly, feeling the weight of this new realization on his shoulders and a lump in his throat. “I think that makes sense.” And because he’s seen enough streams with Rita, he adds: “Thank you for telling me that. About yourself.”

“You’re welcome,” Peter mutters, sounding exhausted. “I think I need to sleep now, Detective. You’re welcome to stay, if you like.” Peter’s voice only half-hides the quiet eagerness in his voice.

“I… yes, I’ll sleep here, if you want,” Juno stutters. The idea of not having to sleep alone sounds heavenly right now. 

Peter smiles, honest and tired. “Do you need a shower?”

“Guess we’re still covered in soup, right,” Juno says, rubbing his forehead.

Peter smiles tiredly. “It can be a problem for the morning. If you’d like.”

“I’d like that,” Juno says, standing up and pulling Peter to his feet.

Chapter Text

Juno still feels warm from waking up in Peter’s bed, even after Buddy insisted he come along to her meeting as her bodyguard.

Most of what Buddy says during her meeting with her contact on Venus is incomprehensible to Juno. Juno knows that their ultimate target is the Cerberus Board of Fresh Starts, and that freeing the indentured servants on Mars is the goal; beyond that, he knows very little about the substance of Buddy’s plan. Juno and Peter broke into a research center on a moon last week to steal a data chip Rita had been very excited about, and now that same chip glitters in Buddy’s hand.

Juno checks the exits again. The private room of this Venusian club is substantially grimier than the market had been, but Juno doesn’t mind. Places like this feel almost homelike – like everywhere in the godforsaken galaxy people get drunk and make bad decisions in essentially the same way. The grime, the smell of sour beer and old frying oil, it clings to him like a second skin. Their contact keeps looking him up and down like they can see it on him.

oldtown gutter rat

you smell like those rabbits you spend all your fuckin’ time with, sewer steel

even without their uniforms he should have known but they get the jump on him at the bar and grind his face into the pavement outside -

Buddy tosses her hair back over one shoulder. “Aria, darling, it’s all here,” she says soothingly. “All the personal banking codes for the Board of Fresh Starts. Take whatever you like from them, I don’t care. But for the sake of your sister, help us take them down.”

Aria is tall and blonde, icy blue eyes and dark skin. Those striking eyes flash at the mention of their sister, and Juno’s heart sinks. When Aria speaks, their voice is low.

“Do not mention my sister again, Buddy. After the shit you pulled in Cerberus – coming out of nowhere like that, everyone thought you were dead - no one is going to work with you, no matter how noble your intentions are or what you’ve got on offer.” They laugh with no mirth. “The only thing worse than working with those slavers is betraying them, I guess.” Aria stands up and Juno’s hand goes to his blaster.

“Stand down,” Buddy says out of the corner of her mouth. Juno is too afraid of Buddy to ask, but he’s pretty sure her cybernetic eye can see through the back of her head. Instantly, Juno raises his palms to show they are empty.

“Pretty thing, aren't you?” Aria remarks, eyes roving over Juno. "It's a shame Buddy got to you first." 

Juno doesn’t say anything. In another time he would have flirted back, he thinks. Let them do whatever they wanted, let them leave him used and feeling broken. But that’s not now, he thinks to himself. That’s a feeling from before. Now, he feels vaguely nauseous.

god, juno, did someone get the jump on you? are you okay?

don’t worry about it –

is that a hickey? super steel you gotta tell me what happened –

it was my idea, so shut up –

“Leave him alone,” Buddy says fiercely, getting to her feet. “I’ll thank you not to harass my crew.”

Aria laughs. “Fine, I get it, he's taken. Say hello to Rasbach for me,” they say as Juno feels the barrel of a blaster press against his head. “Stun them and take them to the ship,” Aria says casually, turning to leave.

Juno freezes, and is actually pretty proud of how he immediately raises his hands in surrender instead of doing something dumb like fighting back, though he thinks Buddy might not be thrilled at his new sense of self-preservation. He can hear Buddy cursing loudly as he’s stunned.

Juno comes to in the back of the Ruby Seven with a blinding headache. Jet is driving, and Buddy is in the front seat. He’s sprawled across the backseat and someone is sitting next to him – Vespa, he thinks, from how cold the fingers on his pulse are. His head is throbbing, which is pretty par for the course as far as blaster fire goes for him.

He remembers the first time he’d been on the receiving end of blaster fire. Lets the memory of being hungry and fifteen play out behind his eyelid.

drop the bag, kid, you’re cornered, the owner saw you shoplifting  –

fuck you –

don’t say i didn’t warn you, kid. this is gonna hurt.

then buzzing, and pain, and teeth clenched and nothing and coming back to consciousness in a holding cell and ma didn’t come get him not for three days to teach him a lesson teach him a lesson little monster you can’t even steal right

“He’s awake,” Vespa calls.

