Archive of Our Own

“Not in the kitchen, not in Rita’s room,” Peter says absently to himself. The little wrapped parcel sits heavy in his pocket, and though he’s gotten awfully good at compartmentalizing and rationalizing his feelings, he feels strangely nervous, a light electric sensation in his fingertips, at the thought of what Juno would think of it. He lifts his hand to knock on the door of the room Buddy uses for private talks, but then—

“Looking for someone?” A gentle touch to the nape of his neck startles him and he jolts, then immediately feels foolish. It’s his Juno, he reminds himself, and whether or not he likes his gift, there’s nothing to be worried about. 

He pulls himself back into some semblance of order. “However could you tell?”

“I’m clairvoyant,” says the former detective, deadpan.

"Enchanté,"  replies Nureyev without missing a beat. “I’m Perseus Shah. Has anyone ever told you, Claire, that you’re rather beautiful?”

“Knock it off.” Juno grins, lightly hip-bumping Nureyev. “Too early in the morning for flirting.” 

Nureyev doesn’t point out that it’s past eleven by the clock they’re running on. “Funny you should mention the time,” he says instead. “If I’m not terribly mistaken—" he makes an exaggerated motion of checking his comms— “it’s a very special day today.” He suppresses the urge to grimace as soon as the words are out of his mouth. This hadn’t been how he’d wanted to approach it, he’d had a grandiose dream of a private, candlelit night together, but, well. It would be far too embarassing to take back his words at this point.

Juno feigns ignorance. “Hanukkah ended a week ago, Nureyev,” he says, giving Peter his Steel-trademarked eyeroll. “Think, uh… the second to last episode of one of Rita’s streams’s coming out today, she talked my ear off about it, but it doesn’t seem like the kind of thing you’d be interested in. So I’m sure I got no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, is that so?” Peter wraps an arm around Juno’s waist, pulling him in close. “I’ll just have to think of someone else to... celebrate with tonight, then. You see, I had some lovely plans, but they were contingent on having a certain birthday girl with me.” A beautiful flush rises across his detective lover’s dark cheeks, and Nureyev grins. Flustering Juno is one of his favorite pastimes, and he’s honed it to an art. 

Juno recovers and groans, flopping against Nureyev dramatically. “Don’t remind me,” he says. “I’m getting old, huh? Climbing that hill and about to start rolling down the other side. And you just wanna rub it in.” 

“Juno, love, you’re the second-youngest one on this ship,” Nureyev laughs. Hard-won information, the price having been an extraordinarily uncomfortable conversation about insecurity with Jet, and several of his most salacious secrets over lost hands of Rangian street poker with Rita. “And,” he lets his mouth fall open slightly, traces his tongue over the sharp point of his canines, “I daresay the most beautiful one, as well.”

“God, I told you already that it’s too early for flirting like this.” Juno thunks the back of his head against Nureyev’s shoulder, inadvertently bearing his lovely neck, and, well. Peter’s awfully good with self-restraint, but historically Juno Steel has always been the exception. He swoops down and kisses just above Juno’s collarbone, biting just enough to leave a faint mark.

Juno whines, feigning exasperation, and bats at the side of Nureyev’s head. “Ransom. Jesus. Down, boy. I gotta— this whole day I’m gonna need to go around and be a functioning human being, and you’re making it pretty hard.” 

Nureyev can see him regret his word choice the second they’re out of his mouth, but opts not to say anything. Just because it’s Juno’s birthday and he deserves a break. “All right, love,” he says. “You go on. Go be a functioning human being or whatever you have in mind. But do see if Buddy won’t let you off dish duty just this once— tell her your old bones can no longer take the strain, or what-have-you.”

Juno grumbles out something that Nureyev knows would be scandalously rude were it at an audible volume. Then he pauses for a second, letting his eye fall shut, Nureyev bearing most of his weight. 

“Hey,” he says quietly. “You, um. Sorry about.” He shakes his head and tries again. “I guess I just— m’just not really used to doing anything on my birthday. Got me a little on edge, to be honest… used to just, you know, try and forget the day was coming up, drink more’n usual if I remembered.”

Ah. He feels silly for not having realized it sooner— of course Juno would have complicated feelings surrounding the day. “Dear, you know you can always tell me and I’ll lay off. Anything, ever.” 

“No,” Juno says quietly. “I don’t mind. It’s. It’s nice. To have a— to have people who— goddamn it, never mind.” 

