Work Text:
There's a certain expectation for the kind of person who places a call to the Juno Steel Detective Agency. Juno couldn't do much to change that even if he wanted to. The location, his rates, his own name and reputation are appealing to some, and unappealing to others. Every now and then, though, he gets a call from someone who really takes him by surprise. It's a really big day if it surprises Rita.
Like any old city that's weathered a lot of change, Hyperion City has a history that's rooted as much in the place as it is in the people who live there. Those names pop up from time to time, the ones that should be living on solely in history books but who hang on, despite everything, to something resembling status. People from a certain way of life who haven't up and left for greener pastures with lower murder rates and nicer real-estate for one reason or another. They're probably not the people making real decisions about anything in this city, shaped now by industrial development and the Triad and the Kanagawa empire. People like that live in modern high-rises, upscale but understated until you get inside.
Those floating mansions, high above Uptown, that have been there for half a century -- that's a different story. They look real great for a distance until you realize nobody inside's hired a contractor in a decade to maintain the upkeep. All appearance, no substance. Even so, they don't invite Juno to their parties.
But hey. He'll try anything once. That's what he'd told Rita this morning when she passed on the message, but as he knocks tentatively on a set of enormous marble doors he's wondering if he made a bad call.
Mrs. Wilhelmina Brax comes from one of those families. Historic wealth rooted in something that made a great deal of money before the war but no longer does; people clinging to the upper echelon of status in a way that’s more for show than it is practical. Pharmaceutical developers and media conglomerates and weapons engineers are the real billionaires in Hyperion City these days.
That’s why, naturally, she’s hired Juno and not somebody else. Despite the research into the family’s less-than-perfect financial status, he feels distinctly underdressed when she lets him in through the front door of their enormous floating mansion. After the security checkpoint, of course, where Juno’s forced to relinquish his blaster.
Wilhelmina Brax is tall and nervous, wringing her hands. She came from money, and her wife married into it. Her handshake is tremulous and she jumps right in as soon as she lets Juno’s hand go, shoves a piece of paper into his hands. Rita had given him a rundown of the conversation she’d had with the Braxes over the phone already so he knows what it says, but he studies it.
“We received it yesterday,” Wilhelmina says. She has dark brows and light eyes that skim around the room, over Juno’s face. Takes in his eyepatch, his coat collar, the scar on his chin, the way he holds the piece of paper. He seems to fit her expectations because she keeps talking. “It’s a threat, isn’t it?”
“Looks that way,” Juno says. “Not handwritten. Printer paper, pretty generic unfortunately. Doubt it’ll be any help.”
“You can tell that? It is serious, isn’t it?” Wilhelmina repeats. She wants to be told her concern is valid -- someone told her she was being dramatic about it already. The wife, Juno guesses.
The paper contains a message -- a threat, sure, depending on how dramatic you are. Printed in all caps, black ink. KEEP AN EYE ON YOUR JEWELS, it says. I AM COMING FOR THE HEART.
“It’s either a really sloppy warning about a burglary,” Juno says, “or a practical joke.”
“In poor taste.”
“Sure. There’s a lot in this house someone would want to walk off with, Mrs. Brax, but jewels is pretty specific here. If someone was gonna rob you what would they come after? What’s the Heart?”
“That’s why we called you, detective,” Wilhelmina says. She wrings her hands again, repetitive. Really on edge. “Come with me. I’ll show you.”
The house is a maze, like any reputable look-at-me mansion should be. Juno tries to keep track of the path they take and can’t, so he gives up. This isn’t the kind of case he’d choose on a good day -- ambiguous and convoluted, high-strung client with nothing actually missing, probably damn time consuming -- but it isn’t a good day and he’s not spoiled for choice. So he keeps his good-manners face on and lets Wilhelmina talk, idly, about their security system.
“I have to apologize,” Wilhelmina says, and she sounds suddenly hesitant so Juno looks over at her. She’s chewing the corner of her lip with something other than worry for her valuables on her mind. “My wife, you see, she’s always had her own idea of how to do things -- “
“I’m sure that’s fine,” Juno says, aiming for soothing but mostly coming out confused. Soothing isn’t really in his repertoire.
“And you come highly recommended, I tried to tell her, you need something done in Hyperion City you go to Detective Steel, but -- “ Wilhelmina sighs. “She hired her own detective, Detective.”
“Oh. Well, that’s -- “
“It’s not an insult -- “
“No, sure -- “
“And I told her you were the best, but she has to do thing her way -- “ this is veering wildly into a one-sided argument Juno wants no part of so he cuts it off.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says quickly. “Best case we give each other a hand, worse case I stay out of their way. Maybe it’s someone I know, even -- well, don’t know if that would be a good thing necessarily but -- who’d she hire?”