Juno cracks open his eye, winces at the light. “Ugh. Barely,” he grunts. “How’d we get out of that one?” he asks, pushing himself into a seated position.

“I was wearing a wire, and Jet was listening in,” Buddy says, not looking back. “He came in a few seconds after you were stunned and gave me enough of a distraction to shoot Aria.”

“You were wearing a wire?” Juno asks, incredulous.

“Darling, do you pay attention in mission briefings at all?” Juno can’t tell if she’s being serious.

“Yes,” he grumps, folding his arms. It’s only mostly a lie.

“Anyway,” Vespa says testily. “We’re nearly at the rendezvous spot. Anais and Rita are landing in one minute.”

“Ready, Jet?” Buddy asks in that warm tone she gets when she talks to him. It makes Juno’s stomach turn, it always does when anyone’s tone changes drastically in front of him. Anytime he can hear the difference between juno and ben like echoes of his mother’s voice.

But that doesn’t matter, because Jet replies “As long as we are quick, yes. We should be able to lose our pursuers.”

In short order, the ship lands, the ramp to the hold lowers down through the yellow mist, and the Ruby Seven rolls safely into the belly of the spacecraft.

Juno feels kinda like he’s going to throw up.

“Excellent work, Jet,” Buddy says approvingly. “I wasn’t counting on Aria’s help anyway – getting their mother out of a tight spot fifteen years ago must not mean much now.”

“I was counting on Aria,” Vespa says miserably as the Ruby Seven clicks and turns itself off, opening the doors to the cargo bay. “What now? We need someone who is familiar with the Board of Fresh Starts. We need –“

Juno chooses this moment to stand up, step out of the car, feel the room spin and his stomach lurch, and then he hits his head really hard on something and he’s on the ground.

As if through a tunnel, he hears Vespa swear. “Goddamnit, Juno,” she says from a galaxy away.

Juno wakes up in the medbay. Vespa is there too, puttering around with something in her locked cabinets where he assumes she keeps the good drugs.

juno i need you to tell me the truth. did you go through my medicine cabinet when we fucked last week?

i know it’s a painful recovery, but i can’t take ‘em, doc. i don’t react well. no, i’m not allergic, it’s just –

my uncle sells these little pills, jay - 

“Oh good, you’re back with us,” Vespa says without turning around. “Care to share why the fuck you passed out on us ten minutes ago? You’re damn lucky you didn’t concuss yourself.”

“I dunno,” Juno says. “Dehydrated or something?”

“Maybe,” Vespa says as Juno sits up, fighting back the last of the dizziness. She turns and glares at him. “What did you eat today?”

“Uh, before we left I made eggs for breakfast and a chicken casserole for lunch – “

“Not what you made. What you ate.” Vespa narrows her eyes.

A spike of pure fear jolts through him. The answer, of course, is nothing. It’s hard to feel like he deserves to eat when Peter is functioning so much better than him with even worse starvation in his past.

You don’t deserve anything, little monster. Handed our lives away.

A part of Juno knows that’s not logical, comparing his past to Nureyev’s, letting his mother’s hatred punish him from beyond the grave, but that rationality escapes him under Vespa’s glare.

“I had some eggs,” Juno lies.

“Uh-huh,” Vespa says, disbelieving. “Give me your arm.” She grabs his arm roughly and prods it for a vein.

Juno snatches his arm back. “What are you doing?” he yelps.

“Taking a blood sample. So I, as your doctor, can figure out why you passed out.”

Juno does not like Vespa very much. Her abrasiveness, her abrupt changes in manner – it all feels sickeningly familiar. Juno doesn’t think Vespa would hurt him, not unless he did something really boneheaded, but he’s jumpy anyway. He extends his arm slowly.

To her credit, Vespa takes his arm more gently this time. She ties the elastic, prods for a vein, slides the needle in. Juno hates this part, the waiting for the vials to fill. He doesn’t like blood.

Vespa is still staring down at his arm when she asks. “How long have you been clean?”

Juno shuts his eye. “Eight years, give or take.”

heaven in a needle, juno, don’t you want to feel good

juno took something and now he won’t wake up, dad, help, we have to take him to the hospital –

slow down mick –

jay can you hear me –

shaking and vomiting on rita’s bathroom floor, sitting fully clothed in her shower, pulling scabs from his forearms

“Anything I should avoid?” Vespa’s voice is clinical as she turns to her desk and does something with the blood that Juno does not care to know the details of.

“Uh. Opiates are. Probably a bad idea.” Juno hates this.

“Okay,” Vespa says, turning to face him. “You’re stupidly anemic, Steel. Eat something with some iron in it, okay? As your doctor, you have to eat three goddamn meals a goddamn day.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Juno mumbles.

