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Everything worth having takes time. (This is why nail polish takes forever to dry).
Their healing is set in motion one day while the crew eats breakfast. Buddy and Vespa are doing that thing where they sit slightly closer than would be tolerated in polite society (which this isn't) and feeding each other toast. Rita has headpods plugged into her ears and her eyes are focused intently on the comms before her, while her hand mechanically brings spoonfuls of oatmeal to her face. Jet is nowhere to be seen.
Nureyev sits sipping chamomile tea and trying to focus on the book in his hands, but his focus is frequently disrupted by Rita squealing next to him every time something exciting happens on her show. As for his eyes, it's hard for him to keep them on the page when Juno Steel is sitting across the table from him wearing that lip stain.
"Hey, can you hand me the jam?" Juno asks, then realizes that he's just spoken to Nureyev (something he's been ardently avoiding), and blushes. Nureyev sets down his book and hands the jar of jam to Juno. Their hands touch and Juno doesn't take the jar right away. He lets his fingers linger there, the very tip of his index finger brushing the vein in Nureyev's hand, his thumb at the edge of Nureyev's wrist. Then he pulls away and falls silent again.
(It's not much, but it's something).
Then the team is chatting en route to another planet, where Nureyev and Buddy will pick up the things they need (groceries are a necessity even in space) and Juno mentions a kind of champagne he liked once, something a client gave him in gratitude after he solved her wife's disappearance case. "Haven't had it since," remarks Juno, a little wistfully. When Nureyev and Buddy sneak around the closed store helping themselves (honestly, can anyone hire security these days?) a bottle of that champagne winds up in Nureyev's bag. He takes the risk of going to Juno's room to give it to him, and it pays off - the lady's eye lights up like there's a star behind his pupil, and he takes the gift hesitantly. "You really got champagne," he says. "For me."
"Well, I didn't get it for myself, Juno."
Juno turns the bottle over in his hands like he still can't believe that it's actually all for him. "Can I- can I have some?"
An expensive glass materializes from the shopping bag between Nureyev's fingers, and Juno takes it. He steps back into his room. He says, "Thank you, Nureyev." (So gorgeous, so genuine).
"You're welcome," says Nureyev, striding down the hall.
(It's not much, but it's something).
Soon they're streaking from planet to planet, sailing through stars, and sitting next to each other on the spaceship. There are harried meals gobbled down as they rush from one place to another, and their shoulders bump together. They stay up late talking, even after Vespa yawns, "I'm going to bed" and Buddy has joined her. Once, driving back to the ship after a wasted day on Saturn (Nureyev told Jet that there wouldn't be any analyzers there but of course he didn't listen), Juno falls asleep with his head on Nureyev's shoulder.
(It's not much, but it's something).
Anything worth having takes time. Juno and Nureyev have finally begun to grow closer together. Back to trust. Back to a team. Nothing is like it was before, but still...
Then Nureyev has to go and get himself stabbed.
They're on a heist and Nureyev needs cover. Before he even has to say anything, Juno's blaster is going off behind him, not making a lot of hits (shooting is much harder with only one eye) but still enough to get Nureyev to their enemy and take him down with a particularly well-placed knife. But not before the man's badly-placed knife flashes across Nureyev's arm. Blood sprays across his shirt. The man goes down and Nureyev staggers against the wall.
Juno is at his side in an instant. "Oh my god, are you okay? You're bleeding."
He's about to counter with, "I'm fine", remembering that Juno hates blood, but then thinks better of it. He presses a hand to his wounded shoulder and makes a slightly exaggerated whimper of pain. His knees give out (he could regain his balance if he wanted to, but he doesn't want to) and slumps slightly, letting Juno catch him. And he isn't hurt that badly, but... well with Juno Steel holding him like that, who wouldn't overdo it a little? Juno's arm slides around his back, his other hand against Nureyev's shoulder as they sink to the ground together. His arms are strong but gentle, and they feel nice. They feel like home.
Vespa, Buddy, and Rita are there a moment later. "Where are you hurt?" Buddy demands, already ripping her scarf into bandages.
"Ungh." Nureyev tries to sit up, only to find himself confined in Juno's arms. "Shoulder? I don't think it's too bad, but then I suppose I can't know for sure-"
"Say no more." Vesta and Buddy are already pushing up the sleeve of his shirt, tying a cloth around his arm, the bandage pinching his skin and chafing his wound, but effectively soaking up his blood.
"MISTAH ARROW!" Rita shrieks nervously, wringing her hands. "I mean, Fay! That looked real painful, are ya sure you're gonna be okay?"
"I'm fine, Rita." Nureyev smiles weakly, the picture of courageous suffering, and leans a little closer to Juno.
The green Ruby7 pulls up beside them. Jet throws the door open and Juno helps Nureyev to his feet; helps him stagger over to the car, and then climbs into the back seat with him and secures his arms around him again. He's holding Nureyev's face against his chest, and whether that's intentional or not, it's a very welcome distraction from the throbbing in his arm. He doubts that this level of intimacy would be standard, so he's almost grateful for the injury that brought it to him. Tentative, he leans closer to Juno, tilting his cheek against the detective's sternum. He's pushing it, he knows, but it feels so familiar and so welcome, that he lets himself enjoy the sensation before Juno inevitably pushes him away. Except Juno doesn't push him away. Instead, Juno pulls him closer and brushes the whisper of a kiss across his forehead.