His dear detective is blushing even more furiously now, and Nureyev stops his rambling with a quick, gentle kiss. “Juno, darling,” he says. “The birthday of a goddess ought to be celebrated in kind.”

Juno looks like he’s about to respond, or perhaps faint in Nureyev’s arms, but just then Buddy rounds the corner, taking a second to take stock before sighing. Juno’s expression changes to that of a child caught stealing cookies. 

“Ransom,” she says, voice just this side of losing her patience. “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that you had agreed to help Jet with Ruby at half past eleven.”

“Of course not, Captain!” Peter replies, trying to put on a placating voice. “I never break an appointment.” 

“Really,” says Buddy dryly. “Because it’s thirty-three past now, and unless the Ruby has undergone a rather dramatic makeover—” she eyes Juno up and down— “it looks to me as though you’re running late.”

“Ah.” Peter scratches at the back of his arm, a little nervous tic he picked up from one of his personas a while ago, and releases Juno from his embrace. “I’ll just— I’ll be off, then.” He supposes the gift can wait until later, though he can’t resist giving Juno one last peck on the cheek before he turns. “Ta, Captain. Happy birthday, Juno love!”

Buddy Aurinko has commented several times that Juno Steel tends to wear his heart on his sleeve. Jet is not one for metaphors, but he will concede that the ex-detective does display what he is thinking on his face, which is apparently what Buddy means. 

Right now, for example, he is sitting and scowling into a mug of coffee. His eyes keep flicking up to Jet's, as though he wishes to say something, but the two have sat in silence in the Carte Blanche's dining room for the last twenty minutes.

Eventually, he makes a disparaging sound, and Jet looks up from his book. 

"If the coffee is not to your taste," he says, "there is still half a pot of tea that I do not plan on drinking."

Juno is quiet for a few moments before he replies. "Thanks, Big Guy, but the coffee's fine. I just." 

He does this sometimes, Jet has noticed, where he will begin a sentence and leave off in the middle. Buddy does this as well, and Rita on occasion, so Jet has learned to not wait for the second half unprompted.

"Something else is upsetting you, then," he notes. 

"No shit." Juno sets down the coffee cup with enough force that a drop splashes over the side and circles on the table. 

"I overheard Ransom saying that it is your birthday." 

"Oh, yeah?" Though Jet has done no more than simply state a fact, it seems to make Juno more upset. He is testy today, in a way that Jet recognizes well. The cause is not difficult to guess.

"If this is something you would prefer others not to know about," Jet offers, "I will do my best to forget the date." He himself has his fair share of unwelcome anniversaries, and knows enough about Juno to understand why his birthday could be a sore subject. 

Juno groans. "Nah, it's fine. I guess I should, y'know, pull it together."

"If you would like to talk about it, I will listen." When Juno says nothing, he returns to his crossword. Seven down, ancient Terran Mongol conqueror, has been on the tip of his tongue for a frustratingly long time. He reaches for his comms, finally, giving up and deciding to search for it, when-

"Is is dumb that… that after, you know, everything, I'm still scared of something as insignificant as a number changing?" Juno's sudden comment does not startle him, but only because he has a good amount of practice at not being startled by abrupt sounds. 

He sets down his pencil and gives Juno his full attention. "It is not," he replies.

Juno thinks about this for a second. "Yeah, well, you wouldn't think anything's dumb, would you."

"That is not true. Many of your jokes indicate otherwise. As well as the entirety of the Bad Cop series, the majority of political scandals, and Ransom's kitchen etiquette."

"Okay, you—" Juno narrows his eyes at Jet, scowling. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it, then opens it again. "Okay. You. Fine. How's this for dumb, then. If it weren't for Rita, I probably woulda forgotten my birthday a long time ago. Stupid worthless tradition."

"Is that how you feel, Juno?" Jet asks. He is well acquainted with the inner workings of the ex-detective's mind, and does not particularly mind helping to untangle them. "Or is this how you believe you are supposed to feel?"

"Listen, okay— shut up." Juno is now tapping his fingertips against the table in a way that Jet knows signifies discomfort in the lady. He changes the topic. 

"I am afraid I did not get you anything," he frowns, "as I was unaware of the date up until roughly half an hour ago." Admittedly, he is only giving half his attention to the conversation, the other half still contemplating the crossword. 

Juno laughs dryly. "Don't worry about it. We can say that was what the comms you gave me out in Cerberus was. Just an early birthday present."

