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“This may sound a little cheesy, dear, but I can’t let you go.”
Juno tastes something caught between honey and cough syrup. He gags, but manages to swallow.
The effect is immediate. Light spills through Juno’s body, erasing all pain in its wake. His head clears enough for him to register a warm arm around his back. He peers up at Rex from his crunched position against his side. Rex has a funny look on his face.
“Welcome back, detective,” he says. “Now, you’ll find that we still have some work to—”
Juno, whose filter has yet to return with his hit points, says, “You…smell really nice.”
Rex blinks. “That…would be the cologne.”
Juno frowns. This feels familiar, and he’s not sure why. He opens his mouth to say as much when Rita screeches. The cave explodes with green light. Juno turns his head fast enough to see her dodge a spell.
“MISTAH STEEL! MISTAH GLASS!” she shouts. “I can see you two are havin’ a real moment over there and I do love that and all but I could REALLY USE SOME BACKUP—!”
“Help me up,” Juno snaps.
Rex obliges with one arm; he throws out the other and casts Magic Missile.
The train rumbles under Juno’s feet as Rex says, “I can make the Neverwinter Port gate open up to his garden.”
Juno pictures Rex alone at the front of the train, braced to cast a spell micro-seconds before a catastrophic crash. “Rex—”
“No, listen to me,” Rex says. “I can do this. But I need you to trust me.”
Juno clenches his teeth. He looks at Rita. Rita looks back.
Juno squares his shoulders. He closes the gap between them enough to grab Rex’s arm. “Okay. Fuck it. You know what? I trust you, Rex.”
He says the words as he realizes them. It’s true: Juno trusts Rex Glass. He suspects he always has, deep down, ever since they met at that bar four months ago—kind of like how he’s always trusted Rita.
Somehow, the moment Rex looked at him, Juno knew they could take on the galaxy together.
Rex searches Juno’s face. A tiny smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. He says, “Excellent.”
Rita plants her hand on Rex’s hip to show her support. “That’s as high as I can reach," she explains.
Juno grins. “So. I guess I’ll go first…”
Rita glares at him. “You’d better land nice and safe, Mistah Steel!”
“It’s dirt and rocks out there, Rita, not a foam pit. You might want to lower your expectations a little.”
“Just don’t die,” Rex says, and Juno swears there’s some genuine concern behind the bravado.
Juno fluffs out his coat by the lapels. “I’ll do my best,” he says, and starts towards the torn wall. As he braces his hands on either side of the hole, he glances down at the rush of rails and dirt below the train. He has to force himself not to stagger backward.
“Whelp,” he announces, mostly to stall. “Never did like these bones, anyway.”
“Mistah Steel—” Rita says, about to protest.
Juno leaps.
From somewhere very far away, Juno hears,
Hold on. Hold on, Juno. Come on…
Juno feels the pain start to lift from his body, one coil at a time like wreathes of smoke. His chest aches as his lungs fill.
Focus on me, all right? I need you to focus…
Rex. Juno feels floaty, like he’s made of cotton—but he does as he’s told. He reaches out, and two points of contact come up to meet him: a tiny hand around his wrist, and a larger one atop his shoulder.
Juno’s body remembers how to feel pain first. He grimaces. The world takes shape under him; he feels dirt and pebbles at his back. He squeezes Rita’s hand for purchase.
Rita yelps. “Mistah STEEL! Oh my gosh—you were so cold and still and DEAD-LOOKIN’ and you scared me SO BAD my poor heart nearly gave right out! You better promise me to NEVER do that ever ever ever again or…or—!”
“It’s not…high on my to-do list,” Juno reassures her, too pained to do much more than shudder. Rita must not have rolled too well on whatever spell she used to revive him—that, or he was way farther gone than he’s ever been. “Can we…get back to base now…so someone can untangle my spinal cord?”
“I’ve already called for one of the Bureau’s spheres,” Rex says, bearing his activated bracer. He sounds…cold. “It should arrive within the next few minutes.”
“Good. Great.”
Juno stares at Rex. Somehow he’s the least tousled of the three of them, only some wrinkled clothes and a dirt smudge on his cheek to show for his hasty escape. Juno bets he did a backflip on the way down, the bastard.
Rex scowls at him.
“You were gone,” he says. “Again.”
