Work Text:
“The Ruby 7 doesn’t happen to have snow chains, does it?” Juno asked. It was a hypothetical question, one that he already knew the answer to. Still, as he stared out at the snow that had accumulated over the past four hours, he hoped that he was mistaken.
Nureyev winced in a gesture that highlighted the sharpness his teeth. “I’m afraid not,” he replied, and joined Juno by the window. To the outside observer, his tone would’ve seemed calm. Poised, even. But Juno had known Nureyev for long enough to recognize the thin layer of frustration beneath the surface.
Their getaway plan had failed to account for a freak snowstorm. Idly, Juno wondered how such a thing was even possible. In Hyperion City, all weather was municipally controlled, with the exception of the sandstorms that occasionally struck Old Town. Juno would have assumed that Olympus Mons would have a similar program, seeing as it was just to the north, but he dismissed the thought for later. There were more important things to consider in the moment.
“Okay, so our previous plan is effectively useless,” Juno said. “Where do we go from here?”
A server bearing a tray of elegant champagne flutes was heading in their direction. Juno stepped closer to Nureyev, placed a palm on the lapel of his suit, and did his best to look overwhelmingly in love. To be fair, that wasn’t a difficult task.
The server changed course slightly and passed them by, evidently deciding that there were easier targets to hand off drinks to than a pair of lovebirds who had no eyes for the rest of the room.
Nureyev relaxed a fraction as he watched the server disappear into the throngs of the crowd, neatly avoiding the groups twirling on the dance floor. From their position near the windows, turned foggy with the heat of the room, he and Nureyev stood at a calculated distance away from the bustle, far enough away that their voices would be indistinguishable from the murmur of conversation and the light music.
“Well,” Nureyev began, “I think it would be unwise to stay at this resort for much longer. Tempting fate, and all that. But I’m afraid we don’t have many other options, either. If the roads are half as hazardous as the broadcasts claim, I wouldn’t want to risk getting into an accident.”
Juno nodded. He didn’t like their current situation—being trapped had always put him on edge, and here, they were stuck at their own crime scene—but it was no one’s fault. He and Nureyev would simply have to adapt. “How much longer do you think we have before Caldera notices that his data port is missing?”
Their mark, Ralc Caldera, was on the other side of the room, near the bar. The last time Juno had spotted him, Caldera was quickly achieving a state of inebriation, helped along by the constant presence of servers to supply him and his business partners with their choice of overpriced alcohol. At the rate he was imbibing, Caldera would be lucky to remember the night, much less have the wherewithal to check on the weaponry prototype he had created.
Nureyev’s thoughts obviously ran along similar lines. “Oh, I think it’ll be a while,” he commented wryly. Then: “May I have this dance, my dear?”
The “detective” attached to the end of that endearment went unsaid. Still, Juno gaped. “You want me to dance with you?”
“Of course. Why would I have offered otherwise?”
“I have two left feet and you know it, Nur—sweetheart. Besides, we have to keep an eye on Caldera, don’t we?”
Nureyev merely hummed in response. His eyes tracked the dancers as they moved in time to the music.
Juno sighed. Dancing wasn’t his forte, but they had been by the window for too long anyway. “Fine,” he said. “One dance and that’s it. And we move closer to Caldera while we do it.”
Juno allowed Nureyev to lead him to the dance floor, but when they actually reached their destination, he paused. “I didn’t downplay my dancing abilities,” Juno warned, his voice betraying his uncertainty. “I have no idea what I’m doing here.”
“Allow me to take the lead, then,” Peter replied, and guided Juno’s hands to where he wanted them. In this position, with his left hand resting on Nureyev’s shoulder and his right hand held in Nureyev’s left, a small bubble of intimacy formed between the two of them that made Juno want to duck his head and hide from the tenderness in Nureyev’s eyes.
Oh. So that was what all the fuss was about.