“Do you still have the comms?”

“Oh.” Juno fidgets in his seat. “Yeah, uh— yeah. I brought it with me and all. Um. I don’t, like, use it, though.”

“I would not expect you to. It was inexpensive and minimally refurbished, though I am certain that if you wished to have a second working phone, Rita would be happy to fix it for you.” Jet knows Juno did not bring many things from his previous life onto the ship, and the fact that the comms was one of them fills him with an odd sense of satisfaction.

“Psh, nah.” He waves his hand. “I, uh— as long as the voice memos part works, it’s done its job. I just. You know. The reminder about looking back meant a lot. Still does, ‘specially recently, with, ugh, it’s stupid. With my birthday and everything.”

“It is not stupid, Juno,” Jet informs him. Part of him believes the detective is aware of this, and simply needs a reminder.

“Yeah, well.” Juno’s eye darts around the room. “Hey, oh, god, speaking of Rita. You wouldn’t happen to have any idea what she’s got planned for me, would you?”

“I am afraid I know no such thing.” He recognizes the attempt at changing the topic, but lets it go unremarked upon. “She seems like the type to go overboard with birthday celebrations.”

“Don’t get me started,” He sighs, in a tone that suggests he would love for someone to get him started complaining. “You know one year she glitterbombed my whole apartment? Took me a goddamn week to get that stuff out of my hair. And just last year she got in her head that I wanted a surprise party, so she tried to get anyone whose phone number she could get over to my place. God, even grumpy old Captain Khan from the HCPD—”

“Ah,” Jet interrupts as he fills in seven down. “My apologies, Juno, please continue.”

“Yeah, well. Nobody showed up, except my good old friend Mick, and, uh.” He gets a different look on his face now, not lost in thought so much as fondly remembering. “Yeah. Um. Wow, that was a year ago, huh. Wow, uh—" 

Juno stands up from his chair, looking at the clock. "It's gotten pretty late, huh? I gotta go— um, I got something to do, but." He rubs the back of his neck with the knuckles of his right hand. "Hey, Jet, thanks for talking, I guess.”

“Any time, Juno,” he says. He honestly feels as though he hasn’t done much— not an uncommon occurrence in his conversations. Rita compares him to a rubber duck, which means nothing to him other than that he often gets lines of code explained to him at rapid speeds. Perhaps that is what he is to Juno, sometimes. He can’t find he minds terribly. There is something nice about being confided in.

He moves on to thirteen across. 

It's been a long time since Buddy's cooked anything. Though she's not sensitive about her literal iron-stomached nature, not exactly, she still finds it slightly infuriating to be surrounded by fragrant ingredients. Like a modern-day Tantalus. 

Which is why she's made sure to keep a bottle of her favorite liquor on hand at the counter. 

"Still don't see why the hell you're taking over for me," Juno says from the kitchen table, where he's absently paging through a folder of blueprints. "If you guys are sick of my cooking, I could try something else."

"And if you're worried mine won't hold up, you're perfectly welcome to microwave a waffle." 

"Don't you have, I dunno, heist plans to be making?"

She stirs the sauce, dips her finger in it and tries a taste. A little bit won't kill her, hopefully. "The world won't end if I take a day off, will it?"

"I guess— hey, that's what you're always telling me! " Juno looks so genuinely affronted at this fact that Buddy can't help but laugh. 

"Perhaps I've decided to take my advice for once. Fetch me the nutmeg, will you?"

He stands up from his seat and groans. Buddy almost makes a quip about old bones, but decides not to rile him up any further. "What're you making, anyway?"

"Massaman curry." It's a common recipe, one that she hadn't had much trouble finding after a little talk with Rita. 

"Huh." 

"Yes, darling?"

"It's nothing. Only— um." He sighs. "That's what my friend Sasha's dads used to make me for our— uh, for my birthday. Goddamnit, I wanna see the file you've got on me one of these days."

"No file," Buddy grins, "just a surprisingly attentive best friend of yours who apparently values food and birthdays very highly."

"Yeah, she does that." Juno frowns. "That smells… really good, actually."

"You don't need to sound so surprised, Juno."

"Just didn't take you for the… home ec type."

"Perhaps you don't know me well enough. I can be very nurturing when I try." 

"Yeah, I guess." Juno squints, tilting his head from left to right. "I can picture you in one of those Kiss the Cook aprons."