Vesoa’s eyes narrow. “Look me in my eye and believe me when I say. I will strap you to this table and feed you intravenously if I have to.” Her glare softens, probably because Juno is actively stopping himself from running out the door to the medbay and it’s showing on his face. “I know you’ve got issues. I… you’re not the only one. But this isn’t acceptable behavior if you want to be on a team. Buddy and I can’t trust you to have our backs if you can’t take care of yourself.”

“I can take care of myself,” Juno says, stung.

“Prove it,” Vespa says, standing up. “Anais is supposed to be getting you something to get your blood sugar up, so you are going to sit your ass right there, Steel, and eat your damn snack before you even think about getting up. Understood?”

“Yeah,” Juno says as she leaves.

It’s kind of a novel feeling, he thinks. The people who’ve had power over him in his life have never really insisted he do things like eat or sleep. His mother, Captain Hijikata, Ramses, Diamond – it’s odd, to be looked after like this, with the anger and exasperation he deserves and the care he doesn’t. He’s always been expected to deal with himself, to not need help, to push and struggle to carve out what he needed. It feels a little suffocating.

Juno suddenly feels hungry. The feeling is deep and stomach-twisting and he nearly gasps with its intensity. It feels like the emptiness is swallowing him up, spreading along his limbs and raising a lump in his throat.

not hungry is a lie it’s a lie it’s a lie and he wants someone to see through it please please please

hunger twisting eating at him he’s empty and so is the pantry and her wallet

somebody threw out a whole box of nutrient bars, juno, and they’re only three months expired -

Juno – spiraling, deep in teenage memory and every time he felt like his stomach was turning itself inside out - is interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Juno?” Peter’s voice floats. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” Juno says lowly. He tries to pull himself together. He can’t let Peter see how deep this runs in him, how he’s broken and he was born broken even before poverty and neglect shattered him further. How he couldn’t – can’t – put himself back together, not permanently.

Juno takes a deep breath, and the door slides open.

Chapter Text

The door slides open, and Peter is standing in the doorway with a single large glass of orange juice. He looks nearly disheveled, and Juno somehow knows he’s Peter right now, not Anais or anyone else.

Peter sees the look on Juno’s face. “Darling? Is everything all right?” He swoops forward, puts the glass of juice in Juno’s hand, notices it shaking. “Drink this, love, you’ll feel better.”

mistah steel? you’re shaking, i’ll get you some juice

you ain’t gotta go through this alone mistah steel, all the streams say getting off a this stuff ain’t easy

face resting on the cool tile wishing for something anything to make this misery go away and threads of warmth dancing through at the prospect of being cared for

Juno sips the juice. He knows enough about hunger to know that eating or drinking too fast will just lead to him vomiting it all back up. Peter says nothing but settles beside him on the narrow mattress.

“No offense,” Juno says hoarsely, setting the half-full glass to the side, “but why do you smell like smoke?”

Peter actually, literally blushes and Juno feels like melting. In a good way. “Rita is dealing with it,” he says, looking away.

“Wait. What did you do?”

Peter fidgets a little. “I was supposed to make you toast and orange juice, that’s what Vespa said, but I didn’t realize that damn toaster oven even could – “

Juno cuts him off. “Did you set the kitchen on fire?” he asks, aiming for a joking tone. Surely not.

“Not really, just a little bit,” Peter admits, setting his head on Juno’s shoulder. “Mostly smoke.”

Juno feels his stomach tremble, laughter burrowing its way through him. “You – you set the toaster oven on fire? Making toast? Oh my god, Peter, Buddy said you were bad in the kitchen – “

“Slander!” Peter says indignantly, but he’s laughing too.

“Buddy is going to murder you,” Juno says, shoulders shaking with laughter. “Lucky for you, Rita loves using the fire extinguisher.”

“Yes, I got that impression,” Peter snorts. “Are you feeling better, love?” Peter asks gently, tucking himself back into Juno’s side.

Juno stops to consider. “Yeah,” he says.

And it’s true. He is. He can still feel the terrible empty feeling tugging at him, can still feel the jaggedness of painful memories, and he’s still so hungry, but he’s calmer. And maybe Rita wasn’t as wrong as he thought every time she had claimed a snack would make him feel better. Juno finishes the orange juice and sets the glass down. He’s shaking less. It feels good, to have Peter’s warmth next to him. He kind of wants to cry.

“Want to go back to mine?” Juno can feel Peter’s voice, the vibrations of it, in Peter’s body pressed up to his. It’s soothing. “I’m exhausted, and I’m sure you are as well.”

Juno swallows his pride, and his hurt, and –

who do you think you are, ordering me to cook for you, you’re just a greedy little monster –

isn’t that your job? as my goddamn mother?

juno ducks before he sees the plate smash on the wall behind him, feels a shard cut his bare foot, hears ben cry out no no no –

“Uh, can we stop by the kitchen first?” Juno shuts his eye tight. “I haven’t eaten today, so I should probably. Eat something. Before I go to bed?” He can’t risk looking at Peter.