“Oh, what’s the name?” Wilhelmina says. “Something else with an S, actually -- Sh…. s - something -- “
They’ve reached the end of the hallway, and Wilhelmina pushes open a door which leads into an enormous sitting room lined with bookshelves and a few very expensive paintings. There are two other people in the room. A woman of a similar age, presumably the other Mrs. Brax, salt-and-pepper hair, a brightly-colored dressing gown and a concerned expression. And a man -- tall, dark. Dark suit, shiny wing-tipped shoes, a slightly ill-fitted coat that’s too broad in the shoulders with the collar turned up.
At first glance, shoulders turned away towards the window, Juno thinks the other detective may look familiar. Something in the stance but -- well that’s just wishful thinking, or maybe a nightmare--
“Shah!” Wilhelmina says. “That’s it. Honey, this is Detective Steel. You know, the one who dealt with that situation the McMasters had. Comes highly recommended.”
“Yes, I assumed as much. Detective, hello. I’m Victoria Brax. This is Detective Shah. I presume you won’t get in his way.”
“I wouldn’t presume -- “ Juno starts, and it’s probably for the best that he doesn’t finish that sentence because it definitely would have fallen on the unacceptable side of bratty, but Shah turns and extends his hand and Juno is so surprised that he stops mid-word.
“Detective Steel,” Shah grins widely and smiles down at Juno through a pair of little horn-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. Juno took his hand automatically and Shah shakes it, gloved and businesslike. “You know,” he says, “I have heard so many wonderful things about the work that you do. Through the grapevine, of course.”
“Can’t say the same, unfortunately,” Juno says, and he says it through his teeth. His gut reaction is to throw something, or laugh. “What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t, but it’s Perseus. Shah. I hope we can fix that shortly,” Shah shakes Juno’s hand one more time, beaming. “And -- may I say -- that everything I’ve heard has failed to mention how handsome you are.”
“You can try,” Juno takes a very deep breath, gets ahold of himself.
“It is a genuine pleasure to meet you in person at last, Detective Steel,” Shah says, which is rich coming from someone who’d accidentally left a floral smoking jacket and four pairs of mismatched socks in a drawer in Juno’s apartment a week and a half ago and who, as far as Juno was aware, was supposed to be halfway across the galaxy smuggling illicit Mercurian insects.
But Juno's eye isn't deceiving him and neither are any of his other senses. That face, wearing unfamiliar glasses. That smile, those eyes. That voice, even caught up in a pretty convincing Martian Uptown accent. Those hands, elegant long fingers wearing gloves. That stance, that laugh, that cologne, the way he says Juno's name which doesn't change much regardless of who he is pretending to be today.
Peter Nureyev releases Juno’s hand at last and smiles at him a second longer and Juno smiles right back. It probably comes out threatening. It’s meant to.
Peter blinks, which could mean anything. Then he turns and claps his hands together.
“Ladies!” He says. “Let’s get down to business, shall we?”
“Let’s,” says Victorian Brax, who is absolutely the one not really worried about a theft. Juno had been considering the possibility of a prank, something to get two elderly rich women up in arms for the fun of it, but he mentally rescinds that entire train of thought. Their valuables are probably as threatened now as they’ve ever been before.
“The facts of the case,” Peter says rather theatrically, and Juno swallows a snort. “You have a mysterious note received anonymously with yesterday’s dinner. You have a state-of-the-art security system, the kind that any thief would be mad to tackle on their own. You have a net worth, if you pardon me being so blunt, in the millions. And you have the Heart. Now -- what does this all add up to? What can we deduce from the facts as we understand them?”
Both Braxes are watching him with some degree of interest.
“What it means,” Peter says, leaning forward a little, “is that someone wishes to steal the Heart of Arcadia from under your very noses!”
Wilhelmina gasps, which is an absurd overreaction to something that she’d told Juno a minute before. “You’re sure?” She says, her hand flying to her throat.
“Yes!” Peter gasps back.
“What can be done?” Victoria asks.
“Oh, many things my dear Mrs. Brax. Many things indeed. That’s why I’m here, after all. Now, if you would be good enough to show me -- “
“It’s an amateur move,” Juno says, and three sets of eyes look his way.
“Amateur.” Peter repeats this slowly, vowels pulling apart.
“Sure,” Juno says. “I mean -- telling you he’s gonna rob you before he does it? Sloppy. What does that accomplish, other than giving you the chance to up your security and putting everyone on edge?”
“What are you saying?” Victoria asks, eyes narrowing.