"Try picturing me shooing you out of the kitchen with a broom, darling. That's a little closer to how I'm feeling right now." She measures in just enough fish sauce. It's strangely relaxing, all the measuring and pouring and stirring, and she understands why Juno offers to cook so often.

"I wonder what Sasha's up to right now," Juno remarks after a bit. "Last I heard from her, she was working with… well, with Dark Matters."

"Then I hope for our sakes that you don't find out anytime soon. Do you like anise?"

While the curry simmers, she sits next to him at the table. "Finding anything I've missed in those floorplans?"

"Nah, nah." He shakes his head. "Mostly just… looking through them for something to do, I guess. Usually I'd try and have Rita line up some big case right around my birthday."

"I see." She hadn't considered the possibility that taking the opportunity for dinner preparations away from Juno would be doing him a disservice, and now she feels more than a little foolish. "Well, I'm sure I could find you something to do, if you wanted."

"S'almost dinnertime," he says. "I'm fine, anyway. I think… some time to think might have been good for me."

"Oftentimes I find that thinking is preferable to not thinking," Buddy chuckles.

"You know what I mean."

"Of course." 

They make idle conversation for a few more minutes before Buddy stands up again to check on the potatoes. As she's doing so, though, Juno tips back in his chair so that the headboard thunks against the wall. She turns to look at him.

"I just don't get— why? " he demands. 

"I'm not sure I follow, darling."

"Just. Like you always say… you're not my therapist, or whatever. And you sure as hell aren't my mom, thank god for that. And we met, like, five months ago! So like— so—" he gestures broadly with his arms. "Why all this? Why… go to all this trouble? It's not like I would've, you know, cared if nobody even noticed."

"Juno," Buddy says gently. "I know that everyone on board this ship except me and perhaps Rita has trouble believing it, but I meant it when I said we're a family. And yet— I don't want you to think that I mean to try and fill any specific role or lack of one in your life. I may not be your therapist, or any sort of maternal figure, but what I am— what I hope I am— is your friend." 

It's not her most eloquent, as she's had no time to prepare beforehand. She's trying to think about what else to add, when Juno cuts her off.

"You know what you sound like, just now?"

"I do not, but I'm certain you'll enlighten me."

"Like someone took Rita and made her a whole lot more eloquent." He laughs. "Yeah, I… I guess I can buy that. For what it's worth, Buddy, I'm glad we're. You know. Friends, or whatever it is."

"Wonderful." She nods her head sharply— that's enough heart-to-heart for today— and scoops up a spoonful of curry. "Come try this."

"Hey, Steel!" He's hogging the bathroom again, she's been waiting for twenty goddamn minutes now just to take a shower. "You planning on coming out of there any time soon or should I get a battering ram?"

"Shit—" He curses. "I'll be out soon, sorry!" His voice is… frustrated, kinda, stressed in a way that Vespa doesn't like at all. Because they may have found some common ground, they may be at each others' throats less, but she still can't find it in her to trust him all the way. 

"What the hell are you doing in there?"

"Don't worry about it, just gimme two minutes and I'll—"

"Steel, if you're up to something—" She cuts herself off. Leaves it up to interpretation.

There's a pause, and then he calls back, "I'm doing my eyeliner, okay?" He sounds a little embarrassed, now. "Or trying to, at least. You know, it's pretty fuckin' hard with no depth perception."

Well. That's not what she'd been expecting. "You never wear eyeliner, Steel, what're you getting all dolled up for?"

"Uh. It's, uh, my birthday? And Ransom says he's got… plans for tonight. So, I, uh, I wanted to look nice—"

"Okay!" Vespa cuts him off. "One more word about Ransom's plans and I'll lock you in your room all night, got it?"

"You— you're the one who asked me! Listen, can you leave me alone, just let me focus—"

She groans, lets her head thunk against the door. "God. Steel. Fuck it. Open the door and I'll give you a hand."

"What, and let you poke my one good eye out and pretend it's an accident? Thanks, but I'll take my chances." God, he's so annoying. 

"Idiot, just let me in. It'll go faster if you let me help, and then we can both forget this happened." She tries not to let her frustration show in her voice.

It must work, because the door swings open slowly, and then there's the lady himself, standing there with an eyeliner pencil, an eye that looks like it's been scribbled on by a raccoon with a stick of charcoal, and a sour look on his face. She grabs the pencil from his hand and swipes it across her upper wrist. It's flaky and crumbly and probably a million years past expired. 