Juno already felt dizzy, punch-drunk even though it had been nearly an entire week since he’d been in a fight. It was a scary feeling, almost, but he knew that the fear stemmed from years of repressing his own emotions, rather than anything about the man in front of him. It was a scary feeling, but it was new and brave and warm and Juno wanted more.
Dazed, he allowed Nureyev to lead the two of them in a slow dance. They started off simply, swaying from side to side with the transfer of weight from one foot to another. Then, Nureyev began to step, and as Juno grew more confident in his skills, they began to turn, slowly rotating around the dance floor.
“You’re not half-bad at dancing at all,” Nureyev said. His eyes were fond and intense and Juno shuddered. It was all too easy to imagine himself falling into eyes like those.
“I haven’t danced in years,” Juno told him, and hoped that his honesty didn’t reek like the confession it was. It had been years—nearly twenty of them. He didn’t want to dwell on it.
“Mhmm,” Nureyev said simply, realizing that it was a touchy subject and dropping it. He pressed a chaste kiss to Juno’s lips and offered him the crook of his elbow. “May I escort you to the bar?”
Juno shot a quick glance towards the bar. Caldera was red-faced and obviously drunk and Juno had absolutely no desire to get any closer than he already was.
“You know what,” Juno said. “I think I’m good.”
Nureyev raised his eyebrows slightly, but he didn’t question Juno’s response. “Where would you like to go, then? Assuming you don’t want another dance, that is.”
Juno shook his head. He was already breathless, more so than one dance should have warranted. He knew what he wanted—in fact, he knew quite vividly what he wanted and it involved Nureyev’s lips pressed against his, preferably in a place where they wouldn’t be interrupted. “I was just thinking—you booked us a room here, right? We could, uh. Go there, maybe.”
“Of course I did,” Nureyev murmured, his eyes boring into Juno’s. “Which turned out to be rather fortunate, I think.”
Juno was aware, suddenly, of how flushed his face must be. He tried to school his features into a slightly more composed expression before he realized with a jolt that it didn’t matter here. In this opulent, excessive resort in Olympus Mons, the two of them weren’t Juno Steel and Peter Nureyev, a private eye and a master thief with a somewhat rocky history. They were just two people, partners in love and in the occasional crime. The anonymity was freeing.
Silently, Juno once again linked elbows with Nureyev. Together, they walked to the elevators. Juno didn’t bother to wipe the sappy look of happiness off of his face.
(|)
Later that night, Juno brushed his teeth in the bathroom (wincing at the flimsy construction of the toothbrush bristles) while Nureyev sat on the foot of the bed and flipped through the limited TV channels the hotel provided. After passing on a dramatic soap and an old re-run of the second Andromeda movie, he settled on the news, which displayed a weather report.
Juno rinsed the toothbrush out and left it on the counter. He hadn’t bothered to bring his own toiletries or a change of clothes—he had assumed that their room would only be booked, not used, and they’d be back in Hyperion City with the data port before nightfall—so he joined Nureyev on the bed in only his boxers.
On the screen, a reporter was busy detailing the effects of the snowstorm. She looked weary—surely, it was a busy evening at the station. “Over the past few hours, Olympus Mons has received an incredible eight inches of snow.”
Juno made himself comfortable, tucking his legs to the side and resting his head on Nureyev’s bony shoulder. He reached out and took Nureyev’s right hand in his left.
The reporter continued. “According to the official weather schedule, verified earlier this calendar year, tonight’s snowfall shouldn’t have occurred for another month, in concordance with the negotiated days between the city and several of its school districts.” The reporter paused. “Our news station has yet to receive confirmation from city officials that tonight’s snowstorm was planned, but will update with more information as the story develops. I’m Casey Arinayo, here with Channel 6 News. Tim?”
The camera switched to focus on a different reporter, but Juno was too distracted to absorb anything that was said. So Olympus Mons did have a program in place that controlled the city’s weather—at least in theory, as tonight had shown. It made sense; Olympus Mons was to the north, closer to one of Mars’ polar ice caps. But for the system to suddenly fail like that and dump eight inches of snow in one evening, there must have been some form of—
Juno let out a heavy breath. “Rita, what did you do?” he muttered.