“It’s an ego trip. Breaking into a state-of-the-art security system that’s fully armed and alerted? That’s a real challenge. Thief’s got something he wants but doesn’t wanna stoop to do it unless it’s really difficult. Conceited. It’ll trip him up.”
“You seem very sure of yourself!” Peter says.
“I know the type,” Juno says. “What’s the -- what did you say? The Heart of Arcadia?”
Peter claps a hand over his mouth. “Well, Detective Steel I’m surprised! You haven’t done your research. Research, ladies, is the most important component of a successful case.”
“I told you he was good,” Victoria says crisply, and Peter looks very smug.
“It’s a famous piece of jewelry, detective,” Wilhelmina says. “The prize of our collection. A family heirloom, passed from my grandmother to my mother to me. The sapphire alone is worth a million credits.”
Of course. “I see,” Juno says. “Has anyone ever tried to steal it before?”
“Once or twice,” Victoria says. “With no success.”
“Explains the rather unorthodox warning, maybe. Detectives, you have to stop this thief!”
“I find,” Peter says, “that the best way to approach this kind of intellectual puzzle is from the hypothetical. Suppose I was the thief -- “
Juno snorts so hard it hurts the inside of his nose.
“ -- and I knew, from my research, that thieves before me had tried to steal the Heart of Arcadia from this very house and been thwarted. What would I need to know in order to get in?”
“Where the safe is?” Wilhelmina volunteers. “And how to access it?”
“Exactly! If you would be so kind.” Peter gestures, grandly towards the door, and both women stand.
“Just a moment,” Juno says quickly. “Mister Shah and I need to, uh, put our heads together. Discuss how to approach this. We’ll meet you outside.”
“Very well,” Victoria says, and she takes her wife’s arm and they exit together into the hallway. The door swings shut behind them.
“Alright,” Juno says sharply. He turns on Peter, who is studying a bookshelf, the very picture of innocence. He’s got an expression on his face that is probably supposed to be intellectually contemplative. “What’s your game?”
“Parcheesi,” Peter says brightly. “Sometimes chess. Poker, when I’m in the mood.”
“What,” Juno grits out, “are you doing here? What do you want? And what the hell was all that shit?”
“Detective, work, detective,” Peter says. He picks up a book, thumbs through idly. “It’s true, not all of us can channel your misanthropic stoicism in the face of a case, and I do think the jacket looks better on you but I come very highly recommended.”
Juno reaches over and snaps the book shut and Peter glances at him. His expression, whatever he’s channelling which Juno hard-pressed would describe as a kind of insane curiosity probably meant to look focused, doesn’t change but his eyes sparkle. A hole in the mask, carefully constructed and dropped for just a second so Juno can see through.
“Oh,” he says. “What? You aren’t stimulated by a little friendly competition?”
“What are you here for? Something specific? The necklace, right? You know you’re not getting out of this building with it,” Juno says, and he emphasizes his point by shoving the book back onto the shelf. This job should have been easy, a cakewalk really, except for this -- and maybe he should be used to it by now. Always braced for the next impossible thing.
But this is pretty ridiculous.
Peter reaches over to fiddle with the book’s spine, aligning it with the line of others on the shelf. “Are you going to call the police on me?” he asks, like Juno was afraid he would.
He elects not to answer, just glares, which seems to be unfortunately what Peter was looking for because he grins. Huge and wide, all teeth.
“I understand, if you must,” Peter says. “I did of course plan for an escape route but, you know, I am incredibly tired and I’m wearing very tight trousers. It would be wonderful if I didn’t have to go through that today.”
“You aren’t leaving with it,” Juno repeats, pragmatism the best defense against Peter’s tight trousers as he’s got right now. “Because my getting paid is contingent on nothing getting stolen. I gotta pay rent. I gotta pay Rita. ”
“The price I could fetch for that piece would be enough to give her a bonus this month,” Peter says.
“No!”
“You don’t think she deserves a bonus?“
“That,” Juno talks over him, “is not the point. I’m onto you.Whatever this is -- the note and the fake detective schtick -- I’m on it.”
“Juno,” Peter says. “Dear. You’ll want to let this one go.”
He seems to realize that this is the one thing that ensures Juno will not, in fact, ever be letting this go, because Peter winces. “I will not,” Juno snaps. “And,” he adds, suddenly sly, “if I don’t get paid I’m gonna have to sell that very nice floral suit coat someone left in my apartment. Silk or something. Pretty sure it was custom-made.”
“You wouldn’t,” Peter says, and he’s really present, really Peter for the first time. “You have no idea how difficult it is to find anyone who will sew bullet-proof fashionable suit jackets with sleeves long enough to actually cover my wrists! You wouldn’t!”
