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Peter Ransom was aloof, flawless, and put-together. He was the man with a plan plus a half-dozen other plans on top. He was unflappable, virtually unfazed by any goings-on that did not match his expectations. Failure rolled off his back, and even then, Peter Ransom would say something snappy and witty about how failure was only an opportunity or something.
Peter Nureyev, however, was a tower of tightly woven anxieties, desperate for approval but terrified of being known enough to receive it. Every shortcoming and failure Peter Ransom shrugged off was revisited by Peter Nureyev with agonizing repetition and clarity, usually in the quiet hours of the very early morning.
The crew, with the exception of Juno and Rita, still did not trust him, and that ground away at his self-esteem more and more each day. Obviously, he knew that they just wanted his name, and that would likely solve his problems in a perfect universe, but given that the universe was far from perfect, that wasn’t an option. So, he performed his assigned tasks perfectly, or as close to perfectly as he could, participated in each heist with near perfect performance, given the circumstances, and was forthcoming with his knowledge and anecdotes as needed.
But every small slip-up seemed to lead to immediate distrust, suspicion, and accusation, all of which he took in stride until he was alone in his quarters. Even Juno didn’t quite know the depths of his insecurities as he made sure to bottle those feelings up tight for their talks. Juno didn’t need to know just how much of a mess he could be, and it was silly to be hurt so easily by something he had all but signed up for.
That all meant that it hadn’t been a conscious decision when he began to find little things he could do and succeed at and even sometimes receive a kind word for his efforts. He didn’t necessarily want praise, he wasn’t so needy as that, but a bit of recognition? An expression of gratitude? And even then, he didn’t do it for that purpose at first.
It was actually Rita who started the whole process for him, in a way.
Learning her favourite streams was impossible, but he had learned the pattern of what made her call a stream a “favourite”. It wasn’t even a conscious decision either, just something he catalogued each week when she would squeal at the choice someone made, or conversely when she would express some token excitement, but then would spend much of the movie on her comms.
He just noticed the pattern, and Peter used that knowledge when it was his turn to choose the stream for movie night the first time.
He never really had the time or inclination to watch streams before joining the Aurinkos, and he would rather be shot out the airlock than admit that level of ignorance. So, glancing over the options, he zeroed in on a title that had something about werewolves and strife, and chose it with a haughty flourish. When it brought a brilliant grin to Rita’s face, Peter felt a burst of warmth in his chest and the mask of Peter Ransom slipped just enough to smile in return.
He had apparently chosen so well that Rita actually abandoned her usual perch between Jet and Juno to sit with him and chatter in his ear the whole movie. It had been overwhelming and by the time the movie had ended, he felt like he had been stuck outside during a Martian sandstorm, but he was… happy.
Peter had done something he thought was small, inconsequential, honestly with mostly selfish intent, and he had made Rita happy. She had willingly sat with him, grabbed his arm and slapped his knee at exciting parts, leaned her head on his shoulder while she wept at the sad parts, and all but laid across his lap when she fell over laughing. He didn’t remember a single part of the movie they watched, but he had done something right and that had made Rita happy.
It was like a dam had been broken, and he started turning the different information he had catalogued around in his head, figuring out where he could do things for the rest of the crew.
Rita was the easiest, even without accounting for movie night. It was as simple as acquiring a bag of her favourite snacks on a supply run, especially if she hadn’t asked.
After her, Buddy and Jet were fairly easy to get a startled “thank you” or an approving hum respectively.
For Buddy, Peter would often reorganize her notes after they researched a heist. The crew would all work together for most of the process, and slowly their numbers would dwindle as the afternoon turned to evening, and evening turned to night. Oftentimes, Peter would be the last one with Buddy when she decided enough was enough for the night, and retired to bed.
There was one heist that had several components that were vexing even himself, and it was something she and Peter had agonized over for a whole day. When Buddy stood and declared the research finished for the night, she had seemed almost angry, and Peter worried she was angry at him specifically. For several moments, he had squirmed in his seat, too tired to be Peter Ransom in the face of criticism, especially when he couldn’t remember anything he had done wrong.
But then Buddy had taken a breath and looked at him, her visible eye narrowed before something softened in her face. “Thank you, Pete. Let’s get some rest, come back to it with fresh eyes,” she said, and as she passed him, she patted his shoulder almost absently.
