Chapter Text
The Hyperion City that Peter returns to is not the one he had left. He had grown to love the city during his time on Mars, or rather, he had found things to love there. It was a sprawling city, built for anonymity, its slums the backbone that supported it. It was old and worn down, covered in a dust, but filled with fight and a stubborn optimism that made it a fitting home for his detective.
Now, it is polished in a way that unsettles Peter. He watches the expanse of the city out of the viewing hatch of the transport ship, and he can barely orient himself among the fresh skyscrapers. The rotten wood and hastily stacked buildings of old town are gone, replaced with a network of apartment buildings, every one identical. They are laid out in neat squares, dotted in between with parks of sculpture and asphalt. Sky bridges stretch between the rooftop terraces of the buildings so no one ever needs to descend to the ground. It is a dizzying kaleidoscopic pattern of squares, and it might have dazzled Peter on another planet. He appreciates well planned cities, clean lines and minimalist design, but that is not what Hyperion City is.
Hyperion City—Juno’s city—is jagged scars and inflexible connective tissue and grit in his teeth and rough edges. It has a heartbeat; it is messy and exposed and has no pretenses. Take it or leave it.
Peter had taken it, all of it. The 40 story apartment buildings and the street vendors crammed into alleys and the glowing neon lights and violence born of impulsivity. He had wanted to return to it, open and honest as it was.
Instead, he exits the transport terminal with a sinking unease. The city is different. It is quite possible that Juno will be different too, perhaps in a different office, a different apartment.
He will be in the same city, at least. Peter has to believe in that. Juno, damaged as he was, would have gone to ground where he felt safe.
Last time Peter was in this city, he had been Octavius Green, an art dealer only in name. He had known Valles Vicky then, and she had been the one to get him touch with Juno. It would not be a bad path to take now.
Arriving on Juno’s doorstep without warning would be insensitive, would be exactly what Peter does not want to do. He has returned to do what Juno deserves, to be kind to Juno, to make amends for what he has done. He can do none of that if he barges into Juno’s life when he is unwanted.
So he finds himself outside of Valles Vicky’s Vixen Valley just before they open, pulling together Octavius Green with far less care than is wise.
He is greeted by a man wearing very little, except for a generous amount of bronzer to contour his abs.
“Hello. It’s Liam, isn’t it?”
“Depends who’s asking?”
“Oh,” he chuckles. “Silly me, of course you wouldn’t remember. I’m Octavius Green, an art dealer. I have a business arrangement with Ms. Vicky. Would you mind telling her I’m in?”
“The boss isn’t taking appointments right now.”
“Tell her this is regarding Juno Steel.”
Liam makes a derisive noise. “Steel knows better than to show his face around here.”
Green flinches at the venom in Liam's voice. “I’m trying to track him down,” he presses, “do you maybe have a phone number for him?”
“I’m sure he’s still in the same scummy little PI office. I have to go finish opening.” Just like that, Liam is gone and so is Peter’s lead. He turns up the pleated collar on his jacket and begins to wander the streets.
Juno is his magnetic north, and he is pulled through the streets towards his office. That was where it all began, after all. He should go there.
The feel of the city is different. It is early evening, and people should be abundant. Peter passes by restaurants with empty tables, small clusters of people who avert their eyes when he smiles at them. He is in a middle class neighborhood, one of the few that exist in Hyperion City, but the people seem frightened. With a habit so ingrained that it doesn’t happen with conscious thought, Peter looks skyward. He sees none of the traits of the Guardian Angel; no traces of electricity in the sky, no geometric clouds, but the unease remains. Something has taken the city over.
He begins to walk faster.
Juno should be home by now; it is several hours past closing time at other office buildings. Juno seems the type to work late, but Peter hopes that he is home and safe.
Perhaps, Juno is even happy.
He catches a taxi to a grocery store several blocks from Juno’s apartment, and then walks the rest of the way.
He scales the fire escape across the street and finds a platform to settle himself on. This neighborhood has not been gentrified; the fire escape is rusty and unstable in places, and the brick is pitted with age. Peter braces himself against a window frame, pulls his collar up to hide his face, and takes binoculars out of one of his many pockets.
He can see Juno in his kitchen, poking at something in a cooking pot. His hair is neatly trimmed, there is even a design shaved into the side. He is wearing an oversized sweater and nodding his head gently as he stirs. When he turns, it shows dark eyepatch over his missing eye. He looks healthy, nearly happy.
Peter scans the rest of the room carefully. Another man is asleep on the sofa, mouth open as he breathes. Peter can imagine the snores. This man is all elbows and knees, his clothes are disheveled, and his long dreads are spread across the threadbare arm of the sofa. A woman—Juno’s secretary, Peter remembers—is sitting on the floor, playing with something too small for Peter to make out. She is a splash of color in the room, all orange and pink and rhinestones.
Juno turns from the stove and says something. Rita nods and turns to shove the man on the couch. He wakes with a start and a goofy smile, and then sits up to make room.
All three of them pile onto the sofa, and Juno passes a bowl of popcorn to the other man.
Peter’s heart aches with longing.
This is what he wanted for Juno, what he still wants for Juno. There is a soft smile on Juno’s face, and Peter can guess that they are watching a movie from the way Rita’s eyes are fixed straight ahead at the wall Peter cannot see. Peter strains for some sign of familiarity in the way Juno and the other man interact, if perhaps Juno has found another to share his life with, but there is none that Peter can discern. Juno neither holds himself away in denial of his feelings nor leans forward to seek touch.
The man with the dreadlocks begins to talk, his smile visible even across the street. He speaks as much with his hands as he does with his mouth, moving like a puppet with the strings cut. Juno is frowning, leaning around Rita to try to follow whatever the man is saying. He waves an arm wildly and flings the popcorn across the room. There is a wild flurry of movement as they all scramble to clean up.
Peter puts down his binoculars. This is what he came to see. Juno is happy, and safe. Whatever has happened to his city, he has made a sort of peace with it.
Peter doesn’t know if that makes things easier or harder.
Perhaps, Juno might be willing to take him back, now that his wounds are not so fresh.
Perhaps, now that he has moved on, he will be unwilling to reopen those wounds.
Peter climbs down from the fire escape and goes to find a taxi back to his hotel. He is not ready to see Juno, not yet. Something sticks in his chest, right behind his breastbone, when he thinks of laying himself bare to him.
It is too much, too raw, too all consuming.
If Juno is his entire existence, his gravitational center, then surrendering to him will be something Peter cannot come back from. That is a terrifying thought.
It may be a welcome thought, that after twenty years of wandering, he might have someone to return to, but that also means the cost of failure is too big to properly comprehend.
Juno is happy. Juno is safe.
Juno may not have room in his life for one such as Peter, unmoored and dangerous.