“Watch me,” Juno says, and he turns and heads out of the room and towards the door.
It’s probably not a great idea to take his eye off Peter for a second, but it feels too good to have the last word. He’s honest enough with himself to admit he’ll take what he can get.
The Braxes aren’t just extravagant but fading elderly socialites living the twilight of their lives in peace with a paranoid fear that someone will come for their riches; they’re extravagant but fading elderly socialites with a vault. It unlocks with a complicated series of keys and a fingerprint password, and when Victoria opens it Juno stares.
Shelves on shelves of books, manuscripts, artwork. Glass display cases of jewelry. An entire rack of what look like ancient Martian swords. And in the center of the room -- a metal box. Victoria walks over to it, presses her hand flat against a panel and then enters a code.
“Well,” Juno says slowly, “this definitely doesn’t narrow down what your thief might be aiming for because this is, uh -- wow.”
“A lifetime’s collection,” Victoria says. “Though it all pales compared to this.”
“And a security system to match,” Peter says. “Why, from my estimation it would be impossible for anyone to enter this room without one of the two of you present. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” Victoria says sharply. “And even if you got inside it, there’s a passcode and a fingerprint required to open the safe.”
“It’s impressive,” Peter says, and Juno makes a point of staring at him. “Incredible, really! If I knew better I’d say the only way to rob you would be if you were here in this room right now. Please, Mrs. Brax, carry on. I must understand what obstacles exist if we are to pinpoint how to stop the rogue threatening your belongings.”
“Watch yourself,” Juno says, quietly, at Peter’s elbow, when both Braxes turn their attention to the metal lockbox.
“It seems I must,” Peter says, “in order not to trip over you.”
Juno’s retort is cut off because at that moment the lockbox opens. It reveals a glass case with a door that Victoria swings open, and she lifts up an incredible necklace in one fine-ringed hand. They all stare at it for a moment. Pearls, cascades of them, and a deep blue cut sapphire at the center. It catches the light and refracts it, dazzling. It’s unquestionably the gaudiest thing Juno’s ever seen, and he can only guess at how much it may cost.
“May I?” Peter asks, with something like awe in his voice, and Victoria nods as he steps forward. He leans close to peer at it then takes it, gingerly, in one gloved hand. “Magnificent!” He says, and it’s true -- it is beautiful to the point of overkill. “No description truly does it justice. The cut of this sapphire -- am I correct in remembering it had to be repaired once in its lifetime? You truly can’t tell!”
“You know your art, Shah,” Wilhelmina says, absolutely flattered. “That is right. It was a delicate endeavor.”
“Oh, please, tell me about it -- “ Peter starts, marveling at the stone, and Juno rolls his eyes. He takes the opportunity to scan the rest of the room, taking in as much as he can. Peter’s right about one thing -- it would be just about impossible to get in here on your own. Of course, Peter Nureyev pulls off many impossible things -- but this seems to stretch the boundaries of his breaking and entering abilities. Which means --
“Might I be permitted to take a photo?” Peter is saying, still holding the necklace delicately. “I have a camera -- oh, somewhere -- “
“Well, alright,” Victoria says, and Wilhelmina beams, apparently touched that someone’s taking an interest in her million-dollar family heirloom. Where Juno comes from the only thing that gets handed down through families is your temper.
It means, he thinks, that Peter is going to try and steal the necklace before they all leave the room.
Impossible, with Juno and both women watching like a hawk. But --
“I know it’s here somewhere,” Peter is fumbling in his coat pockets with the necklace still in one hand. “I’m so sorry, I know I put that camera in one of these -- “ He pulls out his wallet, a fuchsia handkerchief, a notebook and then his hands are full.
“Allow me,” Wilhelmina says, and she takes the notebook and handkerchief from him.
Peter thanks her, embarrassed, hapless. It’s utterly convincing, his earnestness. He keeps looking, passes the necklace back then takes it again, sets a few things down on the floor and then replaces them in his pockets. Quick hands turned clumsy, fumbling, frustrated -- and Juno knows what Peter’s hands can do.
“Ah-hah!” He says finally, and does indeed pull a camera out of his pocket. “Detective Steel, why don’t you -- “
“What?” Juno says. “You want me to take your picture?”
“No, please, come here -- “ Peter gestures, then passes Juno the necklace. It’s heavy, the pearls lustrous. “Hold it up for me, please,” Peter says, and he winks over the top of the camera. Juno does not smile as he takes the photo, very aware that he’s just been shown that the necklace is still there. Photographic evidence. Peter knows what he’s doing.