Juno cracks a smile—and damn, even his face hurts. “Yeah, well…I came back, didn’t I?”
Rex sighs. Behind him, a Bureau pod punches a crater into the ground.
The first time Refuge collapses, Rex, Juno and Rita are yards apart—too far to reach each other before the ground swallows them up. Juno dies made of grief and terror. The act feels sickly nostalgic.
Rita passes out first, curled on the couch with her head on Juno’s lap. Rex sits in an adjacent chair, book open on his lap, his upper body dyed yellow by the wan glow of a candle. As Rita snores, Juno counts the seconds between page-flips.
It could have been a day or a minute later when Rex asks, “What do you know about Glamour Springs?”
He doesn’t look up from his book as he talks. Juno sags back against his part of the couch. He does his best to sound casual: “You mean, what happened with you?”
“Yes.”
“Well.” Juno coughs. He sneaks a peek at Rita, even though he knows she could sleep through an earthquake. “You were putting on one of your escape artist shows and…there was something about a fog machine? One of the spells went wrong…”
“I always cast Fog Cloud before the show, to fan out onto the stage area for the final act,” Rex confirms. His fingers shake as he closes the book. “Silly, I know. The point stands: Today I found out that my assistant filled the fans with highly concentrated Burnt Othur Fumes. I always assumed I had somehow cast a poison cloud spell…but really…”
Rex hugs his arms over his chest. Juno feels his throat go tight. He’s never seen Rex look so small.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Juno summarizes.
Rex laughs. It sounds hollow. “No,” he agrees. “Not…not all the way, anyway.”
“Rex. You didn’t kill those people.”
“I was in that hospital for weeks,” Rex recalls, as though he hadn’t heard. “And the whole time, all I could think was…”
He doesn’t go on. Juno knows better than to press him.
After a moment Rex cranes his neck and blows out the candle. Moonlight filters through the blinds, enough that Juno can make out Rex where he sits, arms still crossed over his chest like chains over a door.
Silence consumes the room, broken only by Rita’s occasional mumble or snore. Juno squeezes the edge of one of the couch cushions.
“I was part of Raven’s Roost’s police force,” Juno says abruptly. “With Rita. We uh. Called ourselves the good cops. I don’t know whether you ever heard of Ramses O’Flaherty…”
“Yes,” Rex says.
“Well, we worked with him.”
“Oh,” he murmurs. “Oh, Juno…”
“Don’t. It’s fine.” It comes out too cold. Juno glares at the dark carpet. He forces himself to release the cushion. “Sorry. I didn’t mean…sorry. It’s not fine. But Rita and I…we survived. And so did you. That’s what matters.” His right hand finds Rita’s shoulder. He adds, “I gotta believe that.”
Juno can barely make out Rex’s sad smile.
“Juno,” he says. “Juno Steel.”
“Uh…yeah?”
“I know you.” Rex draws his legs up to his chest, then rests his cheek atop his knees. “When I met you, I knew what your voice would sound like before you opened your mouth. And I’ve never held your hand, but somehow…” He closes his eyes. “Somehow I know what your palm would feel like against mine. I know the warmth of you. The shape of you. I don’t know how. But I do.”
Juno’s mouth has gone dry. His heart hammers against his ribs.
The couch creaks a little where he leans towards Rex’s chair. Rex’s eyes open at the noise. He observes Juno’s extended hand for a moment, eyebrows raised. Then, with painful hesitance, he accepts the hand.
Juno doesn’t mean to. Muscle memory takes over, and he threads their fingers together.
It feels familiar. It feels new. It feels perfect.
“Hey now, I’ll take another spin!”
“No!” Rex says, and catches Rita’s hand before she can spin the wheel. “No. I…”
He goes very still where he’s propped up against Juno’s side. It’s awkward to keep Rex upright with their height difference, but Juno manages.
“How much will you take?”
Cass studies her nails. He's not sure how, but of the two liches Juno gets the sense she could’ve been a good person, once upon a time. “I’ll put it this way—for the first time in your life, you'll look…normal. You'll be plain.”
Juno’s not sure what gives him away, but he can tell when Rex slides a mask down over his face. Tension thrums under the scene as he considers.