“What was that, Juno?”
Juno buried his face deeper in Nureyev’s shoulder. “I think I know why we’re stuck here.”
(|)
Juno stormed into his office around three o’clock the next afternoon. The trip from Olympus Mons to Hyperion City normally took four hours. With the delays from the previous night’s bad weather, it took six. Juno just thanked his lucky stars that Caldera had yet to raise any sort of alarm before they left—the poor guy was probably nursing one hell of a hangover.
“Rita,” Juno said. “What the hell did you do?”
Rita spun around in her chair and gasped when she saw him. “Mistah Steel!” she exclaimed. “I wasn’t expecting you back this early!”
Juno narrowed his eyes. “I was supposed to get back this morning,” he said. “Or, well, that’s what I told you, at least. Rita, why the hell would you hack into a municipal weather program and dump eight inches of snow on a city in one night?”
Rita spluttered. “What—I—never, Mistah Steel! I only use my powers for good, honest!”
Juno waited.
Rita deflated. “It’s just that I—well, you’ve been running yourself ragged these past few months, boss! I was startin’ to worry about you, really, and then you go and announce that you’ll be staying in one of those fancy resort places in Olympus Mons!—and I thought, what’s the harm in getting Mistah Steel to take an extra few days of vacation?”
Juno sighed. “Rita . . . I know you had good intentions, but I wasn’t in Olympus Mons for a vacation. I was—I was on a case, of sorts.”
If that’s what the kids were calling it these days.
“Oh,” Rita said quietly. Her voice was very small. “I’m sorry, boss.”
“No, Rita, don’t—don’t beat yourself up, okay?” Juno urged. “I know you meant well.”
“I just thought it would be romantic is all. You, caught in a snowstorm with that Agent Glass fella, maybe having to share one bed like that scene in—”
“Wait, Rita,” Juno interrupted before Rita could give him an entire plot synopsis. “You know about, uhh—you know about Agent Glass?”
Rita, all too late, realized her mistake. “No!!! That is, uhhh, I was really hoping you would meetsomeonethereandfallinlove?” she tried, pitching her voice up high. She waited a minute to see the impact her statement would make, sighed, and continued. “Okay, all right, fine. I know that there’s something romantic going on between you and Agent Glass, but I also know that Agent Glass isn’t his real name! I did some sleuthin’ on my own and discovered that he’s actually a man called Peter Nureyev!”
She looked up expectantly at Juno.
Juno tested the waters. “So, let me get this straight. You know who Peter Nureyev is, yet you were okay with the possibility that I’d share a bed with him?”
“Well . . .” Rita twisted her fingers in a gesture of uncertainty. “After I did a little digging, I reckoned that Mistah Nureyev ain’t such a bad guy—for a thief and a criminal, that is. And I figured, well, love is love and all that. I saw the way you looked at him all the way back during that case with the mask and I thought, “Well, if someone can get Mistah Steel to look like that, all enamored-like, who am I to judge?””
Juno wasn’t choking up. He wasn’t, okay? He cleared his throat before he spoke anyway, just to make sure. “That’s actually really sweet of you, Rita.”
“Of course it was, boss! I’m a sensitive and kind individual, you know!”
“Yes, I do know.” Juno gave her a gentle smile—and then a mischievous one. “I suppose that means I should tell Nureyev to stop idling outside and come in, then, right?”
“MISTAH STEEL!!!” Rita exclaimed once more. Her expression was as delightfully surprised as if her top three favorite soaps had announced a crossover episode—no, a crossover season.
Juno laughed and laughed and laughed. He pressed the down button on the elevator. Soon, his two favorite people in the world would meet—properly this time, with real names and everything—and for once in his life, Juno couldn’t wait for what the future held in store.