“You better take this back,” Juno carefully passes the necklace back to Victoria, who sniffs as she places it back into its case. Holding several million creds in your hands isn’t great on the nerves, and Juno shoves his hands back into his pockets.
The glass case closes and locks, the metal lockbox lowers. The Heart of Arcadia, safe and sound, stays in the room and Peter smiles in Juno’s direction as they walk towards the door.
He turns the series of events over and over in his head as they exit the room, looking for the catch. It’s like searching for a stray thread, or a lightswitch in the dark. It has to be there because of that expression on Peter’s face. His smile, teeth and eyes, like someone who’s just won the lottery. Juno knows that expression, shining through the eccentric personality Peter’s adopted for the day. He knows when it occurs -- when the lockpick catches and works, when someone buys into what he’s selling, when he does something he knows looks clever. Two steps ahead and smug about it, and for the life of him Juno can’t figure out what he missed.
“Detectives,” Victoria says, once they’ve returned to the book-lined sitting room. She takes her wife’s arm. “What do we do?”
“Trust,” Peter says, and it’s really overkill. “I see no way that anybody could break into your home without being caught,” he continues.
“Detective Steel?”
“Doesn’t hurt to be careful,” Juno says, to spite Peter. “This neighborhood’s swanky enough that HCPD will listen if you ask them to add a patrol outside your place for the next few days. And call them, or me, if anything weird happens. But he’s right -- this operation's pretty airtight.”
Peter grins, again, as they leave. “It was,” he says, for the benefit of their audience, “a real pleasure to meet you, Detective Juno Steel. I’m interested to know if our paths will cross again someday.”
“So am I,” Juno says, and he goes to get his blaster back.
Peter is, naturally, sitting in the passenger seat of Juno’s car when he opens the door a few minutes later. He’s a bit cramped in the cluttered front seat, hands folded in his lap.
“What the fuck,” Juno says, sticking the keys into the ignition but not starting the car, “was that? Perseus Shah?”
“They seemed to like him,” Peter says.
“What was the point of all that?” Juno demands. It’s late afternoon and hot -- he tugs at his coat collar, adjusts his eyepatch. The irritation he’d been suppressing bubbles up inside him now that they’re alone. “No way you got what you came for. No way you could have. You just winding those old ladies up for no reason?”
“I don’t tend to do things without a reason to do them,” Peter says, and he still looks smug which makes Juno want to lean his elbow on the horn and give him a scare. “Though I must admit I am rather surprised you took this case. Not your typical fare, is it?”
“Why?” Juno peers at him, suspicious. “So you neglected to mention anything about this and hoped I’d just -- what -- overlook it? I hope this was a big waste of your time, Nureyev, I really do.”
Peter sighs, full-bodied, and fans his face with one hand. “I suppose it was,” he says wistfully. “I hardly expected Juno Steel to appear and stand heroically between me and some elderly women and a great deal of their stuff.”
“Fuck off,” Juno says. “They aren’t any harm to anybody. If you’re gonna steal shit you might as well steal it from someone who deserves it.”
“Oh!” Peter leans forward and Juno is caught up in the scent of his cologne, just like that. It hasn’t been that long but sometimes when he’s away it feels like years. “So you’re condoning thievery if the target has done something compellingly bad enough to justify a little suffering?”
“Not what I said.”
“I’m simply trying to tease out the nuances of your moral code, Juno.”
“Good luck with that.” Juno looks through the windshield, drums his fingers on the steering wheel. The city skyline is illuminated with afternoon light, chrome and red sand shimmering a little in the heat. In the distance a dust storm is rising, a red cloud. “Want a drink?”
“Thought you’d never ask,” Peter says, and sits back in his seat.
Juno starts the engine and pulls out of the extensive and well-groomed driveway. Plants like that aren’t meant to grow on Mars. “What are the odds,” he says, as he turns back into the street, “of two people named Victoria and Wilhelmina getting married? Huh?”
In the seat next to him Peter throws back his head and laughs.
“So,” Peter says, leaning nonchalantly against the corner of Juno’s desk. “How did I do?”
Juno makes a point of rolling his eye. “I caught on,” he says. “How do you think?”
“No, no,” Peter shakes his head as he starts to undo the buttons on his coat, then work off his gloves. He drops both coat and gloves across Juno’s desk and without them, the line of his boxy black suit dropping away as he slouches, he looks much more like himself. “I meant as a detective, detective. How did I match up?”
“Well,” Juno had been in the middle of trying to find the file Rita had started for this case on his desk but he gives up, and steps around the side of the desk so they’re side by side, facing each other. “You didn’t solve anything and you tried to rob them. So not great.”