That warmth in his chest seemed to centre on that touch to his shoulder, and he stumbled through his routine for bed. He couldn’t stop thinking about Buddy’s frustration, the research, and the way she had thanked him. Peter had been too keyed up after that, wouldn’t go to bed where he might wake Juno, so he returned to Buddy’s office.
The space had become quite the mess, and while he usually worked in messier conditions, he knew that Buddy didn’t. So, he started with just straightening up the papers they had printed off, organizing them in piles of relevance, and marking the ones with the most up-to-date information and noting connections.
Once he started looking at all of the notes together like that, he began to notice things he had missed, and since he had missed them, so did Buddy. He hadn’t realized how much time he had been standing over Buddy’s desk, pouring over the notes frantically chasing after the connection he was about to make, when the door swished open and the simulated sunlight of the hallway spilled in.
“Pete?”
Peter looked up, startled at the voice and then suddenly guilty for some reason. Because she had caught him in her office alone? That he had continued working after Buddy had told him to stop?
“Apologies, Captain,” he said quickly, and stood up straight, or he had attempted to but flinched as his back refused to straighten right away. “I was unable to sleep.”
“Yes, well it is quite difficult to do that hunched over a desk looking at a mess of paperwork,” Buddy said sternly, walking over the desk. “That is why I told you to go to bed.”
“I don’t recall you telling me to go to bed, Captain,” he replied. “Merely suggest that we get some rest. Rest was impossible, so I came back here.”
When Buddy came around the desk and looked at what he had done, she made a soft sound of surprise, flipping some of the isolated pages and following his map of stuck-on notes and highlights.
“Well, Pete. Looks like you figured it out,” she said, and it came out almost reluctant as she chuckled. Lifting a hand to his back, just between his shoulder blades, she gave him a quick pat and said, “Excellent work, Peter. Now, go to bed.”
Peter had to work not to visibly preen under her approval, and bid her farewell before doing as he was told.
Jet was an accident.
Peter had given up trying to get on Jet’s good side, though he continued keeping an eye on him with his constant filing away of information. One such piece of information was that Jet was partial to books. It didn’t seem like he was particularly attached to a genre or author, but he always seemed to be reading an actual book when he wasn’t working on the Ruby7 or with Buddy at the helm.
Over his time on the Carte Blanche, Peter had come to acquire several books, none of them legally, and he’d read them all, cover to cover. It was the one part of his room that he kept tidy at all times, all of them sitting in a neat line along the wall on top of his dresser. All of Jet’s books were kept in the rec room, on a shelf under the monitor, and Peter perused them once, though he never touched.
They were in the public space, so they were available for the crew, but Peter still struggled to feel like part of the crew enough to borrow one.
One of the authors he recognized, as he had one of the books in their series that Jet did not. Without fully thinking about it, Peter had taken the book to the rec room and quietly added it to the shelf. He had read it several times and didn’t see the point to hoard it, he reasoned, which for the most part was truly how he felt.
It was a few hours later when Jet found him idly doodling on a napkin in the kitchen.
“Ransom,” Jet greeted coolly and Peter jumped a bit, looking up at him.
“Jet,” he responded with some trepidation. It was rarely a good thing when Jet approached him so directly.
“You left your book in the rec room, I have come to return it,” Jet said, putting the book on the table.
“I’m—how did you—?” Peter started but cut himself off.
“You and I are the only ones on this ship that read traditional books. I suspect it is because we both struggle with eye strain when looking at comms screens for too long,” Jet said shortly.
“I don’t have eye strain—” Peter started, a bit offended by the insinuation, even if it was true.
“Since I did not have this book prior to this morning,” Jet continued over him. “I can only assume you had left it in the rec room, and someone put it away on my shelf by mistake.”
“No, I, uhm, I gave it to you,” Peter stumbled over it, his cheeks heating. “It was a gift, well not a gift, but I saw your collection was missing it, and I saw no reason to keep it in my quarters.”
Jet stared at him, before humming thoughtfully. “You are giving me this book because you have read it?” he asked.
“Multiple times,” Peter said quickly. “It’s very good.”
Jet hummed again and sat down. “This series is quite enjoyable. I do not normally read a whole series, but this one is quite interesting in every instalment,” Jet said, his voice still flat but Peter could swear he could see a small up-turn of the corners of his mouth.
