Chapter Text
JUNO
It was all Benten’s fault. Well, that’s not entirely fair. It’s Rita’s fault too. If Juno had to assign blame, he supposed he could place it on the intersection of his two favorite people’s attempts to torture him. Usually with well-intentioned (on Rita’s part) and slightly less well-intentioned (on Benten’s part) meddling.
Currently, said two favorite people are making a great deal of noise in his office while hunched over Rita’s desk.
“Really, them? They’re way too cheerful for Lady Raincloud. No way.”
“Yes way! You know what they say, opposites attract. And I think Mistah Steel could use some cheer in his life!”
“I don’t disagree, but maybe pump the brakes on setting him up with someone who has looking for a serious relationship on the first page of their bio.”
Juno wheels around to face them.
“Hey, I only gave you two permission to go through that stupid dating app so you would stop distracting me while I work. But if you’re going to talk about it three feet away from my desk, it kinda defeats the purpose.”
“I’m sorry Mistah Steel, but this is more important. We’re trying to help find you love!”
“Or at the very least, something besides work to get you out of the house.”
“I get out of the house plenty.”
“Fine, let me rephrase. Something to get you out of the house and have a conversation that isn’t about a case with someone who isn’t me or Rita.”
“What about-”
“Mick doesn’t count.”
“He does too count!”
“My boyfriend who you have been friends with since childhood and who you see nearly every day does not count.”
“Whatever. It’s not like I don’t date.”
Benten snorts. “Sure, if you can call it that.”
“The hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Juno. The last time you went on a date, you pretended you saw a suspect, left halfway through, and crawled back through our window because you forgot a key and I was staying at Mick’s.”
“He’s kinda got a point, Mistah Steel. You could use a little more...human interaction. When’s the last time you went on a date and stayed for the whole time?”
Juno mumbles something.
“Sorry, what was that, Super Steel? I didn’t quite catch what you said-”
“Four months ago, alright?” He’s not exactly proud of it. He doesn’t set up dates planning to ditch them halfway through with faked emergencies or cancel on them with flimsy excuses about work. But every time he finds someone who he thinks he might like, it gets that much easier to think of reasons to go. After all, if he leaves first, he can pretend that the other person would have stayed.
“Mistah Steel, it’s okay if you don’t wanna be in a relationship right now. Or ever. But you should still be able to have a full conversation with someone who isn’t me or Ben or Mistah Mercury.”
“Look, I know you guys are worried about me, but I promise I’m fine. I have to go, I have a case.”
He brushes past them to the door before either of them can ask any more followup questions.
Rita and Benten may be two of the people who know him best, but that doesn’t mean they’re always right. Besides, he’s busy. He has a case, though from the looks of it, it won’t be a pretty one. On the bright side, at least he’ll be able to avoid talking to Croesus.
…
He ends up at the bar. It’s a bad habit he’s trying to kick, but his hand-eye coordination was always better than his aim with his foot. And it’s been a long day, what with dealing with Cecil, dealing with Min , and what ended up happening to Cassandra-
It’s been a long day. And he needs a drink, or five. Benzaiten finally moved in with Mick a few weeks ago, so maybe he can find someone to take home. A warm body who’ll lick his wounds for him and let him stop thinking for a bit.
In the end, he doesn’t make it that far. After his fourth glass of whisky, he makes his way outside for some fresh air and stumbles home with his head spinning. He falls into bed and tells himself that he’ll turn the mask over to the P.I. registry in the morning.
...
PETER
The detective’s lock is child’s play. Peter slips in through the door without a sound, letting it shut softly behind him. Normally, he would have broken in while the house was empty. But the mask is hidden in a safe with a key that stayed firmly in the sullen lady’s trench coat pocket for the duration of the time Nureyev tailed him. He might have risked pickpocketing it, had it not been for the way the detective’s sharp gaze seemed to penetrate every person who passed him by. It made him suspect that his usual tactics wouldn’t hold up under Juno Steel’s keen eyes. Better to break in while the man was asleep and slip back out with the keys.
So, Peter is currently creeping past the decrepit coffee table and through the living room. The lady seems to be fast asleep, soft snores muffled behind a bedroom door. He’s lifted the key without leaving a single hair or print behind, and if all goes according to plan, this will be one of his cleanest exits yet.
But the door doesn’t open. He tries the handle again, and again, then, in a fit of desperation, almost takes it clean off. He crouches down to see the problem, and curses when he gets a closer look at the label on the base of the handle. This lock, a special model he’s seen before in various banks and on the safes of certain eccentric billionaires, isn’t budging. It allows for easy entry with the simplest lock picking tools, but requires a unique verbal code for exit. It’s favored by select security firms who care more about catching thieves than their clients’ safety. And, it seems, Martian private eyes.
He’s running out of options. The sun is almost up, and there’s no way he can guess the code, not without alerting someone to his presence. But there’s a window in the occupied bedroom, one that opens onto a fire escape. It’s risky, but the detective is still sleeping soundly, and he doesn’t exactly have an alternative exit.
He moves swiftly through the apartment, slipping through the bedroom door. He pauses for a moment to spare a glance for the sleeping lady. Juno Steel looks far more vulnerable here, though, he notes, with some embarrassment, no less lovely.
But he has no time to explore that line of thinking, so he files it away and makes for the window. It’s not even locked. Perhaps this job, despite its vexations, will be as cleanly executed as he initially believed.
“Well, good morning, sunshine.”
Shit.
JUNO
There is a man slinking his way through Juno’s room. He’s dressed simply enough, but it’s clear that the man is wearing last night’s clothes. Juno may deny it when it comes up in daily conversation, but he knows he has a type. This nameless man, with his sharp teeth, that lethal grace and focused expression- well. He certainly fits the bill. It looks like Juno found someone to take home after all, even if he can’t quite remember how exactly they fell into bed. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“Well, good morning, sunshine.” He winces at the endearment. He’s never been one for pet names, but he’d hoped it might relieve some of the tension in the man’s stature.
If anything, it seems to have had the opposite effect.
“Ah. Hello there, detective.” This man—Juno wishes he’d had the sense to learn his name last night, if only to know what to say to calm him down—looks as though he’d rather be anywhere else.
“Hey. There’s no need for formalities. I mean...I think we must have made our way beyond job titles if you’re here, right?” Juno glances around his room a little awkwardly, letting his gaze slip over his hastily discarded clothes with some weight.
Somehow, this seems to relax the nameless man.
“Ah, of course. Terribly sorry for waking you up, I was just trying to head out, but the door wouldn’t open and I was going to ask-”
Juno grimaces.
“Yeah, sorry about that. I got the lock replaced a few weeks ago when I had some case files stolen by an ex-client. It needs a special code. I can open it, just give me a minute.”
“Of course.” The man, oddly enough, looks a bit awed at this turn of events.
Juno shuffles out of bed, feeling strangely self-conscious despite the fact that this man must have already seen him far more uncovered than he is now.
“Right. I’ll just get the lock then.”
And really this is the part that’s Benten and Rita’s fault. Now is usually the time he’d open the door, then fall back into bed for another hour of sleep. But something from that conversation yesterday, their ribbing interspersed with genuine concern makes its way to the front of his sleep-addled mind, and he finds himself hesitating.
“Or. Uh. You could. Stay for breakfast?”
“Is that an offer, or a request, dear detective?” The man—god, Juno wishes he could remember his name, a job title, an anecdote, something —smiles charmingly, but there’s still some anxiety hidden in those dark eyes.
“You obviously don’t have to, you might have somewhere to go, or, hell, you might have work and I’m making you late-”
“Breakfast would be lovely, darling.”