“Unique circumstances.”
“And that carrying on -- I think you used the word deduction forty-five different times,” Juno continues, “which looked and sounded real great, sure. They obviously thought you knew what you were doing. Nice little slight of hand, get them to watch your showy fake detective work while you were casing the place.”
“But?” Peter raises his eyebrows, and Juno steps closer, and Peter watches him step closer.
“You’re just lucky,” Juno says, “they watch a lot of television. What the fuck was that, anyway? If I met you and didn’t know who you were I’d have strangled you.”
“That’s rather the point,” Peter says. His eyes move from Juno’s face to his hand, resting flat on the desk a few inches from Peter’s own, to his face again. “If you’re robbing someone right in front of them you have to be so obnoxious and dazzling and showy that they can’t look away to see what you’re doing with your hands. Misdirection.”
“And that works?”
“With the right mark, sure. It isn’t a trick you can pull too often because people catch on, but it’s really quite wonderful when it works.”
“You need to be careful, then,” Juno says. He reaches over to mess with Peter’s shirt collar, flattens it over the curve of his collarbone. Their fingers touch on the desk, Juno’s hand sliding over Peter’s, and Juno can feel the heat of his body in the few inches of space between them. He doesn’t get this often, the upper hand. Peter reacting rather than seeking a reaction. Even something minute, his eyes suddenly dark.
“Why’s that?” He asks, and if they were any further apart Juno wouldn’t be able to hear him.
“Cause if you run into a real detective,” Juno says, and he pulls at Peter’s collar, “he’s gonna see right through you.”
Peter’s mouth is hot, giving away whatever nonchalantness he had been holding onto. Juno kisses him hard and Peter grabs at his jacket and then the fabric of his shirt under it. Insistent. Intense and immediate proximity, pulses high, dropped false pretense and ambiguous distance.
Until Juno slaps the handcuffs around Peter’s wrist.
The clink of metal on metal; Peter pulls back, surprised, as Juno claps the other cuff around the back of his desk chair.
“Really surprised you fell for that one a second time,” Juno says. He feels acceptably smug, given the circumstances. A step ahead for once. Peter, mouth open, hair mussed, looks shocked and untidy.
“Juno, this isn’t -- “ he starts, and Juno cuts him off before he can get going at all.
“Hand it over.”
“No idea what you mean.”
“The contents of your pocket."
“Juno, you know as well as I do that almost anything could be in my pocket. Is this about the pens?“
Juno pushes his arm out of the way to stick his hand into the front pocket of Peter’s trousers. He does indeed find a handful of pens, pilfered from his office, as well as some cocktail napkins, a half-eaten granola bar and an excessive number of safety pins. And --
“Hah!” Juno yanks his hand out, dangles it in front of Peter’s face in triumph. The Heart of Arcadia, pearls and blue sapphire stone catching the light, dangles from his fingers. “Knew it. Knew you walked out of there with something.”
“Oh,” Peter’s eyes follow the necklace as it swings between Juno’s fingers. “Funny. How did that get there? I thought it wasn’t missing.”
“You swapped it out, when everyone was distracted,” Juno says. “I didn’t see it but I could tell. You got all pleased with yourself.”
“You caught on,” Peter says. “And here we are again. Juno, we must stop ending the evening like this.” He shrugs, one-shouldered, and Juno can still see the pulse jumping in his throat. “Are the cops on their way this time?”
“I’m gonna return this,” Juno says, pocketing the necklace. He straightens his coat and grabs his keys. “And get paid. You -- “ he points as he steps towards the door at the cuff around Peter’s wrist, “ -- are gonna stay right where you are. I’ll deal with you when I get back.”
“Is that a promise?” Peter asks, mouth curving up. His eyes catch the light, and Juno pauses at the door.
“Wait and see,” he says, and Peter’s surprised laughter follows him out of the door.
Mrs. and Mrs. Brax are tearful and delighted when Juno shows up with the necklace, then delve into an affection told-you-so when Juno tells them that yes, the other detective they hired wasn’t a detective at all. Yes, he’s in police custody. Yes, the invoice is in your inbox. No, won’t complain if you’re so grateful you feel inclined to pay time and a half. Yes, have to run, things to do. People to see. Have a nice night.
They flinch a little when he pulls the necklace, more expensive than the the rent he paid in the last two years, out of his pocket like it’s his car keys, but what can you do.
When Juno returns to his office, Peter is sitting in the chair behind Juno’s desk, reading a magazine with the hand that isn’t cuffed to the backrest. He doesn’t look up when Juno unlocks the door and shrugs off his coat.
