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The theft of the death mask of Grimpotheuthis has not been one of my more efficient or elegant works of crime, I reflect as I stand out in the frigid cold of Hyperion city, inches away from my goal and yet unable to lay my hands on it. In fact I think it would be fair to say that it's been one of my least. I'd like to blame that on a lot of things - bad luck, the sheer absurdity of the Martian entertainment networks, the homicidal genius of one Cecil Kanagawa, and so on. And, perhaps a rather small distraction - although he has, I really must admit, been as much of a help as he has been a hindrance.
Juno Steel. A surly, brooding private investigator with sharp eyes, a sharper wit, and a tongue that's sharper still. The lady who is currently holding my hard-won prize tucked underneath his arm, the man who has been plucking on the strings of my curiosity all day, the detective who I can't help but have developed a small fondness for after working with him for just a few short but unbelievably chaotic hours.
Juno Steel, who is an interesting mark, but who I must remember is still just that. A mark.
"...It's so cold, Juno. I'd hate to wait out here all night until the registry opens," I try, obviously angling for one thing to cover up my other, more pressing goal as I shift closer. "You… wouldn't want to show me someplace warmer, would you?"
"Take a look around, Rex, everything in this district is closed this time of night," he says shortly, and I can't tell whether it comes from preoccupation, an incredible level of obliviousness, or his being deliberately obtuse. I lean closer.
"I didn't mean a restaurant."
He looks up at me, surprise in his eyes. He has beautiful eyes - a warm, molten brown like the earth of humanity's home planet, not Mars' dusty, faded red. He clears his throat.
"Sure. Fine, then," he sighs, and pushes away from the wall to start heading back towards his death trap of a vehicle.
"And where might we be headed, detective?"
He glances back at me, curt. "The office, so I can drop this stupid thing off. Then, uh - home," he says, and adds pointedly and with hunching shoulders as I smile widely and gesture for him to lead the way, "Don't get too excited."
Excitement isn't any particular factor in it, really. It doesn't matter where we go, after all - I only need to get close enough to pluck that safe key out of his pocket. And for a man like me, a master thief and someone who seems to have quite the effect on one Juno Steel, private eye, a little thing like that should be nothing but child's play.
Juno's apartment is in a nicer area than I might have expected from his ratty trenchcoat and general disheveledness - the streets are relatively clean, the façade of the building painted and the lobby decorated with tasteful fake plants and a bored security guard, to whom Juno gives a brief nod as we pass. The elevator is reasonably fast and only creaks a negligible amount, and in no time at all I find myself standing in a pleasant if utilitarian corridor, waiting patiently to one side of a door following a similar aesthetic vein until the detective finally finishes fussing with his keyring and buzzes us through.
"Honey, I'm home," he announces flatly as he barges inside and drops his door key - and not his safe key, unfortunately - into an awaiting bowl, and for a moment I fear I have grievously misread the situation. Nothing in my (admittedly very rushed) research had pointed to the detective having a partner or spouse of any kind at the current moment, but it would not be the first time that a mark has caught me off-guard with an unannounced master, mistress, or otherwise. It would definitely not be the first time today that I have found myself surprised by Juno Steel.
"'Sup, super-steel!" comes a voice from further inside. "What took you so long? I was starting to get worried - you could at least leave me a message or something, y'know."
Juno doesn't answer, simply trudging onwards towards the voice and tracking a variety of assorted muck all over the apartment's surprisingly plush carpet in the process. The carpet is an unusual choice for Mars - as far as I've seen most people prefer a surface easier to clean the planet's pervasive crimson dust from - but again, unusual is something I've rather come to expect from Detective Steel.
Considering he hadn't bothered to remove his shoes at the door, I don't either as I follow him inside. Retaining my footwear makes it all the easier for me to make a quick escape if the need arises anyway; roaming the streets of Hyperion city barefoot is an eventuality I think I would rather avoid - far too many broken bottles and used needles lying around for my tastes.
The entrance corridor is short, and opens up almost immediately into a relatively spacious living area. This contains, among other things, a large monitor spilling inane cartoon noises into the room, a rickety coffee table that appears to have soft sim-leather covers over its corners, a slightly worn armchair, and a small sofa, sitting upon which is - oh.
A second Juno Steel. A carbon copy, almost, save for a few subtle differences. His face, for example, is mostly unmarked, in stark contrast to his brother - because these two are almost undoubtedly twins - but that isn't to say he is without his scars. The most prominent of them, and the one which draws my eye, begins at his right temple and blazes a laser-straight line through the short-shorn hair at the side of his head before terminating abruptly once it reaches the back. Whatever made it - a blaster, most likely, and not one set to stun - looks like it carved out at least a few millimeters of skull on its journey, or perhaps even more than that. Looking at a scar like that, all I can do is hide my wince and think that it must have been quite the near miss. Even nearer than the one the detective and I had miraculously slipped out of today.