“Yes, of course,” Peter says. “Are you feeling well enough to walk?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Juno says, sliding off the bed and to his feet. “Just got a bit dizzy earlier. It happens.”

Peter is sitting on the bed, still fidgeting. “Juno, with the eating,” he starts, “was it… did I say something wrong? The other night, when I – when you saw the box in my closet.”

“No,” Juno says emphatically. “No, Peter, not at all. I’m just – I’m not good at this,” he admits, turning away and feeling himself choke on the words. Peter doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of his bullshit, especially after growing up orphaned on the streets of Brahma. “None of this is your fault, okay?”

“This isn’t your fault either, Juno,” Peter says. “If you want my help, I – you’re welcome to it. I don’t want to push.”

fucking hell juno i’ve done everything i can, i don’t know how to fucking fix you

juno we broke up, i can’t care about your bullshit anymore okay?

childhood spent as ben’s identical shadow, bruised and silent and so hungry a glare to match the galaxy’s best smile

“Juno.” Peter has stood up. His eyes are narrowed, and his mouth is not smiling. Juno can’t remember what that means.

mick’s dad claps a hand on his shoulder and juno flinches so hard he nearly falls over

no food not for days just pinpricks bleeding and wide pupils

you take the nutrient bars, okay? i’m not the one miasma is torturing. i’ll be fine.

“Shit,” Juno says, both hands on Vespa’s desk. He’s hunched over, breathing hard, but his mind feels like a curious blank, like water running over something smooth. Or something.

“Juno, can I touch you?” Peter’s voice is low and his eyes are bright when Juno turns his head to see. Why can’t he put those things together in an order that makes sense?

no no no no no no no no no no no

please don’t

skin screaming

“Um.” Juno straightens up, turns to face Nureyev. Why is he so tall? Juno feels fucking microscopic. “I, uh, did anyone cook dinner for the crew? I – “

“Juno – “

“I should go make something for everyone, it’s my job I guess,” Juno says quickly, backing away from Nureyev. “Feeling fine now.”

Peter follows Juno’s glances at the door and moves so the exit isn’t blocked. Juno is pathetically grateful for the clear line to the exit. He looks at the floor, and some of the tension deflates while Juno’s heart rate slows. “Would you like some company in the kitchen?”

“Sure,” Juno says, also looking at the floor.

Together, they shuffle down the hall, not looking at each other or saying anything. Juno tries to convince himself that the silence isn’t angry and fails miserably. His shoulders creep up around his ears.

When Juno slides open the door to the kitchen, he stops. Rita looks up from her seat on the floor, surrounded by bits of what Juno assumes used to be the toaster oven. Fire extinguisher foam is all over the counters, and bits of smoke are still coming up from what Juno assumes was his toast, now smoldering in the sink.

“What did you do,” Juno says flatly. Over his shoulder, Peter stifles a chuckle.

“Oh hi, Mistah Steel!” Rita says, mouth full of what seem to be gummy worms. “So ya probably heard that your toast got burnt up because I left Mistah Lim unsupervised.”

“Now, Rita, I don’t think that’s a fair assessment – “

“So the toaster oven caught a little bit on fire and then I got the big red thingy and it went whoooosh and the fire went blarrrrgh and went out. And THEN I had a really cool idea. What if the toaster oven could catch on fire when we wanted it to AND make good toast? Then if anybody tries to rob the ship and make toast they’ll be in big trouble, Mistah Steel, and – “

“I’m gonna ignore that,” Juno decides. He turns to Peter. “Help me wipe down the counters?”

“But the biggest issue is - WAIT I bet Jet has some propellant for his hovercycle!” Rita gathers the pieces of the toaster oven in her arms and scurries out of the room. 

“She’s certainly energetic,” Peter says, nonplussed. As they clean, Juno and Peter do an odd dance of staying far, far out of one another’s space. Juno hates his ability to make any damn situation uncomfortable.

“That’s one word for it,” Juno grunts, throwing open the fridge. “Any ideas for dinner?”

“Why not make something a bit more Outer Rim, darling?” Buddy walks in purposefully. “Your cooking is understandably a bit Solar, according to Vespa.” Buddy turns, looks him in the eye. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Juno says, priding himself on not flinching. “I just got dizzy. What do you mean by Solar?” 

“Well, you know Vespa’s from one of the moons of Hestia,” Buddy says. “She’s quite upset about not securing Aria as an ally and not noticing your ailments before they occurred; it might be a comfort to have some food that tastes like home.” Buddy sits down, a little more tired than Juno would expect from her. “But that’s just a request, darling – please don’t take it as an order. And I’m certainly glad you’re feeling better; you gave us all quite a scare.”