Juno understands his reluctance. He’s seen Rex tousle with his hair and makeup for hours—the ritual he undergoes every day to ward off the crow's feet and the grey hairs and the laughter lines. Rex considers his beauty one of his greatest strengths. He's terrified to lose that edge.
Juno says, “I’ll take two spins if you need to say no—”
“Juno,” Rex says, voice hoarse but full of fire. He’s still too pale, and Juno can feel him shake under his arm. “Rita lost a finger. You’ve lost an eye! You won’t be able to aim any—”
“Yeah, Rex, spare me the play-by-play; I was there! But your battles are different than my battles, okay? And I know how much this means to you—”
“You,” Rex snaps, cutting him off, “are not sacrificing yourself for me. And neither is Rita.” He turns back to the twins. “I accept.”
Juno floats away.
He sees the void of the ethereal plane. He sees, as though through a grainy film, the two liches and their cameramen. He sees Rita, hands on her hips where she stands beside Juno’s corporeal body. He sees Rex Glass, hunched over and weak, poker face worn down from hours of pain.
Juno’s losing them.
He’s losing Rex. He’s losing Rita. He’s losing himself.
There’s no sound, but the waves of the ethereal plane crash far below Juno’s soul-body. The surface roils with something slick and dark—oil, maybe. The whole place feels heavy with sickness. It makes Juno’s very essence ache. As he’s pulled farther and farther away from the real world, towards the dark water below, he turns back to the rift—
And sees Rex.
He flies at Juno, arm outstretched, hand open to receive him. Juno’s soul reacts like a magnet, and he mirrors the gesture. Somehow the two make contact, and relief crashes through Juno, painful like numb skin under hot water. He’s not sure how he can cry without a physical body, but he knows his cheeks are wet all the same.
Hold on, Juno hears, or maybe remembers. Hold on to me, Juno.
Juno does. He grasps Rex’s hand so hard he’s sure he’ll leave a bruise. Once he’s satisfied he won’t let go, Rex turns and kicks back towards the physical plane.
Juno looks down. A hand penetrates the surface of the water, shiny with oil. A figure emerges and thrashes against the waves—Sasha.
Guilt thrums though Juno’s soul like poison. There’s no way to help. No time to stop. He and Rex float closer and closer to the real world. A bionic hand punctures the rift as they near. Rita clasps Rex’s other hand, and pulls them all back to life.
Juno has Rex up against his chest now—or, what would normally be his chest. Rita tips the healing potion between Rex’s lips.
Juno watches Rex’s throat muscles contract. He finishes the potion.
For a long moment, nothing happens. If Juno still had a human body, he’s sure his heart would stop.
Then Rex coughs. In fits and starts, the awful rattle leaves his breath. Some of the color returns to his cheeks. Juno presses his robot hand to Rex’s chest. He can’t feel the motion of his lungs—the steady beat of his heart—but he can see the way his hand moves up and down. That will have to be proof enough that he’s okay.
Rita lets out a whoop as Rex’s eyelids flutter open. His gaze lands on Juno’s face first; his lax expression morphs into one of confusion, then something like sadness as he remembers.
Rex lifts a limp hand up to Juno’s new head—a blank metal slate. He cups the area where his cheek might have been.
“We lost you,” he croaks out.
Juno can barely even sense the weight of Rex’s touch. Somewhere deep down, though, Juno’s soul knows what Rex’s hands feel like on either side of his face. He focuses on that fantom sensation and says, “You saved me, Rex. You and Rita. I don’t know how you knew what to do, or how you found me…but you did.”
Rex gives a helpless little laugh. His eyes are wet. “I suppose—this may sound a little cheesy, but I suppose I couldn’t let you go.”
“No,” Buddy says. “No—please tell me you did not drink—”
Rita mimes the amount with her thumb and forefinger. “Maybe a lil’ bit?”
Buddy grips her staff so tight Juno wonders how the wood doesn’t split apart. “It’s…you’re going to remember too much; it’s too—it’s too specific—you’ll be killed! Why? Why did you do that?”
“You must not know us very well,” Juno says.
Buddy’s laugh is a broken, wretched thing. “Oh, Juno…oh darling, you have no idea…”
Jet says, “Buddy. You must help them remember. You owe them that much. Their—” he steels himself. “Their minds will shatter if you do not.”