...Though the moment is inappropriate, I find myself thinking that I would like to spend a lot more time slipping out of things with Detective Steel. But, I have more pressing things to be worrying about. Rather unfortunately.
"Jesus, what happened to you?" the person - who I am continuing to assume is Juno's reluctantly aforementioned brother - asks as Juno drags himself over to the sofa and collapses in a sprawling heap halfway across him, burying his self-inflicted black eye and the remains of Cecil Kanagawa's homicidally-inclined makeup in the bottom of the loose-fitted t-shirt he's wearing.
"Mmph," he replies. Forthcoming as ever. I have to admit I find that endearing nonetheless.
"Oh-kay, evening to you, too," his twin snorts in reply, and rubs a sympathetic, if slightly sardonic, hand over Juno's shoulders. "Rough day, super-steel?"
"Kanagawas," Juno mumbles, as if that's explanation enough. And, well, from my own experiences with the family over the last twenty-four hours, it probably is.
"I thought that colour looked too good on you. Cecil?"
Juno sighs into his shirt. "All of 'em. Plus Cecil. Croesus is dead, and Cass is..." He sighs again, and shakes his head without looking up. "Later, okay?"
His twin nods, absently picking some nameless piece of detritus from Juno's coat and flicking it away. Then his eyes stray to me, waiting patiently at the entrance to the room, and his gaze as it takes in the view is distinctly... appreciative.
"Sooo," he says, all faux-casualness. "Who's your friend?"
Juno huffs. "Nobody. Some suit Sasha saddled me with for the day - just pretend like he's not even there, that's what I've been doing."
"Now, detective, I had hoped we were on better terms than that after the events of the day," I say brightly, letting Rex Glass's wide and overly enthusiastic smile take over my face as I step forward. "Won't you introduce us?"
"Fine." Juno lifts an arm, and gestures to each of us without looking. "Oldest pain in the ass, meet my newest pain in the ass."
I extend my hand without offense. "Agent Rex Glass, at your service."
"Benzaiten Steel," Juno's brother says, smiling bright and wide in return as he reaches over Juno to shake. The image of it is strange - Juno Steel's face, but painted with a completely foreign expression. I find myself mournful that I haven't seen this particular look from Juno himself. "Just call me Ben. Juno's brother, but I'm thinking you probably guessed that already."
I tilt my head, lift an eyebrow. "Benzaiten? As in the goddess?" I ask, and let out an airy chuckle as I release his hand. "Is there a Frigga Steel hiding in here somewhere that I've yet to meet?"
"Ooh, the man knows his mythology!" Benzaiten grins, seeming delighted as he nudges roughly at Juno's arm. "You never bring back anyone cultured, y'know that, super-steel? This is a nice change."
Juno scoffs, full to the brim and spilling over with disdain. "Sure, Ben, real nice to see someone appreciating Sarah's insane naming conventions," he grumbles, his tone icy. Benzaiten frowns at him.
"Juno, c'mon. You're gonna do this right now?"
Juno's shoulders are hunched where he's curled against his twin's torso. I'd gathered by his earlier reaction to Cecil Kanagawa's comments that this area was a touchy subject, but hadn't wanted to press too much on it. His brother doesn't seem to feel the need to be so careful, and the tension in him is palpable. "I can't believe you still defend her after everything she--"
"Juno," Benzaiten interrupts, sharp in warning. Juno stays silent, only pressing himself a little closer in reply. I find the silence... uncomfortable. Rex Glass, on the other hand, is not the most adept at reading a room, and is distractable enough to get lost in what appears to be a children's cartoon stream for a moment while tensions resolve themselves. No sense getting involved in the family disputes of a pair of strangers.
"Sorry," Juno says minutely after a moment, so quiet I can barely catch it at all - and it's worth noting that my hearing is impeccable. "Cecil brought it all up again earlier, I just..."
Benzaiten sighs, and runs his hand over Juno's shoulders again, shaking his head. "Yeah, okay," he murmurs. "I'm sorry, too."
He clears his throat and looks back up at me, any trace of negativity swept away in less than a second. And from one actor to another, it's a very convincing job. "So, mister spooky secret Dark Matters agent - you hungry?"
Juno immediately perks up, pushing himself eagerly upright. "You made dinner?"
Benzaiten smiles at him with absolute self-satisfaction. "I was thinking takeout on me."
"You're my favourite brother," Juno groans appreciatively, collapsing back down into Benzaiten's lap.
"Except, I'm actually running a little short, so if I could maybe borrow some money from somebody in the meantime..."
Another groan from Juno - and this one much less appreciative. "You're my least favourite brother."
"I'll pay you back," Benzaiten promises with all the charisma of a master con, and probably about as much sincerity.
"You never pay me back," Juno grumbles, and earns himself the guiltless smile of a con, too.
"Occupational hazard of being a starving artist."