Juno nods. He can understand that. Something to lift the spirits. “Anything specific in mind?”

“Perhaps a curry? If memory serves, Hestian curry is the pride of the planet. I’m sure there’s a recipe out there you can find on your comms.” Buddy stands, puts a hand on Juno’s shoulder. “I appreciate this, Juno. Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Juno says eventually, uncomfortable under Buddy’s gaze. “No problem.”

“Also, Anais,” Buddy says with no change in tone, “just so you are aware, you are banned from the stove and oven until further notice due to the toaster oven incident. As you’re aware, fire aboard a spaceship could eat the oxygen in the air and kill us all.” She turns and exits, leaving Peter stunned into momentary silence.

Juno stands there for a moment, and then bursts into laughter. Peter puts up a token protest but gives up after a moment and laughs with him. Juno, in a rare moment of bravery, takes Peter’s hands as they laugh. Slowly, telegraphing his movements, Juno reaches up and hugs Peter around the middle like a child. Peter’s arms wrap around him, and Juno feels his mind quiet a moment.

Peter jolts him back to reality when he pulls back to look Juno in the eye. For a moment Juno’s mind floods with anger, because Peter’s face is honest and open and happy and someday soon Peter will run out of patience with Juno’s neverending bullshit and that beautiful open face will close into anger and rage and –

diamond’s ring catching juno’s lower lip

don’t you dare come back here little monster

you want to do good don’t you juno

Peter clears his throat and drops Juno’s hands, fiddling with his comms as Juno forces himself to breathe. Peter sits on the counter, toes brushing the linoleum in a frankly disgusting display of height.

“I found a recipe for Hestian curry,” he says tentatively from his perch after a few minutes. “Not sure if it’s the right one? But it looks like… curry?”

Juno, still primarily occupied with breathing, turns to Peter. “Read it out to me?” Juno even manages a smile he’s pretty sure looks genuine.

Peter settles into a chair. “Step one, heat oil in a – “

“Look, Peter, if you ever want to earn your stove privileges back, you have to learn that you check all your ingredients before you start cooking. Ingredients first.”

“Of course, dear,” Peter chuckles.

Juno smiles and turns to get a pan out of the cupboard.

Forty-eight minutes later, Juno is not doing well. The rice is burned to the bottom of the pan, and the curry mixture is bubbling and smoking on the stove. Peter is standing – not quite over him, but close enough for Juno to keep one eye on him. Seeing how he only has one eye, this means he’s not keeping a close enough watch on the fucking vegetables.  

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Juno says, pulling the curry mixture off the stove and fanning it with the spatula in his other hand. Unluckily, the spatula throws the leftover oil from cooking the chicken all over the kitchen as he waves it over the burning coconut curry.

you fucking burned it?

we don’t have money to get another dinner. so if you’re hungry, ben, don’t blame ma. blame juno for fucking it up.

(it’s ok juno it’s ok i’m not mad i swear i’m not even hungry)

The roasting green vegetable in the oven pops and hisses, which Peter assures him is probably normal, according to Hestian cooking blogs.

“It’s okay, Juno,” Peter says, hovering. “Can’t I just – “

“No,” Juno snaps. “Just leave it, okay? I’ll do it.”

“But – “

“Back off!” Juno all but snarls. “I can’t hear myself fucking think!”

Peter takes a step back, eyes wide.

mistah steel don’t like people sneakin’ up on him, specially in the kitchen.

he’s humming one of the songs from ben’s dance recital to himself, peeling potatoes, when her hands shove him hard and his head bounces off the cabinet and he falls hard

shut the fuck up, i can’t hear myself think with all your fucking noise

“I’m sorry, Peter,” Juno croaks. “I just – I keep fucking this up, and I don’t mean to, I swear - ”

“Juno!” Peter points behind him, and smoke is starting to billow from the oven. “The oven – “ he starts.

“Motherfucker,” Juno curses, reaching to turn the oven off. “Shit! Fuck!” His bare forearm catches on a pot handle, sending the vegetables flying and knocking his hand directly into a glowing electric stove burner. Juno gasps in pain, leaning back against the cabinet and clutching his forearm.

how did you get that burn on your hand and that black eye juno?

none of your business, why do you care –

he’s just clumsy miss he’ll be more careful next time come on juno let’s go to class

“Turn it off,” Juno barks through gritted teeth. “Turn the dials. Until the burner light turns off.”

Peter hurries to do so. “Will you sit down, Juno?” he asks as he frantically turns dials in the wrong direction.

Juno stumbles to the chair nearest the door. “To the left,” he calls out.

Peter turns, hair falling over his eyes. “Can I get you something for that burn?” he asks from across the room.

Juno nods. Doesn’t trust himself to speak. From a pocket, Peter produces ointment and a handkerchief, which he runs under cool water.