"Jesus, Steel, no wonder you're having trouble, this shit hardly even counts as eyeliner. Where'd you get this, the ten-cred store?" 

The look on his face is more than enough of an answer. And, listen, she gets it. She's bought her fair share of cheap makeup. So she ignores whatever his snappy reply was gonna be, grabs his wrist, and pulls him out of the bathroom. "Come with me."

"Uh, hey, wait, what the hell? Listen, I'm sorry about hogging the bathroom, what're you—"

"I've got liquid eyeliner in my room." She catches a look of apprehension on his face. "Oh my god, I'm not gonna stab you or anything, I thought I was supposed to be the paranoid one."

"I just— ugh." He shakes his head. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why're you offering to do this for me?"

God. He does ask the hard questions, doesn't he. "Because otherwise you would've just kept hogging the bathroom. And because I don't hate you enough to let you walk around this ship looking like you've got some kinda necrotic infection in your eye." 

"Aw, Vespa, that's so sweet. Makin' me feel all special." 

She glares at him, harsh enough to kill a lesser man. "Shut up or I'll knock your teeth out."

"Noted." 

They make their way to her room, where she awkwardly guides him over to a chair in front of her desk. "Here, I guess." The angle's gonna be awkward, but it's better than standing up, and there's not a chance in hell that she'd let Steel sit on her bed. 

He sits, and she digs around in her bedside table before finding a tube of somewhat less old liquid eyeliner and a thing of makeup wipes. She tosses the wipes to Steel— no way is she gonna touch his face for a second longer than she needs to— and tests out the eyeliner on the back of her palm as he wipes away his failed attempt. 

"Don't flinch," she tells him, "I'm only gonna do this once." To his credit, he doesn't, she manages to keep her hand from shaking too much, and the eyeliner goes on in one neat swoop. 

"There." She nods, then addresses the elephant in the room. "Uh… other side, too?" 

"Huh? Oh. God, no. No amount of eyeliner's gonna make that look better." She purses her lips, but doesn't say any more about it. 

Juno pulls out his comms, looks at himself in the camera app. "Wow, that's… actually not bad. Better than last time someone tried to put makeup on me."

"What, did Rita rope you into a makeover or something?"

"Nah, a movie-star sadist had me locked in his basement, actually." He shakes his head as she stares at him. "Hey, listen, Vespa, thanks. Really."

"Don't mention it," she says, and then punches him in the stomach. Not hard, and not where she remembers the knife scar being. Enough to make him stagger backwards, but not enough to really wind him.

"Oof— what the fuck? "

"Happy birthday," she says with a smirk, bringing her other hand into a fist. "S'a tradition on Ranga. One per year. You're turning, what, forty?"

"I'll pass, thanks." He slowly backs out of the room.

"Wait. Steel!"

"Yeah?"

"If anyone else finds out that I did your makeup, you're getting the other thirty-nine, you hear me?"

"Sure, sure," he grins. "And if you ever need someone to paint your nails, I'm here."

She slams the door in his face. She can still hear his laugh all down the hallway, though, and (though she'd die before admitting it to anyone, even Buddy) she's pleased. Happy birthday, Juno.

The boss (no, he hates being called that)— the ex-boss knocks on Rita's door just as she's finishing up the last of her second-to-last bag of trout paste ramen garlic crunchies, and she hops up from the bed immediately. 

"Mistah Steel! " she shouts as she opens the door and immediately leaps at him. "Happy birthday!! " 

"Oof. Hi, Rita." He looks nice, too, a black shirt showing off a little more skin than his usual turtleneck and a skirt patterned with some kinda pink fluffy flower. She grabs his hand and pulls him over to the bed, where she's got her comms and a nice plate of snacks all set up. 

"Oh, Mistah Steel, I'm so glad that you stopped by like you said you would, I got big plans for us! They just put out this new stream about a buncha mermaid roommates all livin' in the same swimming pool and it's got one of my favorite actors in it, you remember, dontcha, that real pretty girl from I Married Godzilla And He's a Gentle Lover Part II, and since it's your birthday that means you ain't got anywhere else to be tonight so we can just watch the whole thing!"

"Hey, hey, okay, wait a second." Mistah Steel holds up a hand like he's trying to imitate a crossing guard or something. "First of all, it's my birthday. Why don't I get to choose the stream?"

Rita climbs up on the bed and sits cross-legged. "It's ya birthday, boss, which means that you deserve better than one'a those dumb cop shows you like!"