An artist? Now that's interesting. I find myself wondering what kind of art the brother of Juno Steel would dedicate himself to. Something active, perhaps, given the workout clothes he seems to be wearing. His physique, too - though their frames are fundamentally the same, Benzaiten is toned and lithe where Juno is solid and stocky, and his bare feet stretched out ahead of him are covered in bruises and callouses. I remember seeing similar patterns on my own skin, during a brief but intense period of work where I had inserted myself among a group of professional ballerinas. A dancer, then. What an unusual contrast.
He looks up at me expectantly, his eyebrows raised in a question.
"So? You joining us?"
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Juno making a very concerted effort not to look at me - and failing, his eyes flitting towards and away like a pair of nervous birds. I'm not sure even he knows what he's hoping me to say.
I smile. Or perhaps Rex Glass does.
"Well, I suppose it would be rude of me to refuse."
Dinner is... pleasant, actually. I'm not overly familar with Martian cuisine, but there is something to be said for it - a rather traditional palate that I should have perhaps expected from the planet that was the ancient Earthens first home away from home.
The company, too, is rather different than what I'm used to, but the change is, well - nice. These two siblings are so fascinatingly comfortable with each other, enough to jab and poke fun in a way that would be borderline malicious, if not for the fact that both give as good as they get, and that not one thrown insult or pointed remark ever seems to stick to them. They just slide away, water thrown at oil, and the conversation carries on as amenably as before.
I may not know Juno overly well, but the change in his mood is obvious enough. I can see the tension draining further and further out of his shoulders as time goes on, his posture relaxing and unwinding with each minute that passes. And as much as I would like to take the credit for this process, I think that honour falls almost entirely to Benzaiten. He is, I am quickly realising, the steady anchor in the constant storm of Detective Steel's life; a port to return home to at the end of a long day's hunting whatever great white whale is currently evading him.
I have to admit that the thought leaves me feeling... a little envious. It's been a long time since I've found harbour anywhere for more than a night or two. But, that is the price of a thief's freedom. Or mine, at least.
Benzaiten turns to me still laughing after the end of a chaos-filled story about the twins' shared youth - which by the sounds of it was a lot more on the wrong side of the law than I would expect for a private detective. "So, Agent, how about you?" he asks, "Anything fun you wanna share?"
"I'm afraid most of that would be classified," I answer smoothly. "Dark Matters, you understand."
Benzaiten blows a raspberry at me, unimpressed. "Oh, c'mon. There has to be something about you that isn't redacted. Where are you from?"
"Well, ah..."
The two of them are watching me with interest, Juno especially. I clear my throat. "The Outer Rim, actually. I can't be more specific than that."
Rex Glass is not from the Outer Rim. Rex Glass is from one of Jupiter's lesser-known moons, not that I had ever expected that to come up. But some disconcerting instinct had compelled me to speak the truth, and now the story has changed. And now I'll need to keep on top of that, and of my mouth seeming to develop a mind of its own, too.
"I bet I can guess," Benzaiten is saying, waving a fork at me as he squints. "Is it Vishnu? Jovia? Brahma?" (A white-hot chill floods through me at that particular name, though I'd never let it show,) "Hanuman? Is that how you know Sasha, you guys bond in training or something over--"
"Ben, cool it," Juno huffs quietly, accompanied by a small kick under the table. "He doesn't have to answer."
Benzaiten smirks back, chin in his hand. "Aw, standing up for your friend, super-steel?"
"We're not friends."
"Oh, so you're more than--"
"Ben."
"What? I think the Agent here would agree with..."
He falls silent all of a sudden, eyes glazed over. Juno's eyes flick up, and he quietly sets his fork down.
"Ben?" he prompts carefully. Benzaiten continues to stare for a few more seconds before blinking, and glancing around the room.
"Hm?" he says, and then turns back and switches that bright smile of his right back on as if nothing had happened at all. "Oh - sorry, what was I saying?"
Juno relaxes, his posture softening even as he jabs, "Nothing worth hearing."
Benzaiten snorts back at him. "Rude."
The two of them both go back to eating. I consider asking if everything is alright, and then decide it's best not to pry. They both seem to have moved on rather swiftly, (though Juno does seem slightly more alert than before, or perhaps that's just me), and I'd be disturbing the rhythm of things not to follow suit. If it was important, or any of my business, I'm sure an explanation would have been offered.
The conversation continues even once dinner is over, empty containers stacked up and bagged for the trash. Benzaiten Steel appears to be a highly social person, energised by the company of others where Juno seems to tend towards misanthropy. Said detective seems to be growing rather fidgety as time marches on, in fact, restlessness building in his frame until he finally, pointedly clears his throat and asks, "Ben, would you, uh - could you give us a minute? I need to talk to Agent Glass here, uh... privately."
Benzaiten lifts not just one but two eyebrows at him, and a series of looks pass between them (that I couldn't even begin to follow, although I do try) that culminate in Benzaiten snorting and shaking his head, lips curling into a smirk.