Juno registers Buddy’s response on a peripheral level. The pressure has started to build at the back of his brain. He has the time to take a deep breath, and then memory swallows him like a tidal wave.
How?
How could Juno forget Ben?
All those years Juno suffered at home…all those nights he spent curled up between sewer tunnels or under alleyway heat vents. All his struggles at the academy and with the force—
Ben was there.
It comes in flashes. Juno remembers Ben’s first pair of dance shoes—the ones he could never quite bring himself to throw away; how Ben liked to keep his closet door open by the barest sliver at night; the funny way he held his coffee mugs and put on his sweaters and wrote his g’s; his bear hugs and his favorite song.
His whole life, Juno was never alone.
Until he was.
“What if who’s gone?”
Nureyev turns away from the table. His brow furrows.
“Juno?” he asks. “What are we…” He looks around. “Oh. Oh god, Juno…I don’t—”
“What if who’s gone?” Juno demands, unnerved.
“Is this Small Fry?”
Juno doesn’t know what that means, but he can feel something start to shift at the back of his head. He reaches a mental hand back to probe at the gap, like a tongue would test a new space between teeth. Juno finds that he doesn’t remember how he got to this part of the ship. Hell, he doesn’t remember the name of the ship.
The scope of the situation dawns on him all at once, and he reels.
“Nureyev,” Juno says, and hates the way his voice wobbles. “Nureyev, I can’t remember your first name—”
“Oh god—”
Juno’s mind crumples like a wad of paper; his knees buckle right as Nureyev reaches him. Two arms guide Juno down onto the floor of the ship.
“Juno,” Nureyev says sternly, his hands on Juno’s cheeks. “Hold on. Hold on, Juno. Come on.”
“I…” The world has started to go dark around him. He’s scared, and he knows he’s scared, but the reason why feels less concrete by the second. “I’m losing them,” he says, more to remind himself than anything else. “I’m—I’m losing you; I’m losing Rita; I’m losing myself—”
“No,” Nureyev commands, like he can reverse this process with tone alone. “No, I’ve got you, you’re not—” he kisses Juno, then pulls back to meet his eyes. “Focus on me, all right? I need you to focus!”
“I’m sorry…”
“Don’t forget,” someone pleads. “Don’t leave. Hold on. Hold onto me, Juno…”
Juno wishes he could. He trusts this person. He’s pretty sure he’s the cause of their distress, and he wants to remedy the situation. But he doesn’t know what to hold on to.
“Say my name,” the stranger begs. Hands latch onto Juno’s shoulders and shake him. “Say my name, please—the one you always call me. I can’t—I can't remember—"
Over half a decade later, Juno snaps his bow over his knee, and Ben rises from the splinters like a phoenix.
There’s a long reunion, afterward. Ben and Juno stand at the back of the party, close enough that their arms press together. They haven’t broken contact since their return to the base.
As the night wears on, Ben nudges him. “Hey.”
Juno shoves him back. “What?”
“Peter left.”
Juno knows. He felt his absence long before he saw he was gone. Juno hasn’t had the courage to follow him out yet. “Mmm.”
Ben grins at him. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says, like he can read his mind. He fumbles through his pockets and brandishes a stone of far speech. “Buddy gave me this, remember? You can call me whenever, and I can call you.”
They’ll only be across the quad from each other, but somehow that does make Juno feel better. The vice of anxiety around his gut loosens its grip. He sighs. “Dammit. This is gonna sound really paranoid. But can you also…maybe not go off on your own until I get back?”
“Don’t think I’d even have the chance. Nobody really wants to be apart right now. I heard Rita say something about a lounge slumber party.”
“Good.” Juno moves to give him one last hug. Ben crushes him to his chest. Juno wheezes out, “Okay. I’ll see you.”
“'Course you will,” Ben chides. He holds the hug for a moment longer, then pushes him away. “Now go on! Go get your man!”
It’s nearly dusk outside. The wood creaks as Juno opens their old dorm room door; dust motes catch the light from outside. From this angle he can see the back of Nureyev’s head where he sits alone on the couch.
Juno closes the door behind him. He crosses the room. As he circles around to the front of the couch, Nureyev scrubs at his face. There are tissues on the coffee table, next to his glasses. Nureyev’s eyes are red.