He rolls his eyes. "Fine." Rita knows him well enough to know that there's more he wants to say, and she thinks she can guess what it is. 

"What's the second of all, Mistah Steel?"

"Listen, Rita, I—" He shifts his weight from foot to foot, scratching at his arm. The look on his face is so guilty that she wonders if she should maybe just drop the joke right now.

She doesn't, though. "Yeah? Somethin' on my face?"

"Rita, god, I'm sorry, I know we usually spend birthday time together, but I. I told Ransom I'd, uh. Celebrate with him tonight. If I'd known that you were gonna set all this up—" And he just looks so upset that Rita can't stop herself from laughing. 

"Gotcha, boss!" She grins. "Mistah Ransom already cleared it with me! He's a reeeal thoughtful guy, you know, came to me asking to make sure he wasn't 'stealin' you away'. Now I told him that I thought you'd prob'ly like it if he stole you away—"

" Rita—"

"—but, anyways, Mistah Steel, I'm jus' messing with ya. Just one or two episodes, an' then you're a free lady." She winks at him.

"Oh. Well, thanks, Rita. I, uh, I should've checked with you beforehand. Sorry."

"It's okay, Mistah Steel! Just means you owe me a girls' night sometime soon." She tosses him a bag of his favorite (booooring) corn chips. "Gosh, that Mistah Ransom is a real considerate guy, ain't he?"

"He sure is," Juno sighs.

"You know, I musta said this before but he almost reminds me of that Agent Glass that'cha worked with a while back!" 

Rita's not stupid. She can remember a face when she sees one, especially a face as preeeetty as that Mistah Ransom-Glass-whatever's. 

The way Mistah Steel's eye twitches every time she brings up Mistah Ransom sounding like Mistah Glass is just too good for her to give up, though. It's one of the little perks of always being underestimated. 

"Weird coincidence," he mutters. "Guess I'm just a sucker for a guy with sharp teeth."

She hits him with a unicorn-shaped pillow. "Ew, Mistah Steel, you keep that to yourself, you hear me?"

"Sorry." He's got that look in his eyes that means he's thinkin' about Mistah Ransom instead of Miss Rita and now is not the time for that. So she hits him with the pillow again. Then she notices something.

"Mistah Steel, did you put on eyeliner?" 

"Oh. Uh… yeah. I guess I did. How does it look?" 

How someone as perceptivizing as Detective Steel only guesses that he put on eyeliner Rita doesn't think she'll ever understand, but it does look good. She tells him as much, and he smiles like there's some big secret that she's not in on. 

Without much more to discuss, they start the stream. They haven't done a movie night in a while, not like this with just the two of them, and it's nice. It's like back in Hyperion City except not really, because Mistah Steel isn't pretending to be all upset about being made to take some time for himself. He even puts his arm around Rita's shoulders and lets her cuddle up to him. 

"Oh, come on, that's not how gills work," he still protests sometimes, and "why do all your shows have such heavy-handed metaphors?" But Rita thinks that if Mistah Steel didn't complain a little bit, he wouldn't even be the same lady at all.

The second episode ends a few minutes before ten, not quite long enough to start on a new one. Which means it's time for one of Rita's favorite things other than watching cheesy streams— chatting with Mistah Steel!

"So, boss," she asks him, "how's your first birthday in spaaaaace been?"

"Oh." He thinks about this for a second. "It's been… nice. Better than most of my birthdays not in space, I guess."

She squeals. She knows that Mistah Steel's doing a lot better these days, but it's so nice to hear it straight from his mouth. "Aw, boss, that's awesome!"

"Yeah," he nods. "Yeah, I guess it is."

"You tell the rest of the crew that it was your birthday?"

He sighs. "Not on purpose, but somehow they all found out."

"Well, that's real nice, ain't it."

"Guess so." He's quiet for a moment. "Hey, remember my last birthday in Hyperion, when—"

"—when we went and saw a movie and Mistah Mercury got lost on his way to your house and Captain Khan told me to give you a hug?" she finishes. "'Course I do, Mistah Steel!"

"When Captain— what? " He shakes his head. "Whatever. Never mind. I just— do you remember that someone sent me flowers?"

"Ooh! Yeah!" Rita bounces up and down on the bed, sending a couple corn chips spilling out o their bag. "And Mistah Thief was workin' for that delivery company!"

"Yeah." Oh, she can see the moment the words catch up to him. His eye widens. "Wait. What?"