Peter hands the cool compress to Juno, fingertips meeting. Then Peter takes a chair a few feet away and looks intently at Juno’s arm as Juno presses the handkerchief down with his other hand.

diamond wiping blood from juno’s chin, wrapping him in a blanket, holding him tight, pleasure following pain

on his worst days juno hoped diamond would draw blood just so they’d love him again

“I don’t think we can fix the curry,” Peter eventually says, breaking the silence.

Juno laughs harshly. “Buddy’s gonna kill me,” he mutters.

“It’ll be fine, Juno, it was just a nice thought she had for Vespa,” Peter says, toying with the ointment tin in his hand. “Why do you keep thinking that someone will be mad at you?”

“Someone always is,” Juno snaps. “You met me? I’m pretty damn irritating.”

“I disagree,” Peter says smoothly.

“Whatever,” Juno says, looking at the floor. “You should be pissed at me for wasting so much food.”

“I don’t care about that,” Peter says, anger surging as he stands and paces. Juno is pathetically glad Peter is not in his face. “I couldn’t give less of a fuck about wasting food. There’s more. I will personally go steal some damn food for you if it’ll make you feel better. I haven’t stolen groceries since I left Brahma, but if it makes you less stuck in your own head about the whole thing, I’ll rob you a whole damn grocery store.”

“I – “

“You’re tearing yourself to pieces over this, and you won’t talk about it,” Peter says. “I’m trying not to push, but you can’t yell at me to make yourself feel better.” Peter sits heavily, and hands Juno the ointment.

Juno deflates. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He takes a breath. “I – I’m fucked up.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I don’t – I don’t know how to fix this for myself,” Juno says. “I haven’t lived with anyone who cared about me, not really, since my brother died. It’s, it’s hard. For me to have people notice all the ways I’m broken. But you’re right, I can’t put that on you.”

“Juno, it’s not that you can’t share any of it with me, you just can’t take it out on me. Let’s start with this: what can I do to make you less nervous around me?” Peter’s gaze is softening.

“Um – “

The door slides open and Buddy walks back in, hand-in-hand with Vespa. The IV is already in her arm. “How is it coming along, darling?” she asks, then stops and takes in the scene. She shakes her head and laughs.

Juno searches her face for signs of anger. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, standing up. “I messed it up.”

Buddy is still laughing. She turns to Vespa, who looks bemused. “I asked Juno to make a curry from Hestia to make you feel a bit better,” she says. “Clearly it didn’t quite work out.”

“Very sweet, Bud. Thanks, Jay,” Vespa says, smirking. “I appreciate it. Since we’re all hungry, I think we can manage some sandwiches. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Juno croaks. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Juno, I shouldn’t have expected you to master a whole new cuisine in an hour,” Buddy says airily. “Let’s get this cleaned up. Anais, darling, sit back down, you need your rest. You have to go undercover tomorrow with Jet.”

“I’ll be just fine, Buddy,” Peter says, standing.

Juno stands, reaches out, takes Peter’s hand. “Thanks,” he mutters as Vespa pulls a loaf of bread from the cupboard.

“Of course,” Peter says, and squeezes his hand.

Chapter Text

Next time, Juno refuses to be left on the ship. He’s pacing in front of the comms array, watching Rita press buttons and type things in as Buddy speaks into the comms line. He may be getting better at technology, but that doesn’t mean he understands whatever Rita does.

Jet and Peter had gone back to the bar where Aria had sold out Buddy and Vespa. Jet – being easily recognized – was told to stay in the car while Peter tried to infiltrate Aria’s operation and understand their connection to Rasbach, if there was one. Juno has found that he understands the plans better if he’s doing something with his hands. While washing the breakfast dishes, Buddy’s plan had actually made sense.

focus, juno.

stay still, goddamnit you little -  

it’s okay, super steel. i don’t care if you can’t sit still. i know you’re still listening to me.

Juno feels like he’s going to throw up. It’s so hard to follow what’s going on sometimes over the noise in his head.

“Sécurité, sécurité, sécurité,” Buddy is saying calmly. Juno doesn’t actually know what that means. “Lim, if you can hear me, you have one minute to signal that somehow. Jet, get in position for extraction. I will not allow Aria to harm another member of my crew. Over.”

“I should be down there,” Juno hisses as the comms line clicks.

“Somehow I think Aria would recognize you, Juno,” Buddy says with a hint of sarcasm. “This is Anais’s specialty – it’s why I hired him. Have some faith.”

Blaster fire rings out over the open comms line. Juno feels his heart drop to his knees.

Buddy curses. “Go, darling,” she says, presumably to Jet.

“We have to do something!” Juno exclaims.