Just like that, Jet sat with him discussing a series of fictional books they both had read. After their conversation, Peter moved his small collection out to the rec room and Jet regularly went out of his way to discuss their mutual interest.
Vespa had been the hardest.
Honestly, Peter had largely given up the moment he stepped foot on the Carte Blanche. She had made her point crystal clear with a threatening wave of her knife and he wasn’t about to test her restraint. That, and he was rarely in a situation where he could observe Vespa and she wasn’t immediately suspicious of him.
It was a small thing that got him the first inkling of approval. They had been on a job, the two of them working alone when they got separated from Juno, and Peter had just happened to see Vespa hesitate. It was a small hitch in her steps, and Peter immediately started taking in their surroundings.
“We’re alone in a long hallway with smooth walls and a carpeted floor, Captain,” Peter said into his comms, watching Vespa out of the corner of his eye. “There’s no other movement, and I can hear the hum of machinery, perhaps the air filtration system.”
“Astute observations, Pete,” Buddy started to say, and he could hear the annoyance in her voice until what he was doing seemed to click. “Please, keep a running commentary if you can.”
Next to him, Vespa closed her eyes and shook her head. Taking a deep breath and opening her eyes, she glanced at Peter and for a second she looked soft around the edges, the way he had only seen glimpses of when she was with Buddy. Vespa nodded once, a clear ‘thank you’, before her usual glare fell into place.
“Great, Bud, now the thief’s gonna talk my ear off,” Vespa complained, though there was a distinct lack of heat in her tone. “I thought I would have peace without Steel around yakking.”
Then, just like that, he was part of the little family Buddy had put together, and it was almost entirely by accident. Peter found himself slipping comfortably into life aboard the Carte Blanche. Or as comfortably as he could with the looming threat of his debts and his insecurity with his age.
But for the moment, he would tuck those thoughts away, keep those for future consideration as he let himself enjoy those small moments when the crew was grateful for his presence.
Peter walks into the kitchen and finds Juno half-asleep at the table.
“Hello, love,” Peter says, sweeping over to give Juno a sweet kiss on the top of his head. “You’re up early.”
“Yeah, trying to do the whole ‘productive member of the crew before noon’ thing and hating it,” Juno grouses, but he smiles and tips his head up for a proper kiss.
“I can make you something for breakfast if you’d like?” Peter offers, and makes a face at Juno’s sceptical look. “I’m not completely incompetent in the kitchen, Juno.”
Juno raises an eyebrow but asks, “Can I have a bagel?”
Peter blinks and smiles winningly. “How do you want it prepared?” he asks, and hopes it doesn’t reveal how much he literally does not know how to prepare a bagel. He doesn’t see the appeal of that much bread, so he never eats them.
“Just toast it and put garden herb cream cheese on the top, like with the seeds? And plain cream cheese on the bottom,” Juno explains, smiling.
Peter nods and walks over to the counter and pulls everything out. ‘This is easy,’ Peter thinks, hyping himself up as he puts the bagel in the toaster. ‘No harder than making a bowl of cereal.’
A few minutes later, he returns to the table with the bagel and puts it down. Juno stares at it for a few moments, furrowing his brows before looking up at Peter. Then he looks back down and carefully opens the two halves, and Peter realises his mistake.
“Ransom, when I said the top—”
“I am aware of my mistake, Juno,” Peter says in a rush, and stands up. “Apologies, I’ll remake it—”
But he’s interrupted by laughter, and for a brief moment Peter thinks Juno is making fun of him. Then he notices the grin, takes in the fond way Juno’s looking at the mess of a bagel in front of him, and how delighted the laughter sounds. With a start, Peter realises that Juno is happy, even though he had completely messed up.
“This is hilarious, Ransom, and I’m gonna eat it, so don’t you dare try to take it from me,” Juno says, wiping a tear from his eye as he looks up at Peter. “You’re incredible.”
“But I did it wrong,” Peter says, a bit baffled as he sits back down.
“So?” Juno asks, carefully picking up the top half of the bagel and taking a bite. “You still made it for me.”
“But… I did it wrong,” Peter insists and Juno looks at him, puzzled.
“You don’t have to do things right all the time, Ransom. You messed up making a bagel, yeah, but you made it for me and it’s technically exactly what I asked for,” Juno explains, grinning at him.
And with that Peter drops it, absorbing what Juno just said and allowing himself a small smile of his own.
FIN