"Alright," he says, backing out of the room with raised hands. "I'll leave you alone, just the two of you, maybe turn the volume up on the TV..."
"Shut it," Juno huffs, and throws a dish towel at him. Benzaiten catches it and throws it right back with a grin before twirling out of the room.
"Have fun, super-steel."
Juno rolls his eyes as he tosses the towel onto the counter behind him. "Unbelievable."
There's only the two of us, now, Juno slouched against the counter and myself leaning on the edge of the table. Despite what he'd said not long before, he doesn't seem too intent on speaking.
"So, detective - you had something to say?" I ask, just to take back his attention from the floor for a moment. He does look at me, and seems as if he's about to say something, but then sighs and turns away, straining for the top shelf of one of the cupboards.
"You want a drink?"
Rather than watching him struggle, I move up behind him to bring down the bottle of whiskey and two tumblers he's reaching for and place them in his hands, noting the shallowness of his breathing and remembering his words from earlier today - he had liked this cologne, hadn't he? A good choice then, I think as he sets the two glasses down on the counter and pours a generous amount into each, before pushing one at me and forcing me to take a step back in the process.
It's good-quality whiskey, at least; I don't make a habit of drinking on the job, but sometimes the occasion calls for it. Although, even then, neat whiskey would most definitely not be my first choice - I prefer something with a little more complexity and a touch less burn to it, myself, though Juno doesn't seem to share the same preference as he knocks back half his glass in one go and immediately tops it back up again. A shot of courage, is it? He does seem a little on the shy side when it comes to my advances, obviously interested on some level but holding himself back for some reason. Hopefully not anything too insurmountable, I would hate for this to get... well, unpleasant.
"So, Juno," I prompt again, leaning against the counter a few inches away as I watch him nurse the remains of his second drink. "I'll ask again, shall I? What is it that you wanted to talk about?"
He shakes his head and drains the glass, setting it down on the counter behind him.
"...You don't have to do this, Rex," he mutters after another bout of silence, and I smile as I cock my head.
"Do what, detective?"
He bites his lip. "You know."
"No, I don't believe I do." I set my glass down as well and trace a slow line along his jaw instead. I can feel his pulse against my fingers. "This, you mean?"
He shuts his eyes and swallows, throat bobbing. "I mean leave."
I laugh and smile, not even having to fake it, or any of the fondness in it. "Oh, Juno, of course I do. The galaxy is much bigger than just the two of us - my work, my life… I belong out there. I have to leave." I trail my hand down his neck, over his collar and down the lapel of his coat. "But life can wait one night. Come here."
I pull him up towards me with barely any encouragement at all, and he melts into the ensuing kiss just beautifully. His lips are warm, slightly chapped, pliant, bearing soft noises born and abandoned in his throat that I suspect he may not even be aware of. And for a moment there's a flicker of an unfamiliar feeling in the deepest part of my chest - something old, unthought-of for two decades now.
It's the feeling that I'm about to leave behind something I will miss.
But, miss it I must. Mars will be a distant speck on the event horizon soon enough, just like every other planet, satellite, moon or city I visit. That can't change, even if a part of me does prick its ears with interest at the thought of a safe harbour, streets that are for once familiar, a place to call home, and... someone to come home to.
I pull away. File that away. Something to be considered later, maybe as a fleeting daydream or the basis for a cover. Not right now.
"Rex..." Juno breathes, and for a split-second I have the absurd thought that he's using the wrong name.
"...Juno."
"Has anyone ever told you..."
Oh, but we're so close, still. I could kiss him again, just once. A little something for the road.
"...That you're under arrest?"
The snap of handcuffs around my wrists is cold, and... rather a surprise. Yet again. I am at least no longer surprised by being surprised, at this point in the day.
I am, however, most surprised by something else - namely, my own reaction to this turn of events. I should be disappointed, irritated at myself for having slipped, for letting my guard down so foolishly and betraying a lifetime's experience of perfect operation - so why is the only emotion I can find a kind of childish giddiness? I find myself thinking that I've never before been so happy to have been made a fool of. I find myself smiling like a man who has been given an unexpected gift, and not one who has just encountered yet another roadblock to what should have been a reasonably straightforward, if challenging, destination.
Being arrested would be incredibly antithetical to my plans, however, and so I turn that smile into one of good-natured confusion and fall back once again on what has consistently been today's most effective tactic: absolutely shameless flirting.
"Oh, detective, not usually until the second date, at least--"
"Don't bother, Glass," Juno snaps, pushing me away. His expression is stormy, but also... hurt, somehow. He sighs. "Who the hell are you?"
I watch him carefully. It's clear that he suspects something, but I may still be able to salvage this. "What makes you think I'm anyone other than who I've told you?"
Juno gives me a tired look. He reaches into my inside pocket and withdraws his own safe key, his eyes not leaving mine the whole time.
"Ah. Well, I suppose that is rather suspicious of me, isn't it?"
