Chapter Text
Click. The station he had been listening to for the better part of the night had finally gone to static. He should have expected it, he supposed, being in the… countryside? He was driving on a back country road, flanked on both sides by rising pines and firs, lit only by the full moon and the sky’s many stars. Not what most people think of when they think “countryside”. The only resemblance between that and where he was at the moment was the stunning lack of civilization. He knew that rural communities tended to bunk down early, but he hadn’t expected the radio station to go off air so soon; surely one station was an all-night one… One eye on the road, he fiddled with the dial until a voice rose from the stereo.
“…well, dear listeners, it’s midnight, and as you all know, most stations around here go off air for the night. I should be doing the same, seeing as this show’s usually a nine am one. Don’t even know why I’m on at this hour, you must all be asleep, as I should be but… I think, as it’s a full moon and all, I’ll stick around, keep the stars and whoever else might be lonely on these moonlit roads company. It’s a good thing the radio station is my own; imagine if I had to go wake up the management with “hey I got a funny feeling, let me go on air!” Oh, it would be something…”
How odd, he thought to himself as the trees began to thin. To think, all the shows in the region go off air for the night, and this one just happens to be on because the host had a “feeling”… He smiled to himself, alone but for the voice on the radio; odd coincidences were what he had recently made his life’s mission to pursue. He turned up the volume and chased the moon.
“… and now I think that I shall go to bed my friends, or Skyler’s going to flay me when I don’t wake up tomorrow. Here’s a parting bit of thought to keep you pondering. They say that fate is written in the stars and in scars; one tells your future, the other has your past. No one has ever been able to tell me which tells which; I’ve learned that it depends on the person. Is fate written in the stars, or are you followed by your past on your skin? The things you think in the witching hour. This is Fog Burns, signing off. May you always find your way… click”
Dead air again, he thought, but what an interesting show! Too bad I missed the frequency… Fog’s question floated through his mind as he drove past a diner, then wrenched himself and the car around as he realized that there was in fact a diner in the middle of the woods. Well how about that, just as that show was ending too. And it was an all-night diner! His stars were unusually lucky tonight. Ah well, no time to think about that; his stomach was starting to fuss and four hours on the road had done his tush no good.
The front door jingled as it opened, and the diner itself was just as mundane: dim lighting caused by two dead bulbs, red upholstered booths and the gentle atmosphere of a tired evening. The place was deserted except for a short and stocky person in a trenchcoat slouched over the counter. Two things struck him then: the fact that the lighting was excellent, and that the face that had spun around to look at him with suspicion beneath a furrowed brow had the most gorgeous eyes. Gloriously blue eyes in a face ribboned with scars. He blinked as the voice on the radio fled through his thoughts then put on his most winning and wily smile, promptly aiming it at the lovely face. Said lovely face’s eyes widened, eyebrows went up, and cheeks promptly blushed while the face in question spun back around to glare at his coffee. Oh, but this would be fun.
“Is this seat taken?” he asked, seating himself at the counter next to the blushing stranger. The man gave him a series of looks that plainly said “Are you really asking me this right now, in this deserted diner at midnight. And you’re sitting right next to me in this completely deserted diner, okay.” The stranger was even lovelier up close; a strong jaw, burnished umber skin streaked with scars, and tired, wary eyes as blue as the deep sea. This man had seen better days. The trenchcoat had seen some wear, and little bit of head tilting revealed a pistol. A cop? Not in that getup. A detective then?
“You done starin’?” snapped the stranger, jolting him out of his ruminations. “I got better things to do than be gawked at by some tourist.”
“Are you certain?” was the retort. “Seems to me that the only thing worth doing in here is drinking coffee and snapping at complete strangers.” The man at the counter had the decency to look slightly abashed, a look that was quickly replaced by a look of annoyance and… more blushing? My, but did this man turn pink easily. It was a good look on him. The beginnings of a grin sketched themselves on his face only to be erased and replaced with a smile by the appearance of the very blonde and very bubbly waitress for this hour of the night.
“Heya hun! Whoo, but ain’t you a stunner! Whatsa a handsome fella like yourself doin’ on the road so late? Only folks come by these parts is the locals and even then not at this hour! Well, ‘cept Juno, but that’s just Juno for ya. Where ya from? Oh, what can I get you by the way?" rambled the waitress, whose name tag was covered in glitter and said ‘Franny’. He blinked, struck by the forest of blond and pink before him. The stranger snickered, and he regained his composure.
“Why thank you. I’d return the compliments, but your lovely looks outdo mine by far. I’ll have a cappuccino, if you would be so kind?” He smiled at the waitress who tittered and winked at him.
“What a cutie, and polite to boot! Be back in a sec hun!” The waitress whisked herself away, leaving two of them alone. The stranger turned to him again, nothing but mild curiosity on his face this time.
“Flirt with a lot of small town diner waitresses?” inquired the stranger with… was that a hint of jealousy? Really? Well now. How about that.
“Hm? Oh no, that was just kindness. I only flirt with the dark broody type. You know, like detectives and such.” The man sputtered on his coffee and turned to him in shock, blushing mightily. Right on the mark then.
“How did you know I was a detective.”
