Chapter Text
When Peter wakes up, he is alone.
He experiences a split second of searing pain before he realizes: that can’t be right.
When Peter wakes up, Juno is in the bathroom. The shower isn’t running, so he must be tending to one of his myriad bandages. Peter should go help him, but every inch of his body aches and the bed is soft.
Time passes.
When Peter wakes up, Juno has gone downstairs to the hotel restaurant. They could have called room service, but Juno is the type to put himself through hell rather than ask for help.
It’s sweet of him to sneak out for breakfast without waking Peter. Peter smiles into the crisp hotel pillow and conjures up the phantom smell of coffee. He has a few more minutes to sleep, while he waits, and he is still so tired.
When Peter wakes up, Juno is gone.
Peter has slept his fill, and he is unable to stay in the soft, cold bed any longer.
He gathers his clothes—the change he had brought with him. The white scrubs that Miasma’s assistants wore go in the trash. Juno’s clothes and antibiotics and painkillers are all gone. There wasn’t much left of Juno’s clothes after weeks in that cell, but he had gathered up every scrap when he left.
Peter can see him, wrapped in that coat that had survived against all odds, barely the worse for wear. There is blood on the collar and on the shirt, and neither of them had made the time to clean them last night.
He should have bought new clothes while Juno was in the OR, but he hadn’t been able to leave the little white waiting room. Not when—
He packs his bag, pulls out a burner phone, calls a shuttle.
He calls room service for breakfast.
He takes a deep breath.
He closes his eyes, reopens them.
Octavius Green has a connection on Venus. The connection has offered a sizable bounty on a post-neo-rococo painting in a museum on old earth.
Juno loves abstract art.
He always knew he would one day take on a project that would destroy him. He never expected it would be a personal one.
He closes his eyes, reopens them.
The people of Io are formulating a revolution. It would be easy for Trinity Papillon to slip in and liberate security codes for the tender dissidents.
Juno would be so proud of him for helping the helpless. Standing up to the big, mean, world.
He closes his eyes, reopens them.
Arthur Little is still in love with Juno Steel.
Of course Juno left him. He attracts danger like honey attracts flies. No reasonable lady would stay with a man like him.
He closes his eyes, reopens them.
Elias Hill is paranoid, expressive, prone to tears.
Of course Juno left him. Juno looked into his mind and saw the violence he was capable of and knew that he was too dark for the light-bringer that is Juno Steel.
He closes his eyes, reopens them.
Juno Steel is in Peter Nureyev’s blood. He is in every inhale of his shredded lungs, he is the stone in his stomach, he is the phantom heat under his hands.
There is no escaping Juno Steel.
He closes his eyes, reopens them.
Lazarus Quill spent three months on Dione, investigating the opal mines. He could easily return there and restart the con. Opals are valuable, and since his last year’s work for Miasma netted no pay, he could use the money.
Of course Juno left him. He was held together by bandages and spite and in no shape for shuttle transport between worlds.
If this heist goes well, he can return to Mars and pay off Juno’s medical bills. They checked in under throwaway identities, but paying bills on time would matter to Juno.
Or maybe it wouldn’t. Juno doesn’t have much of a stomach for authority in any context.
Juno needs time to heal. He needs rest in his own bed. He’ll be ready to go by the time Lazarus returns.