"Just a little, yeah." He returns the safe key to his outer coat pocket and leaves his hand inside, watching me. "You got an explanation, or do you wanna hear mine?"
I could fabricate any number of excuses. Something tells me not one of them would be enough to even halfway fool Juno Steel.
"...Be my guest."
Juno nods, sucking his teeth. He takes off his coat, which I now realise he'd only kept on in order to bait me into making a move, and throws it onto the back of one of the chairs, folding his arms as he leans back against the counter. The dark turtleneck he'd had on underneath the coat sits well on his figure, showing off broad shoulders, a soft stomach, the lines of his empty holster framing his chest...
I'm still distracted, I realise, part of me still tangled in the memory of that kiss, the feel of his skin under my hand, and... oh, this isn't good. I was supposed to be the one flustering him. This is so incredibly unprofessional - file it away, Peter, this isn't that kind of job anymore, if it ever was.
(Oh, but I wish it was.)
Anyway. Time to pull this back. Retake control. Finish the job. That's what matters, not how enchantingly handsome the mark happens to be, or the way he's looking at you like he's just as disappointed with this situation as you are.
"Two things bothering me," Juno says, voice quiet and hard as the metal he's named for. "First, Min's mysteriously disappearing schedule. And second," his eyes hold mine, steady, "Why was the case already open when Croesus found it?"
I smile in the way I know has a tendency to bring lesser men to their knees, and yet here it feels like a token gesture. "An interesting question, detective, and yet I fail to see--"
"That would mean someone else had to have been able to open the lock," Juno continues with all the steadfastness of a certain unstoppable train I've had my eye on recently, "Which would mean they had somehow managed to get blood samples from the Kanagawas." His eyes narrow, jaw set. "Any idea how someone might do that without anyone noticing?"
"...Sounds like quite the puzzle."
"Mmn. You'd need to do something clever, like, I don't know, hide a bunch of glass syringes underneath all the doorknobs, and then insist on opening all the doors for people so you could get them all back before anyone noticed."
I let out a soft chuckle. "And why would anyone go to all that trouble, detective?"
"I don't know, Glass, why don't you tell me? Syringes were in your pocket, not mine."
We watch each other in silence for a moment. Only for a moment, however, before a voice sounds out from the other room.
"Juno? Can you come gimme a hand a second?"
"Kinda in the middle of somethin', Benten!" Juno shouts back, before returning his attention to me with more intensity than before. "Look, in about thirty seconds I'm gonna call in the HCPD anyway, so you might as well just tell me - why did you want the mask?"
"Super-steel, I really need you in here!"
"Just - gimme five minutes, Ben!" Juno flings back, clearly frustrated. Perhaps with a little poking that could be useful.
"That sounds urgent, detective, perhaps you should attend to it?"
Juno rounds on me with righteous anger. "If you think I'm letting you outta my sight so you can go slinking off into the night or put a knife between my ribs while my back is turned, then--"
There's a loud thud from the other room. Juno freezes in place, his expression crystallized into one of barely-contained panic.
"Ben?" he calls, and then louder, "Benten?"
There's no response. Juno flicks his eyes from me to the door and back again, weighing his priorities - and it's clear within a bare second which one wins out. "God damn it - Ben!"
He runs out of the room without so much as another glance. And, after a moment's considering the kitchen window, I slip my cuffs and follow him.
It's a slightly regrettable fact of my work that I'm more experienced in relieving people of their lives than helping to save them, but I do know what a seizure looks like - the extreme kind, anyway. I've even induced one myself, thanks to some black-market poison and a mark so decidedly heartless that I could bring the two of them together without feeling an ounce of remorse for it, but that's besides the point. When I return to the living room, Benzaiten is lying on the floor unconscious as his muscles spasm without his input, and it doesn't take a detective to realise that a seizure is what's happening.
I also know what a practised motion looks like, and the swiftness with which Juno pulls off and rolls up his sweater to slide underneath and cushion his brother's head speaks to that, as well as the way his hand darts to a button on his watch without his eyes ever looking at his wrist. This is not the first time this has happened, I surmise - far from it; the way Juno is acting points to a certain degree of regularity. I suppose this explains all the soft carpet and round-edged furniture, the better to avoid injury in the event of an unexpected collapse.
Juno is kneeling next to him, now, having rolled him onto his side and done his best to make him comfortable. "Ben - Benten," he's murmuring, his voice soft and gentle as a down pillow. "I'm here, okay, I'm sorry, I'm here now, you're gonna be just fine, I've got you."
"Would you like me to call for a paramedic?" I ask, and he starts as he turns to look back at me, seemingly having forgotten I was even here. His gaze quickly takes note of my bare wrists shortly after, though, and his expression turns sour in a matter of moments.
"Shouldn't you be making your getaway right about now?" he mutters as he turns away, all trace of that former gentleness gone from his voice. I find that rather a shame.
He's correct, obviously. I really should be going. If the circumstances were anything other than these, I would be. As it is, I find I don't particularly care to exit the scene just yet.