“Did you realize,” Peter says, turning a page, “that the Prince of Mars had an illicit lizard baby last week?”
“Must have missed that invite,” Juno says. “Cute kid?”
“As far as kids go, sure,” Peter flips another page, pretending to be engrossed by the tabloid. One ankle is crossed over his knee and he’s bouncing his foot. Dead giveaway. Detective work isn’t for chumps.
“Thought you would’ve jumped out the window,” Juno says. He crosses the room. “Minute I left you alone.”
“My shuttle doesn’t leave until tomorrow afternoon. I’d have to find something to do with myself until then,” Peter says. “Not that I’ve ruled it out, of course. That depends on you.”
“Still gotta deal with the insects?”
“Yes, I’m hoping they’re worth it. They are a great deal of trouble. I’ve had them frozen, I think it should help. So.” He flips the magazine to the last page. “You and me and the threat of law enforcement. Did you make up your mind? Should I be heading towards the door?”
Peter has that ability, to pinpoint the fact that Juno’s been wrestling with it. What’s objectively the right thing to do, and what he wants to do, and the fact that they don’t line up. It’s irritating. It makes Juno want to get the jump on him, to see his face. To teach him a lesson. The edge of Peter’s nervousness means he’s not entirely sure what Juno will do himself.
“I could,” Juno leans against the desk. “I probably should. You really set yourself up for it.”
“I suppose I did,” Peter says. He closes the magazine and looks up, fidgets with the pages. “I didn’t expect to see you, you know. Not that it wasn’t a nice surprise but it did make things more complicated.”
“Will it cause trouble for you?” Juno asks. “I assume someone’s expecting that hunk of jewelry.”
“Oh how considerate, he inquires after he’s removed it from my person. No,” Peter shakes his head. “It shouldn’t be an issue. Just a disappointing conversation. Trying to find clients these days that are a little less life or death.”
“Personally I’m grateful for that.”
They look at each other. The question is less of a test than it is a revisitation because in a way they’ve been here before, but a lot has changed. The way that first night had ended, a note left behind and Juno in the bottom of a bottle, and the way things are now -- these concepts of want and deserve and an endless back and forth, one of them pushing and the other pushing back or pulling away, have so much more weight.
Juno had to ask himself the question, but he knew he wasn’t going to listen to his own advice.
“You and I both know you could have picked the lock,” he says, quietly. It comes out more sincere than he means it to. “Could have been gone.”
You and I have both done that before. Implied, unspoken. They don’t need to say it out loud to understand each other.
“Oh, well I’d hate for you to have to replace a set of cuffs because of little old me,” Peter says lightly. Then his own voice drops, sincerely mingled with affection. Juno doesn’t know what to do with his hands when Peter sounds like that. “And a heroic escape just didn’t sound appealing. I never properly said hello to you, handcuffs or not. Speaking of -- do you mind?”
He lifts his hand, cuff sliding down his arm, and rattles the metal against the back of the chair. Juno watches the line of his arm, tendons in his wrists, and the expression on Peter’s face. Still a question, looking for affirmation. He likes that he can read that there, clear as day.
Juno makes up his mind.
He straightens and steps in front of Peter, still seated in the chair. Peter uncrosses his legs, less defensive and more vulnerable, opening up space between them.
“No,” Juno says, and Peter blinks.
“I’m sorry?”
“Said no,” Juno says, and he doesn’t hide his own expression which is probably close to a smirk. “You want out of ‘em, you get out of ‘em.”
“Darling, you said it yourself. You and I both know it’s hardly a challenge -- "
“Yeah,” Juno says. He steps closer, feeling bold and bolder because of the expression on Peter’s face. He feels almost overwhelmed and silly with it, the edge of having the upper hand. He’s very aware of how Peter’s watching him, feels his eyes on him like a weight. His scrutiny, his expectation. Juno puts both hands on Peter’s legs, above the knee, and Peter’s gaze drops. His eyes are very dark, underneath his lashes.
“If it’s not a challenge,” Juno says, and he can’t hide how low his own voice has gotten, “then prove it.” The drum of his own heartbeat, blood in his ears, urges him on. He slides a hand higher, thumb following the seam on the inside of Peter’s trouser leg. Reaction -- a sharp breath. Juno can see Peter’s collarbones rise and fall and that’s a sign, somehow, to close the gap. He leans in. “Come on,” he says, mouth against the shell of Peter’s ear, then the corner of his jaw.
“Are you going to start a timer?” Peter asks. “Or count to -- ah -- “
Juno slides his hand higher. Peter’s pulse jumps. When Peter turns his head Juno kisses him.