"Yeah, Mistah Steel, didn't he tell you? He was all dressed up in a funny little uniform and hat like a newsboy from the ol' films but I knew it was him on account of he smiled real big and he had those teeth, and plus he still smelled like that perfume he wore!"

"Cologne." Mistah Steel looks like someone's hit him over the head with a hammer. "Are you— are you sure?"

"'Course I'm sure, I'm Rrrrrrita! " She laughs and waves her hands around a little bit. 

"Huh." He blinks, then presses his palm to his eye real quick. Rita wants to ask if he's okay, but before she can, he shakes his head and moves his hand away. "Okay. Hey, Rita… thanks. For spending time with me, for remembering my birthday, everything."

"Aw, Mistah Steel, you don't gotta thank me for somethin' like that! You are my—" she casts a furtive glance towards her comms— "best friend, anyway. Don't tell Frannie."

"If I ever talk to her, I'll make sure not to mention it." And then he pulls her into a hug.

Mistah Steel's a good hugger, even though he doesn't do it too often. He's usually on the receiving end, but he's nice and strong and soft and doesn't hold her too tightly. 

"Oh, boss!" She suddenly remembers the most important thing! "I got you something!" She rummages under her bed in her box of stuff. "Well, I made you something, really, and it wasn't mostly me 'cuz Mistah Jet helped a lot, and Miss Buddy helped a little bit too, and Miss Vespa let me borrow her scissors but here!" When she finds what she's looking for, a little lumpy package wrapped in paper she's colored on with her markers, she shoves it into his hands.

And then she looks away. This part always scares her, 'cuz she knows that everyone likes to say that it's the thought that counts but secretly she knows that she ain't always the best at knowing what other people want, and even though Mistah Steel isn't gonna be mad if he doesn't like his present she still wants him to be happy-

"Whoa. Rita, " he says quietly, and she looks back at him in anticipation as he unwraps it. "This is—"

"It's an eyepatch, Mistah Steel, I made it for you myself! Mistah Jet taught me how to sew and everything, and Miss Buddy took me to the fabric store to choose just the right one on one of our ice cream days!" She flaps her hands a little faster, trying to get rid of a little of the nervous energy. 

The eyepatch is dark purple, with thin, glittery gold patterning all across it, and the fabric is so velvety-soft that she's even kept the inches of it that she didn't use to just have to touch. She knows purple is Mistah Steel's favorite color, and excepting for on heists she's never seen him wear anything other than the same black patch that he came back home with after those horrible few weeks. But now she's worrying that it was a rude gift, come on, Rita, why would he want to be reminded of somethin' sad like that on his birthday, and what if he's gonna get all quiet and tell her he's got somewhere else to be and-

"I know what it is," he says finally. "It's beautiful."

"Oh, boss, you really think so?" 

"Of course," he says. "Wow, I— Rita, this is— thank you."

"Aw, Mistah Steel, it was nothing," but she's blushing bright red as she laughs, all relieved. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks, Rita," he says, and then, a little quieter, "It has been."

It's been a long day. Even though he hasn't gotten pretty much anything done, Juno's tired by the time ten rolls around. Not in the way that he's used to being tired, like he's worked himself to the end of his physical capability, but more like he's… he doesn't even know. The badly-kept birthday secret, the soul-searching and conversations, have done their number on him.

Which isn't to say that he's done for the night. No, even though everyone else on the crew's been surprisingly great to him today, he's still been looking forward to this the most. To the three quick knocks against his bedroom door, perfectly on time.

"Come in," he calls, and Nureyev does. He's dressed up, obviously, but not like he's trying to show off or anything. Just a flower-patterned button-up tucked into a skirt that Juno remembers fondly having told Nureyev he should wear this more often, okay?

"Hello, Juno," he says with a smile as he comes to sit next to him on the bed. "Happy birthday." That smile… god, it got him the first time he ever saw it and it still gets him now. But he doesn't let himself get caught up. He's got some heckling to do.

"Hey, Nureyev," he starts. "So I got a few questions for you. Just some stuff I'm curious about, you know?"

"For me? Of course!" Nureyev looks a little confused, like he's not quite sure where this is going, but happy to indulge him anyways. 

"You ever had any jobs other than being a—" Juno puts his arms around him— "no-good, lowlife master thief?"

Nureyev laughs. "Not that I can think of, no. The benefits are absolutely unmatched."