"I may have a black heart, detective, but I do have one," I hear myself saying. "Allow me to help."
Juno watches me with wary eyes. For once, he seems uncertain.
Eventually, he swallows. "Whatever," he grumbles quietly, turning away again. "Go grab a glass of water if you want."
By the time I return, the seizure appears to have stopped, and Juno has a hand on his brother's arm, watching him with anxious eyes as he moves his thumb over his shirt. Something in the back of my mind takes an appreciative note of the plain white vest he'd been wearing underneath the turtleneck, the way it shows off his arms and the line of his neck, but - well, now probably isn't the time for that.
"C'mon, Ben," Juno murmurs under his breath, in something like a prayer. "Wake up."
A short time later - maybe thirty seconds or so, although I hadn't been keeping an exact count - Benzaiten stirs, expression screwing up on itself as he groans. "Ugh... super-steel?" he breathes, his eyes barely open to a squint. "You actually came to visit? Who died?"
Juno lets out a shaky sigh of relief. "No-one, Ben, everything's fine. You're fine."
"Where's mom, what - what happened?" Benzaiten slurs. He strains to sit up and almost falls backwards again, only saved by Juno's arm as his own hand presses over his eyes. "God, my head."
"Just - take a minute, buddy," Juno soothes, moving his steadying hand to his shoulder. He glances towards me, however begrudgingly, and gestures for me to pass him the glass I'm still holding. "Water?"
"Mmn." Benzaiten makes a grabbing motion for the glass, and drains the whole thing in a steady stream once it's given to him before releasing it back to Juno's care and lying down again with an arm draped over his eyes. "Ugh. Hangover or seizure?"
"Seizure," Juno tells him softly. "How are you doing?"
"Oh, y'know, like I just took a laser to the brain. Again," Benzaiten snorts. His tone is light - joking, but Juno does not look like he finds that at all funny. He looks nauseous, and more than slightly pained. Benzaiten seems to know this without even looking, and reaches out his free hand to pat his thigh. "I'm fine, Juno, just - thinking the floor is nice and comfortable right now."
"...Okay. Okay. Gimme my sweater back, though, it's freezing in here."
Benzaiten resignedly lets himself be fussed into a more comfortable position with an actual pillow so that Juno can reclaim his sweater, and in the middle of all that commotion his eyes land on me. I offer him a smile, but he responds with a grimace I'm far more used to seeing on Juno's mouth than his.
"Oh man, I didn't realise you had company," he groans, turning his face away. "Sorry, Jay."
"Jesus, Ben, don't be sorry." Juno finishes pulling his worn turtleneck back on and clips the briefest of glances towards me before clearing his throat. "Besides, he's just - he's just a - a work... colleague."
Benzaiten looks from him, and then to me, and for the second time this evening I feel as if he must be taking my measurements with only his eyes. "Well, in that case--"
"Ben," Juno says, surprisingly gentle even as he cuts him off. "Agent Glass got here over an hour ago."
Benzaiten looks at him blankly. Juno gives him a return look that seems to communicate more to him than I myself am privy to. "Ohhhh," he says, his eyes widening, and then turns back to me with a slightly sheepish but still distinctly mischievous grin. "I already tried flirting with you tonight, huh?"
I can always help but smile, but I do it anyway. "Quite possibly."
The grin turns sharper. "Did I get anywhere?"
"No," Juno blurts, before I can answer myself. His brother turns his head to lift an eyebrow at him, and I don't think I'm flattering myself to think that I see the detective's cheeks darken.
"Just work, huh, super-steel?" Benzaiten grins. Juno smacks him in the arm and responds in a low hiss.
"Shut up."
"You think a little bit of memory loss is gonna get you off the hook, Juno? You think I wouldn't notice--"
"Shut up!"
"Look, if you wanted dibs, all you had to do was--"
"Ben!"
The two of them descend into rapid-fire bickering - impressive, actually, and hard to follow even for me. I take this as my cue to perform my disappearing act.
"Well, I should probably be going - places to be, cases to solve, I'm sure you--"
Juno moves fast as I back towards the exit. His fingers close around my wrist, his grip firm and warm and more effective than any pair of handcuffs I've encountered, and I look up from that to find he's pinning me with those dark, determined eyes of his, unblinking as he says, "I'll see you out."
I feel a shiver pass from the top of my head all the way down to the balls of my feet. Well. There's an image I think I'll be filing away for... future consideration.
After taking a moment to clear my throat, though, I'm smiling once again. "If you insist."
Juno turns back to his brother, his expression softening though his grip on my wrist remains conspicuously hard as iron. "You gonna be okay alone for a minute?"
"I have brain damage, Juno, I'm not a baby," Benzaiten grumbles, petulant. Juno nods and pushes himself up from his knees with a soft grunt, tugging me along by the arm.
"Just shout me if you need anything. Promise I'll actually come this time."