Rita grabs Nureyev's hands in what is probably supposed to be comforting. "Mistah Arrow, don't worry, we're gonna get you back on the spaceship and then everything's gonna be fine, so just rest up and OMIGOD there's so much blood on you!" Rita is chattering in the row in front of them. Her hand reaches over the seats to pat Nureyev's reassuringly, although it seems like she needs reassurance more than he does. "But that's okay, we ain't gonna think about the blood right now, we're just gonna get back on our ship and not be sick."
"I'm not going to be sick," Nureyev murmurs.
"I was talking to myself." She rolls down the window and leans out.
Juno laughs. The sound rumbles in his chest. He's rubbing his fingertips in slight circles over Nureyev's bandage, almost distractedly, as if he doesn't really notice what he's doing; his calloused hands tracing slow endless circles.
(It's not much, but it's something).
A ship for six people doesn't really need an infirmary, but theirs has one, and now Nureyev is in it, folded into the small bed built into the wall while Juno sits in the chair next to his. The bed is like a small shelf carved in a few feet above the floor (which is a terrible design flaw, since a leg injury would mean someone would have to be lifted into it), and Juno sits in the chair next to him, holding Nureyev's hand loosely in his. His thumb trails over the bone in the thief's wrist. Nureyev fades in and out of a painkiller-induced doze in a room that smells like rubbing alcohol and Juno, wrapped in blankets too thin to be considered comfortable but just soft enough to not be considered scratchy. The harsh lighting in the room fades in and out as he sleeps. It's too bright, and it bothers him. He wakes up and Juno feeds him more painkillers from a spoon, and then he falls asleep again almost instantly, the metal still between his teeth.
The next time he wakes up, Juno is still holding his hand. The lights are gone, replaced by what looks like every candle they had on the ship, arranged on a small table behind Juno's chair. Their gentle glow silhouettes Juno and bathes the room in a warmth the color of Mars. Nureyev blinks sleepily and pushes his hair off of his forehead. "Still here?" he mumbles.
"Yeah," says Juno with a light laugh. His rough thumb coasts over Nureyev's wristbone again. He brings Nureyev's knuckles to his lips. "Still here."
"Mm." Nureyev smiles at him over the plush curve of the pillow. "Juno, how many candles are back there?"
"I don't know - twelve? Twenty?" Juno looks over his shoulder. "Most of them came from Buddy. She loves the things. I just didn't realize they were all scented." Juno waves a hand through the trails of smoke. "On the bright side I got rid of that antiseptic smell, but now the room smells like peachy-firewood-maple-roses with a touch of fresh cut grass. Seriously, who wants a candle that smells like grass?"
"Quite unusual." Nureyev yawns and reaches out towards Juno. "Come hold me?"
Juno stops, drawing away ever so slightly. His grip on Nureyev's hand slacks.
"Only if you want to," Nureyev adds with another yawn. He doesn't think he can stay awake much longer. He feels like sleep is an ocean and he's sinking. He feels like Juno is a shot and he missed it.
(He wants to trail his fingers through the lady's curls.)
"Are you sure?"
He nods, an action which is less like a nod than like smushing his face further into the pillow. His voice comes out sounding smaller than it ever has: "Please?"
Juno looks at him for a long moment while the candles burn behind him. Then he smiles. "Yeah." Juno pushes back his chair and walks over to the wall. He climbs up into the weird shelf infirmary bed and fixes the blankets around them both. "Yeah, okay. C'mere." He drapes his arms around the thief's waist. Nureyev curls against him, leaning into his touch (like a cat being stroked, like a plant towards sunlight). He closes his eyes and just breathes, existing briefly in harmony with the person he's been dreaming about for so long. The infirmary bed is much to small for both of them; Nureyev's ankles are practically dangling off of the corner. But they make do. After all of the struggles they've been through together, a lack of space is the exact opposite of a problem. He presses his ear against Juno's heartbeat.
His eyes focus to the nearest flickering candle; vanilla blossom, he thinks, though it's hard to make out the label in this low light. Juno's heart beats under his ear, his chest rising and falling slightly. His breath tickles Nureyev's ear. They exist together in this strange room with the low lighting, cradling each other. Silent and together. The haze of painkillers are pulling him down again, and he considers surrendering to them, like waves pulling him gently away from the shore and out to sea.
(He wonders if Juno has ever been to the sea.)
But he hesitates, and the detective seems to sense it. He goes back to rubbing circles between the thief's shoulder blades, gentle and rhythmic. Nureyev curls even nearer to him with almost desperate closeness. He lifts his face to see Juno smiling at him. Juno kisses him between his eyes.
(It's not much, but it's so much at the same time.)
"Go to sleep, Peter," he says. "I'll still be here when you wake up."
Peter sleeps.