More blaster fire. “Uh, Missus Buddy, we got a problem,” Rita says. “I think Aria’s people figured out Mistah Agent Rex Lim Glass’s alias. They – “

Juno pushes over to the screen, where a grainy Nureyev is cornered, knife in one hand. Juno has seen Nureyev fight his way out of some tight spots, but Nureyev’s other hand is clutching his chest and he’s nearly slumped against the wall.

“Fuck,” Juno says with feeling. He turns away despite himself.

it should have been me -

i thought he was you –

heart pounding fight flight freeze leaves him stuck here unmoored  -

Juno’s hand finds the back of Rita’s chair. “How do we get him out,” Juno grinds out, hands shaking.

“Look I’m sorry boss, but you gotta go do something else, I gotta focus – “ Rita says, and Juno opens his mouth to say something that would admittedly be less than kind, when the comms crackles with Jet’s voice.

“I have retrieved our thief,” Jet says, voice measured despite the chaotic gunshots and yelling n the background. “I believe he’s been poisoned.”

“That was always Aria’s preferred method,” Buddy breathes. “Get him in the car. Vespa?”

“Copy,” Vespa says, voice floating through the intercom. “I may need assistance in the medbay.”

“Copy, love,” Buddy says. “Go help Vespa set up the medbay,” Buddy orders Juno immediately.

“But – “

“I have no time for whatever your objection is, darling, so I suggest you keep it to yourself,” Buddy says sharply. “Go.”

Juno turns on his heel and runs.

mick it happened. mick she did something really bad –

can you – can you -

(i’m on my way, jayjay, hold on)

The door to the medbay slides open. Vespa’s hands are running through her green hair, tugging and pulling as her eyes rove wildly over the medbay.

Juno’s wariness of Vespa grows, even as his rational brain knows it’s unfounded. Sarah had always pulled at her hair, making little bald spots at the back of her neck. From the green hairs on the floor, Vespa also shares this habit.

why do you do that ma?

none of your business little monster.

she sighs. it helps me focus. keeps me here.

where else would you go?

“What can I do?” Juno asks desperately, pushing away the old memory of piled eyelash hairs on the coffee table.

The intercom crackles. “We are approaching the ship,” Jet rumbles. “Is the medbay prepared?”

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Vespa calls, pressing a button on the wall.

“Juno,” Vespa says urgently, and Juno tries to meet her eyes. “When Lim gets here, I’m going to give him an antidote, okay? It’s very important that he stay calm. The antidote – it’s not pretty. But if he panics it could all go wrong, okay? It’s a multitoxin antidote, it’s pretty experimental, and I can’t sedate him during the process. So this is gonna suck, but you gotta do whatever you can to keep him safe.”

take care of ben

take care of hyperion

take care of peter?

Juno shakes his head to clear it. Peter can take care of himself, but Juno can help. That’s healthy, right? Juno is not the authority on healthy relationships, but goddamnit he’s trying. Does that even count for anything in a moment like this?

“Juno!”

“Yes, I get it!” Juno realizes he forgot to respond.

Then the door slides open. Peter is deathly pale, eyelids fluttering. His long limbs hang slack as Jet places him on the bed. Vespa is on him in a moment, sliding an IV into him. Distantly, Juno feels the telltale rumble of the ship entering orbit.

“Nur- Lim,” Juno starts. Fuck. It’s going to be hard to keep Peter’s name out of his mouth.

“Juno?” Peter says, eyes unfocused. “It hurts.”

“I know, but you gotta relax,” Juno says, grabbing his limp hand. “Okay?”

Peter lets out a long, low groan of pain that makes Juno wince. “Juno – “ he chokes out.

“Talk to him, you idiot, I don’t care what,” Vespa snarls. “Jet, hand me the yellow vial!”

Juno has no goddamn idea what to say.

think for a second. you never. think.

telling ben the stories she told before she got bad saying the words over and over like they were magic like they’d spark something besides the reality of two hungry kids huddled under a blanket with a flashlight –

and if you can’t do that, then sit down and shut up.

Juno reaches back, past the trauma, ignoring everything but words he can recite, words he doesn’t have to think about as Peter goes rigid and screams.

“Um, uh, listen to my voice, okay?” Juno starts, feeling himself begin to shake. “Just my voice. Nothing else.” He takes a steadying breath, feels Peter’s hand tighten on his. “Once upon a time there was a king. The king was a good king, and he wanted all of his subjects to be happy.” Juno’s voice falters, but he presses on.

Peter screams and his back arches off the bed, whole body stiff with pain. Juno feels the story catch in his throat. Vespa motions for him to keep going as she loads another vial into Peter’s IV bag.

So Juno does. He tells the whole story, beginning to end, stroking his fingers through Peter’s hair as Vespa keeps him alive. By the time he gets to the ending, Peter’s breathing is less laborious and Vespa is watching the monitors with a grim but satisfied expression.