"Okay, nurse Steel," Benzaiten groans. "Jeez."
Right as we're about to exit the room, he pipes up again. "...Juno?"
"Yeah?"
"Can you get the light?"
Juno's shoulders drop their tension, his voice quiet. "Sure."
He switches off the light and leads me out into the hallway, his hand still firm around my wrist, which is just fine by me - it gives me the perfect excuse to move in close again.
"So," I smile with all the charm I can muster, which is quite considerable. "I believe we were in the middle of something."
Juno looks steadily back at me as he closes the door behind us, unmoved. "Of me arresting you, yeah."
"Oh come now, detective, surely we could find something more pleasant to be getting back to?" I ask, and allow myself a small pout. "I was rather enjoying myself."
"And let you steal my wallet this time?" Juno scoffs. He doesn't seem to have realised that I've all but backed him up against the door. "No."
"Oh, I promise you your wallet is perfectly safe." I touch a finger to his chest, slide it upwards to tilt his chin. His breathing quickens, and for a moment his eyes threaten to flutter almost shut. "Sure I can't persuade you?"
The blush under his cheeks and the badly-covered hitch in his breathing say no. His mouth, the contrary thing, declares, "Pretty sure."
I click my tongue, softly. "Well, that is a shame. But, I had a feeling you might say that."
In the quiet hallway, the cold snap of handcuffs is more than audible enough.
"The hell?" Juno yelps, yanking against the restraints I've fastened around his wrists - his own, rather ironically, slipped into my pocket after I took the liberty of freeing myself from them earlier. He reaches for his blaster, seems to remember that it's currently still sitting safely in its case in the apartment (where, apparently, house rules had dictated he put it,) and so tries to tackle me with his shoulder instead, but I'm more than quick enough to avoid a clumsy swipe like that. "Oh, you goddamn--!"
"Careful, now, we don't want you hurting yourself!" I admonish as he catches the opposing wall a glancing blow. He glares at me and charges again, only this time he manages to trip over his own feet and crash to the floor before I even have to think of moving.
"Now, my dear detective, I've had a lovely evening, truly, but I really do have to go."
I make for the window at the end of the hall - had taken note of it on the way in, thankfully enough, and this floor isn't so high off the ground that I'd too be worried about a fall, even if I wasn't confident in my climbing ability. A short hop and a few dozen feet, and I'll be able to vanish into the city streets without a trace.
"You won't get away with this forever, Glass, or - whatever the hell your name is!"
I pause for a moment, and turn to look back at the detective. He's back on his feet again, panting slightly though his gaze is as cold and hard as - well, steel. Then, I glance again towards the window. He can't follow me out of it with his hands cuffed as they are, but from the look on his face I wouldn't be surprised if he tried, and I would rather not have to patch the detective up again today after a fall from a fourth-storey window. I would in fact rather that he took a little better care of himself. He is, after all, the most fascinating, most frustrating, most exhilarating mark I've met in years. Perhaps ever.
I sigh and move slightly away from the window, a hand settling in my pocket. "I think you'll find I go by many names, detective. Most of which would be of absolutely no use to you."
"Well why don't you go ahead and tell me one and we can see if that's true," he replies, his words almost masking a wince and a muffled snap, which I realise a moment too late were the results of him dislocating his thumb in order to free his hand from the cuffs.
He has his other hand on my jacket before I can react, and then there's something of a tussle - a surprisingly evenly-matched one, in fact: my finesse against his grit, my stamina against his impressively stubborn refusal to let his weak lungs win out over the rest of him. It's certainly not the worst way I've ever wasted a few minutes, far from it. I could almost have called it enjoyable, if not for the occasional elbow finding its way under my ribs. For all his moralising, it seems the detective is not above fighting dirty.
In the end, it comes down to two things - a lower centre of gravity, and a manufacturing defect. The heel of one of my shoes (and really, I would have expected better from Dark Matters, but there's a piece of my own foolishness) gives out without warning, and the ensuing second where I am off-balance gives the detective the opening he needs to get underneath me and strike a driving blow to the chest. In a moment I find myself pinned underneath him, winded, my wrists under his palms and thighs under his shins.
It's... not at all a bad view, all things considered.
"Well," I choke out past the block in my throat. "I seem to have found myself in something of a compromising position."
"Would you just," Juno wheezes, "Shut up for - two goddamn seconds?"
"Do you require an inhaler, detective? I'm sure I have one in one of these pockets if you'd only allow me the use of--"
"Jesus do you ever stop talking," Juno interrupts, rather rudely and still panting. "Can't give a lady - half a minute to catch his breath."
"Well, I do apologise for the lack of manners, but I'm afraid I simply cannot allow you to get that breath back," I reply, and dig my thumb into the pad of his injured hand. His yelp of pain as he snatches it away only buys me a moment, but it's long enough.
I see his surprise when I don't attempt to release myself from his hold and instead bring my hand to his face, trailing my fingers over his cheek and jaw, his panting breaths hot against my skin, before settling my hand on the back of his neck with a smile. "I'd much rather be taking it away from you again."