He looks up at Juno and smiles.
Juno takes a shuddery breath. Then he throws his arms around Nureyev’s back. Nureyev makes a choked-off sound. His fingers are like claws where they twist around the back of his coat. He yanks him forward, farther and farther until Juno nearly tumbles on top of him. They both laugh at the close save—or maybe at the miraculousness of the world, and their reunion.
The two arrange themselves so Nureyev’s flat on his back, the couch barely wide enough to accommodate Juno where he lies half on top of him. Juno shuffles up against the couch to turn his face against Nureyev’s neck. He feels Nureyev shiver when he kisses him there. A hand comes up to cradle the back of Juno’s head.
They keep their arms wrapped around each other, tight enough to hurt.
“I’ve got you,” Juno promises fiercely. “I’m never letting go again.”
Nureyev’s fingers card through his hair. “But you didn’t,” he says, and even though he sounds choked up Juno can hear his smile. “You didn’t let go—Juno, don’t you see? You’ve done nothing but hold onto me from the moment we found each other again.”
“Yeah, well. That was only because you were there to reach out. You saved me, Nureyev. Over and over.”
The fingers go still on his head.
Juno feels more than hears Nureyev swallow.
“Seven years,” he says, dazed. “It’s been seven years since I last heard that name.”
Juno sneaks his arms out from behind Nureyev’s back. The couch creaks where he uses them to prop himself up, only so far as to be able to look down at Nureyev’s face.
Nureyev stares back up at him. His hair is a little mussed, and there are still marks on the bridge of his nose from his glasses.
“Nureyev,” Juno says, slow and sure. “Peter Nureyev.”
Nureyev starts to relax under him. Juno hadn’t realized he’d been so full of tension. Juno goes on: “Nureyev. You're the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”
Nureyev scoffs. He takes his other hand off Juno’s back and covers his face. “Oh, please.”
“You are!” Juno kisses him on the back of his hand. “You are.” He plants another to where his forehead peeks out between his fingers. “I found you, Peter Nureyev. Nureyev, Nureyev, Nureyev.”
Nureyev chuckles, then sniffs. “I always knew,” he says. “I knew there was something wrong when you said my name…”
“I don't get why she would've wanted to take it from you.”
Nureyev shrugs under him. “It was more to do with…association, I suppose. Your names were always your own, first and foremost. I have a more…complicated relationship, with mine. I associate ‘Peter Nureyev’ with the crew.” He pauses. “With you.”
Juno’s not sure why that makes his face heat up, out of all that’s been said. “Oh.”
Nureyev’s hand leaves his face. His eyes crinkle as his smile widens. “I can’t believe you used that cologne line on me twice.”
Juno snorts. “Hey—not my fault you somehow found the same goddamn brand on an alien planet!”
“It was different, Juno.”
“What? Really?”
“Yes.” He laughs at Juno's affronted expression. It trails off. “Juno?”
“Yeah?”
“I still love you.”
Juno goes stiff with shock. Then he feels himself soften.
It’s…a lot, to hear the words again after so long.
Juno leans down. Nureyev tilts his head to meet him. They kiss, gentle and slow.
Nureyev’s arm loops over Juno’s back; his fingers arch, palm flat over his spine. He’s so warm. Juno’s arms tremble with strain, or maybe with the desperate joy that floods his chest.
It takes a while, but at last they draw back. Juno sinks down against Nureyev’s chest. He can feel Nureyev’s heartbeat.
“I still love you too,” Juno murmurs. “I love you now, and I loved you when you were Rex Glass, and I loved you when you were a complete stranger.” He huffs. “It sounds crazy, but…I knew that I missed you, even when I didn’t know who you were.”
“I missed you too,” Nureyev tells him. “Sometimes when you were right in front of me.”
“I’m here now.”
Nureyev’s fingers settle on the side of his face. “You were there then, too,” he says. “I just couldn’t see it yet.”
Juno moves his head a bit against Nureyev’s chest—the closest he can get to a nod. His fingers come up to grasp at the fabric over Nureyev’s shoulder. He knows if he tries to speak again he’ll cry.
There’s the barest whisper of pressure as Nureyev kisses his head.
It feels familiar. It feels new. It feels like home.
Juno finds Nureyev's hand, and he holds on.