Juno is a little hoarse. “And when the King heard the harpies’ song he became sad again, and when he realized he was sad he got angry,” Juno whispers, crouched by Peter’s bed. “So he parted the wall of butterflies and he asked, ‘Harpies! How could you be so ungrateful? I heard your sad songs, I found out you like colors and butterflies, and so I gave them to you -– every butterfly in the entire world! -– and still, you sing so sadly? Why aren’t you grateful?’ The King couldn’t see what the harpies saw, or hear what they heard, and even when they spoke he did not care to listen.” Juno pauses for breath, and Peter’s eyes open.

“Don’t stop,” Peter says, little more than a whisper.

keep talking, juno, it’ll help with the pain.

do you even know any stories that aren’t hers, ben?

andromeda never made it home (i am not andromeda)

Vespa snorts. “Keep an eye on him, Steel. If anything changes, come get me immediately. He might be a bit loopy now that the toxin is out of his system, but it’ll wear off. You should be out of danger now, Lim, but let’s never pull anything like that again.” She turns and leaves.

Peter closes his eyes. Juno crawls into the narrow hospital bed beside him and continues the story. “But if he had, he might have learned that even without a single butterfly, the harpies had everything they wanted: a sky, an ocean, a home where they could be sad if they wanted, and voices to let the air know it.”

“A home where they can be sad,” Peter says blearily, clearly exhausted after his ordeal. “That’s good. Good for them. S’important.”

“Yeah,” Juno says. “Get some rest, okay?”

“You c’n be sad,” Peter insists, snuggling into his chest. “I won’t be mad.”

“You can be sad too,” Juno says firmly.

“I know. But I think it’s your turn for a bit,” Peter says before letting his eyes drift shut. His breathing evens out.

Juno shuts his eye tight and tries to breathe evenly so he doesn’t cry and wake Peter up. He expects a deluge of memory to overwhelm him, but it doesn’t. He feels oddly empty, like all the feelings he’s been bottling up are now out of him, out in the world. Safe, with Peter and Rita and even Buddy and Jet and Vespa. He has what he wants, but that doesn’t give him back what he didn’t have before, he thinks suddenly, and lets out a long, slow breath.

Juno falls asleep like that, arm around Peter and thinking of nothing but butterflies and harpies. As he falls asleep, he thinks he hears an echo of Ben’s laughter in his head.

The next morning, Peter stirs before he does. Juno is awake in an instant.

“How are you feeling?” Juno says urgently.

Peter groans. “Remind me not to get poisoned next time,” he says wearily.

Juno checks his comms. It’s early, only four or five hours after the late-night ordeal of yesterday. The crew will be awake soon, but there’s no reason for Peter to be awake. “Go back to sleep,” Juno says. “I’ll bring you some breakfast.”

So Juno finds himself in the same place he started, three days ago. Flipping pancakes in the early-morning stillness, because Peter likes them and Juno simply wants Peter to have food he likes. Because he loves Peter, and because he can make Peter food, and because they both deserve to eat and be happy. Because there are choices, there are conversations, Juno doesn’t have to let the empty specter of his childhood make his decisions for him.

One of the pancakes is burned, and Juno starts to pull out a plate to set it aside, but stops with one hand on the cabinet. The realization that he does not have to eat it feels like his chest has been pried open. Juno braces himself against the counter and laughs wetly. He’s not even hungry. Nobody is going to yell at him for wasting food. Nobody is going to punish him for eating. He’s not in Oldtown. He’s not on Mars. It’s all different now.

His world shifts and changes into something he doesn’t recognize, but he thinks he might be able to figure out.

“Mistah Steel?” Rita says sleepily from behind him. “Y’okay? That laugh usually means you figured somethin’ personal out, and it’s way too early for that.”

“Yeah, Rita, I’m fine,” he says, turning to face her. “Want some pancakes?”

“’Course, who do you think I am?” Rita screeches.

Juno makes coffee while Rita serves herself a frankly ridiculous number of pancakes. Juno makes up his mind. “Rita?” he asks.

“Yeah, boss?” Rita’s mouth is full of syrup, salmon paste, and pancake.

“D’you still have that book you told me about that one time? About, uh, flashbacks? The one your friend gave you?” Juno gulps hot coffee so he doesn’t have to look Rita in the eye. He braces himself for impact, or for excited yelling, or something. Instead, Juno catches Rita’s eye over the rim of his mug.

“Yeah, boss,” she says tentatively. “D’you wanna borrow it, or…”

“Yeah,” he says quickly, turning to put together a plate. “I’m, uh, gonna go take these to Nur-, uh, Anais, uh, in the medbay.” He turns back to Rita as he leaves. To her credit, her grin is not as smug as it could be. “Thanks, Rita.”

“No problem, Mistah Steel,” she says. “I’m real proud of you.”

“Took me long enough,” Juno says with a small, genuine smile before shutting the kitchen door and walking to the medbay.