I pull him closer, slightly, and I see him waver, see the brief battle in his eyes between his moral compass and his obvious attraction to me. For a moment, I think that the latter may actually win out. Then he frowns through his flush and opens his mouth, probably to deliver another of his acerbic yet very endearing one-liners, and I flex my hand.
Rather than spitting out a witty retort or two, the detective's jaw instead jerks taut, his eyes rolling backwards as he collapses onto me like a ragdoll before he can say a word. I roll him onto the ground before returning the palm-sized taser to my pocket, exchanging it for a swatch of burn salve to apply to his neck.
Martian private eyes aren't the only ones capable of playing less than fair, after all.
He looks... quite peaceful, unconscious. A little younger, much less angry. And yet, I think I miss the lines that his seemingly limitless moral outrage cuts into his face while awake. It reminds me of a young - and rather naive - idealist that I once knew. One whom I haven't thought about in a very long time.
Speaking of time, though - the less of it I spend lingering here, the better. At least it's nice to know that there'll be someone there to help the detective with his headache when he wakes up. I'm speaking from experience when I say that a shock from one of these devices is a hell of a thing.
I move him into a slightly more comfortable position in front of his apartment's door, and make sure to ring the doorbell before making my escape.
"...Until next time, dear detective."
Someone's gently slapping me across the face as I come to, which is a little weird. Not the slapping part, really - most people I meet want to slap me at one point or another - but the gentle part is a weird one. It's almost like whoever this is doesn't hate my guts and want to knock all my teeth out.
"Juno? Juno! C'mon, super-steel, wake up!"
I open one eye first, and the way that makes me feel is more than enough to convince me I shouldn't open the other any time soon. Everything hurts, but my head and my hand are in the lead for the title - feels like the two of them are trying to out-throb each other.
"Ben?" I manage, although with the way the muscles in my jaw are feeling it comes out as more of a buh. "Ow."
Ben sighs at me - exasperated, I think, but I'm not too focused on that at the moment, or on anything, really. My whole field of vision is smudged out and blurry. "Christ, Juno, I'm supposed to be the one that passes out without warning," he says from somewhere in the general area of in front of me. "What the hell happened?"
That's... a good question. It takes me a minute to dig out the answer, buried under a monster of a headache and the smell of--
"Oh, that slippery piece of--!"
I realise as soon as I try to stand up that my legs are about as steady as a couple of tubes of salmon paste, but that wouldn't have stopped me from chasing after the guy anyway. Ben does, though. Always had more of a level head on his shoulders than I did.
"Juno, sit down," he says, pulling me back by the shoulder and down onto the floor again. I don't have the energy to complain about it. My head's spinning like a goddamn top, and by now that - that Glass or whoever the hell he is has probably gotten what he wanted - I left him alone in the room with the goddamn key, didn't I? And I'm an idiot for letting him get so close, for letting him touch me like that without struggling, but--
"Juno. Juno."
Ben looks concerned. I wonder if this is how he feels when he wakes up from an episode. I wonder if he's feeling how I feel when I walk into a room to see him passed out on the floor, lying there unconscious just like when she--
"Juno!"
He's shaking me by the shoulder, and the movement makes me wince. God, my head. "M'okay, idiot, stop."
"What happened?"
I close my eyes and let my head drop back against the wall with a sigh. I shouldn't be disappointed, got no reason to be. This was always exactly how things were gonna play out. "D'you know, Benzaiten, I have just the absolute worst taste in men."
I think I hear Ben laugh, which is something, at least. "...Yeah. Yeah, I do. And not much better in women, either," he says, and finally lets go of my shoulders. "What's that in your hand?"
"What's... what."
I uncurl my less-painful hand to find a note pressed into it - smooth, good-quality paper (feels like the local kind, probably manufactured in Oldtown and only ever used in the fancy upscale hotels miles and millions of creds away - man, I know way too much about card stock) folded into a neat square that I've crumpled slightly in my fingers. And as I unfold it, that smell - some blend of spices that smells like a thousand planets I've never even heard of, handwriting that spins like a dancer on the border between scrawled and just too goddamn fancy to read:
Juno,
I hope you can appreciate that this note is for your eyes only. However, please give your brother my regards. I'm being entirely honest when I say I've had a very pleasant evening tonight, thanks to the both of you.
I told you that I go by many names, and that most of them would be useless to you. This name, however, is not most of them. Consider it a gift, one that I hope you will use wisely, and maybe even hold close to heart. It's true that I can't stay - my work is far too important - but perhaps for the right person I could be convinced to make a return visit.
I do hope this isn't the last we see of each other, detective.
Yours, if I might dare to hope,
Peter Nureyev
"...Juno?"
I stuff the note into my pocket and wince as every muscle in my arm screams at me for it. "Do you have your comms on you? I need to report about eight different crimes."