Chapter Text
Alcyon Sultano takes the torture stoically.
Peter Nureyev retreats, into the part of himself where it is always summer, where it smells of roses. If he concentrates, he can conjure the sounds of a Brahmese street band. The sky is blue, the blue of eyes that saw through every façade that Peter erected around himself.
He spits answers at his questioner without any real knowledge of what he says. It does not matter. He does not confess.
The sky becomes a haze of red.
Everybody has a limit, and she promises to find his.
He hears his screams.
“Alcyon Sultano does not exist.”
“Someone committed those crimes, and I need a confession.”
“There is nothing to confess. I have never existed.”
The only smell is his burning flesh as she drives the prod into him again.
“Get your fucking hands off of him!”
It is a voice he has heard in his dreams. He hears it when he Peter Nureyev and when he is not. Now he hears it when he is awake, and he is grateful.
His fractured mind has always known how to protect him.
He lifts his head, and there he is. Peter’s angel. Peter’s goddess.
Juno wears the new trench coat, a smudge of ink against the white of the room. He looks otherworldly, only partially in existence, or perhaps it is Peter’s eyes that no longer function properly.
He can barely spare a glance for the streak of orange beside Juno, his ears cannot absorb the words she speaks at a volume and speed too fast for human comprehension. His every atom strains to be closer to his salvation.
“Juno,” he says softly. His voice is hoarse from screaming. “Oh, Juno, I’m so sorry.”
He begins to cry.
Juno kneels in front of him, puts his blaster to Peter’s cuffs and shatters them. Peter slides forward, off the chair and into Juno’s arms. His head is on Juno’s shoulders, and strong arms are around his body. He cannot stop the sobs that wrack through his body. He hasn’t cried like this in decades, has never let his control break. Now that he has started, he may never stop. He fights for breath as Juno cradles him, murmurs in his ear.
If Peter dies right now, he will be happy. The building could come down around them, and he would not notice. There is no one in the room but him and Juno.
“You’re okay,” Juno whispers. “I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay.”
“I know,” Peter says. “You’re here.”
“Can you stand?” Juno asks.
It is a meaningless question. Peter doesn’t need to stand. He needs to lie here, smell Juno’s skin, and let his grasping hands hold the most precious thing he has ever known.
“Sweetheart, we have to get out of here.” Juno’s hands comb through Peter’s hair, and he has never been touched so gently.
“No,” Peter says. “I need to—I need to talk.”
“You can barely speak.”
“No, Juno—” Peter chokes on his tears.
“We’ll have time to talk,” Juno promises. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You should,” Peter says. “I’m no good for you, I’m dangerous—”
Juno laughs, and Peter’s heart shatters.
“Now I know you’re delirious. I’m the one who left.”
“You should have—
“And I’ve regretted it every day since. I’m not doing it again. You’ll have to send me away.”
“Never,” Peter gasps against Juno’s throat. “Please, please, stay with me.”
“Boss, we’re free to go,” Rita says, from light years away.
Juno lifts Peter and carries him, and Peter knows he should walk, but he can’t bring himself to protest. He hooks an arm around Juno’s shoulders and presses closer.
He still won’t let go when they reach the car, so Juno puts him in the backseat and climbs in after him. Rita drives.
Even she is quiet as they speed through the city. Peter’s head is in Juno’s lap, and every time they pass a streetlamp, Juno’s face is illuminated with golden light. He is so beautiful that Peter begins to cry again.
Juno makes soft hushing noises as he combs Peter’s hair with his fingers. “Are you in pain?” he asks.
The question threatens to bring Peter back to his bruised and burned body, but he forces that away.
“How did you get me out?” he asks.
“That was all Rita,” Juno says.
“It was nothin’,” Rita says. “I just recited galactic law at them until they tucked their tails and ran,” Rita said. “Torture isn’t legal on Mars, and what they were doin’ to you couldn’t possibly be defined as anything else. And you may be wanted be the Neptunian Emperor—they showed me the warrant, and I gotta say, Mister Glass, Alcyon Sultano is kind of a mouthful—but the warrant didn’t extend to Martian jurisdiction. So I just had to threaten to bring the HCPD down on them and they realized that they could be facing up against the citizen’s protection bureau if I was feelin’ litigious. Which I am, because no one deserves what they did to you, but I think Mistah Steel and I felt it was better to get you out of there fast.”
Peter closes his eyes and lets her words wash over him. He is certain he will retain none of them in the morning, but he hopes the flood of warmth and gratitude in his chest will linger.
“Thank you, Rita,” Juno says, and his voice cracks.
Peter will do anything to hear more of Juno’s voice. He forces tired eyes open to look again into Juno’s face.
“How did you find me?” he asks.
“I had Rita track your message,” Juno says.
“How did you know I needed you?”
“I would have come anyway,” Juno says. “I’ve been looking for you.”
That is more than Peter’s fragile state can handle. That Juno has been looking for him, searching for him in the stars while he wasted time on bitterness and anger and fear.
“Oh Juno,” he says, and there is nothing else that he can think to say.
“Peter,” Juno breathes. “I thought I’d lost you forever.”
There is so much raw emotion in those two syllables that he can feel it slip into his bones to become a part of him. He is made and unmade in the way his name is said; he knows that now there will always be a part of him that remembers he is Peter Nureyev.
“Say it again,” he begs, and Juno does.
“Peter,” he whispers, voice thick. “Peter, Peter.”
His name in his goddess’ mouth is a talisman, a promise.
This moment of beatification is the moment he wants to live in forever.
Juno blinks, and tears fall on Peter’s face. They both are crying, in the backseat of a car in the middle of the night, and the stars have never shone so bright.