“I think,” Peter says, breathless, against Juno’s mouth, “I understand your game, detective.”
“Thought you’d catch on,” Juno says. He can feel the arc of Peter’s smile against his own. The kind of thing you hold onto, muscle memory, that mouth against his. Even if there was nothing else between them at all, Juno thinks, that would make just about anything worth it.
“Darling,” Peter says, when Juno finds him after parking the car. They’re at the interplanetary shuttle station, because Peter had begged a ride and Juno was feeling generous, all things considered. Traffic had been abysmal and they’re about five minutes away from being very late but they made it, Peter with his floral coat on and a fake passport in hand. “I have a confession to make.”
“Oh,” Juno says. “Great. This I have to hear.”
It’s a muggy afternoon, overcast, and the loading platform is crowded with people departing, waiting for arrivals, seeing each other off. Because of the crowd they’re standing almost hip to hip, Peter holding onto his bag with one hand and the corner of Juno’s elbow with the other. It’s a nice feeling, almost -- just two people on a shuttle platform saying goodbye until their next meeting. Strange and sweet in its ordinariness.
“The necklace,” Peter turns a little, pulling his bag out of someone’s way at the same time that he pulls Juno a little closer to his side. “It’s a fake.”
“What?” Juno wasn’t really sure where Peter’s statement was going to go but he was not expecting that. “What necklace?”
“The Heart of Arcadia,” Peter says. “It’s an imitation. Not a bad one, though I’ve seen better. It might fetch ten creds, if you sold it to a costume jewelry enthusiast.”
“You’re telling me,” Juno says, very slowly, “that the necklace you almost walked off with that the Braxes valued at several million creds is junk? Do they know? Is this an insurance scam thing?”
“No, I suspect they believe they have the real thing and they’re too proud to have it authenticated,” Peter says cheerfully. “There are millions of replications just like it. In Arcadia City you can pick one up on every street corner. It was quite fashionable to wear a fake of it for a while, the gaudier the better.”
“And the real one -- “
“Exists, in the private collection of an eccentric billionaire who owns Amalthea. I understand it’s less impressive in person.” Peter sighs. “He doesn’t exactly let people in to gander at it. In any case, I felt I should come clean in the spirit of honesty and understanding. I was going to mention it last night but you were so pleased with yourself.”
“If it’s worthless,” Juno says, and he’s really quite impressed at how level his voice sounds, considering, “then why the fuck did you want -- “ he stops, mid-word, as a number of things line up in his head.
Peter had told him exactly what he was up to right from the beginning. Several times, in several ways. Be so obnoxious and dazzling and showy that nobody notices what you’re really doing with your hands.
“Misdirection,” he says. “You -- “
Above them, there’s a hiss of acrid-smelling steam and mechanical bell starts ringing; the overhead gates that serve as the entry point for the off-world shuttle slowly lumber back. The crush of people on the platform begin moving towards the doors.
“Well, that’s my ride,” Peter says brightly, and he starts to turn. Juno grabs at his arm, clamps his fingers around Peter’s wrist.
“Nuh huh,” he hisses, right in Peter’s ear. “No. Pockets, Nureyev, what’s in them?”
“I put your television remote back this time,” Peter says, and he has enough gall to pout. “Juno. I can’t miss the shuttle. I need to see a man about several dozen frozen illegal beetles.” He wriggles his arm out of Juno’s grip, steps away fast enough that Juno can’t catch him again.
“What was it?” Juno snaps.
Peter reaches out and puts one hand on Juno’s face and Juno, God help him, leans into it just a little.
“I suspect it’ll take them a few days to notice. They were so focused on the Heart. I’ll see you in a week,” Peter says. “If you still want to come meet me on Ganymede.”
He leans forward and kisses Juno, once. Softly. To anyone else’s eyes they’re two people in a hundred, saying their goodbyes.
Peter smiles, all teeth, then he turns into the crowd.
“What were you after?” Juno shouts after him. “What have you got?”
“Watch the news,” Peter calls over his shoulder, “and find out!”
“God damn it -- “ Juno yells. “Hey -- “
Peter pauses at the shuttle doorway, his bag over his shoulder. He turns, smiles.
Juno can’t help it. He raises one hand in farewell, then resolutely sticks up his middle finger. He ought to be mad, and he is, a little. Stunned, too, to realize how completely Peter had conned everyone in the room, himself included. But --
Peter raises his own hand and waves, eyes bright. And Juno, in the middle of a crowd of people, starts laughing.
He stands there as the people on the platform move forward around him, long enough to watch Peter turn and pass through the shuttle doors. Then he turns, still laughing, to push his way back through the crowd towards home.