"Yeah, I'll bet." He smirks. "Well, Agent Glass, I guess I don't even have to ask if you've ever played the part for a role. D'you usually go infiltrating shady government agencies, or have you gone more blue-collar ever?"

"I… I've posed as a worker of many trades over my life." Nureyev's confused, now, thrown off his quick-talking game. "Why do you ask?"

"Just trying to piece some stuff together." He presses a quick kiss to Nureyev's ear, which makes him giggle adorably. "How about, uh… you ever been a deliveryman? With a funny little hat and uniform?"

"No, I can't say I—" He gasps. " Juno! Oh, you're making fun of me, aren't you..." And then Nureyev's wriggled out of his arms, and before he can blink, he's got Juno pinned back against the wall, pressing kisses up and down his jaw. 

In between kisses, Juno laughs. "God, I knew you were a sappy idiot, but I didn't think— hah, hey, stop it— I talked to Rita today and she told me some really interesting stuff about the guy who delivered me flowers my last birthday!"

Nureyev actually, honest-to-god, snorts. "My dear, brilliant, detective, are you telling me you had to talk to Rita to figure out that the dahlias and roses were from me?"

"No! Oh my god— I knew they were from you the second I saw 'em, not like anyone else would really be sending me flowers, but I didn't know you were the one who brought them to my door! Why were you even on Mars in the first place—"

"Ah…" He smiles a little sheepishly. "Well, I had a wonderful job lined up on Mars just over at Olympus Mons, and it was hardly out of the way at all."

"Nureyev, that's a fuckin' five-hour train ride in the best of weather, and it was sandstorming all last Christmas."

"The things we do for love." He heaves an exaggerated sigh. "I suppose it was rather foolish of me, wouldn't you say, Juno dear?"

"Sap," Juno says, but he's smiling so hard that his cheeks hurt a little. It's stupid, he knows, it's only been eleven hours since he last talked to Nureyev, but this is… well, he missed him. 

"Only for you, dear. Which reminds me." Nureyev starts digging around in the pocket of his skirt. A little pile of junk forms on the bed as he searches— a lip balm, a little rock with a face on it, a purple-handled knife, half a sugar cookie— before he pulls out a little wrapped package, small enough to fit in the palm of Juno's hand. 

"Just so you know, if you stole this for me, I'm calling the cops," he says as he starts to unwrap it.

"I would never!" Nureyev gasps, affronted. "Well, perhaps I would. But I didn't."

Juno rolls his eyes, then looks back down at the gift. 

It's a locket on a thin silver chain. Cast in rose gold, shaped like a many-petaled flower that Juno recognizes immediately with a little laugh as a dahlia. 

"You people are really trying to pretty me up, huh?" He grins as he motions towards his new eyepatch. But Nureyev looks almost nervous in a way that Juno doesn't think he's ever seen on him before.

"Open it," he says quickly. "There's a little clasp on the side, it should—" 

"I know how a locket works, thanks," he says, and flicks it open with his thumb. He's expecting a photo, maybe something taken secretly of the two of them together, maybe some ridiculous mugshot of Nureyev, but instead… 

A colored drawing, a little cartoonish, of the two of them together, which he instantly recognizes as Nureyev's style. They're holding hands, little pink-lined hearts between their heads. Though the picture's small and not the most detailed, Juno can see how closely Nureyev must have studied his expression, because he immediately recognizes the smile on his face as the one he saves for just those quiet, lovestruck moments between the two of them. 

"Do you like it?" Nureyev asks, intertwining his fingers anxiously. "I would have gotten you something more, but I didn't know your dress size or whether you wore bracelets ever, and I know I'm not the best artist but I—"

Juno cuts him off with a kiss. It's gentle but no less passionate, and he places the necklace carefully to his side so he can pull Nureyev's hands apart and take each one in his. 

"Help me put it on," he says when they finally pull apart. Nureyev obliges, holding back Juno's hair with one hand and fastening the necklace's catch with the other. 

"Thanks," he smiles. "You're never gonna have to do that again, by the way."

"Oh?" 

"I'm never gonna take this off. God, Nureyev, it's perfect. You're perfect." He clicks open the locket again, wonders how long Nureyev must have spent trying to get the picture just right, how many times he must have sketched Juno when he wasn't paying attention. It means so much more than a bouquet of flowers ever could. 

"Happy birthday, Juno," Nureyev whispers.

(They're lying tangled in each others' arms, sharing soft words and softer glances, when the clock hits twelve. Juno doesn't even notice.)