“Simple! No self-respecting cop would wear a trenchcoat or drive a 1964 Pontiac GTO, which I am assuming is yours as it’s the only car in the parking lot. Also, an off-duty cop would not be brooding in a diner at such an hour.” The detective looked about ready to flip his lid. Here was some yahoo come out of who knows where, midnight in the morning, coming to the conclusion he was a P.I.? Most interesting thing that had happened to Juno Steel, Private Eye, all night.
“I wasn’t brooding.”
“No? Seemed a lot like brooding to me, detective.” The detective, as he very much was, smiled ever so slightly into his coffee.
“Whatever. You a tourist?”
“Me? Oh no, I'm just passing through, looking for something. Strange."
“Well if you're looking for Bigfoot or something you've come to the right place. Except you’re wasting your time. Not gonna find anything, it doesn’t exist."
"Oh, but I’ve already found something quite worth my while, my dear detective.” The corners of his mouth turned up as Juno looked up in shock from his empty cup. The man did not stop blushing! Just as the detective opened his mouth, Franny walked through the kitchen doors, a whirl of coffeepot and cup.
“Whoo, that took a while! Sorry about the wait, coffee machine went whack! Started spittin’ whip all over the place. Anyway here you go, on the house! Enjoy!” In a whirlwind of blond and pink, Franny filled the detective’s cup with fresh coffee and put a cappuccino down on the counter. Once she had retreated to the back, Juno cleared his throat, looked at the man, looked at his newly filled cup, and began having a conversation with his coffee.
“Listen, tell you what. I’ll take you to a motel, you can’t be driving around at this hour. A-and if you stay for a few days, I’ll take you around town, see the sights. Maybe you’ll find whatever you’re looking for.” His face split into a complete grin at those words. Was this an invitation? From a rugged and handsome stranger no less? Was he really being flirted with in a tiny town diner in the middle of Nowhere, Washington by a gorgeous detective at one in the morning? This was just too much. He saw himself in the detective’s eyes: a man with a fox’s teeth in a crescent smile, dark windswept hair, and twinkling eyes behind large frames.
“Why thank you detective, I do believe I’ll take you up on that offer. Shall we go?” Rising from the counter, he swallowed his coffee, contemplated the fact that sleep had deserted the menu for the night, and left a forty percent tip. Juno, flustered, polished off what was his fourth cup of the night, paid his bill, and hollered a good night to Franny, who hollered back from the kitchen, “G’night boys! Thanks for dinin’ at the All-Night Moonlite Diner! Hope to see you again soon!”
By the time they left the diner the moon had set, and it was beneath a miraculously starry sky that the 1964 Pontiac GTO led the way to the little town of Hyperion, Washington, population 5,000. He followed the detective off the highway into the sleeping town. In the darkness, the buildings were empty, a ghost town full of haunted tales and dead souls. While the moon had set, the pines rose above it, guardians of the mystery that engulfed the town like shadow. The only salvation to the unknown was an ornery streetlamp that sat on the street corner in front of the Penumbra Motel, est.1865. It was old, but not dilapidated. Distinguished, one might say. But neither the motel nor the town’s haunted gaze held his interest; that was instead captured by a squat two-story building a little ways down the street from the motel named the Juno Steel Detective Agency. He noticed all of this, and kept his mouth shut.
“Well, here we are. Penumbra Motel, the best and only motel in the whole county. Hey, um.” The detective’s voice hitched ever so slightly. “I’ll pick you up at nine?” Once again, for the second time that night, he grinned.
“Why certainly. I’m looking forward to it, Mister…” Juno’s eyes widened as it dawned on him that in the heat of the moment, he hadn’t introduced himself to the man he’d offered to be a tour guide for. Some detective he was.
“Uh, it’s Steel. Juno Steel.” The man smiled, then grinned as Juno’s face turned pink under the streetlamp.
“Well then, thank you for everything, and good night, Mister Steel. I’ll see you in the morning.” Juno (what a lovely name that was; a pretty name for a pretty dame) mumbled a goodbye and fled back to his car. He chuckled; it was just so easy to get Juno flustered. His stay here, he thought, would definitely be enjoyable.
He watched as Juno drove the length of the sidewalk to his building, got out of his car, and looked at him. He waved. The door of the agency nearly smacked the wall with the speed at which Juno hurled himself into the building, the second floor being the one on which he lived. The streetlamp was the only witness as the newcomer to Hyperion laughed quietly to himself, shook his head, picked up his suitcase, and entered the lobby where the concierge was waiting.
Juno shut the door to his apartment and slid to the floor, fit to die of mortification. He was going to lose his mind; here he was, a detective for the past decade, blushing madly whenever the beautiful stranger from out of town looked at him! What kind of absolute idiot was he? Some tourist shows up at the diner at midnight come out from who knows where, and within fifteen seconds his heart is hammering out of his chest. Within fifteen minutes, he’d been so enamored that he’d accompanied the stranger to a motel in the middle of the night and offered to be his tour guide! He was Juno Steel, hard-boiled detective of Hyperion, Washington, as stony as the skies were grey; he shouldn’t be sitting in his doorway at one in the morning blushing about a stranger. Stupid, this is what he got for moping at a diner after a case instead of doing his paperwork. But, that newcomer sure did smell nice and his accent…
After about ten minutes of sitting in his doorway, Juno came to a realization. It dawned on him then that he’d been so caught up in this mysterious newcomer that he’d completely forgotten to ask his name. Come to think of it, the newcomer hadn’t offered his name up either. Huh. One of the stranger nights of his career.