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The concept of weekends and vacation days is a new one to Caine. Well, not in theory; he’s spent enough time on Earth, even before he met Jupiter, to know what they mean. It is, however, not a concept that applies to genetically tailored legionnaires across the rest of the universe. Which means it technically doesn’t apply to him. But with Jupiter in the picture… well. Not even the Skyjackers would quite dare to permanently deprive an entitled of her chosen, if wildly inappropriate, partner. Her majesty gets what her majesty wants, at least out in space. Back on Earth, not so much.
Caine has been home – another word that’s somewhat alien to him – for half an hour now, delivered on the dot at the time he’s agreed on with Jupiter beforehand, and she’s nowhere to be seen. That's not unusual; weekends and vacation days don’t exist for illegal workers down here either. The irony in that is not lost on him. But he’s a soldier, and soldiers everywhere are used to waiting. They meet in the penthouse of an officially abandoned building; Jupiter calls it his place because that makes things easier for her and he doesn't mind, but it's not, not really. He wouldn't know what to with a living space all of his own, used to sleeping on cots and eating in mess halls; he doesn't have any personal belongings. This apartment serves to keep them hidden, give them privacy. There's a mattress on the floor and a TV set on the wall, a functional kitchenette and a bathroom with running water. It works. He turns on the TV set and starts channel surfing until he finds something that catches his interest. At first, he didn't get the appeal of television, but now he's using it more than she does, which amuses her greatly. Sitting cross-legged on the mattress with his wings stretched out behind him, he watches documentaries and movies and cooking shows, zapping around, never staying on a program for long.
His phone buzzes; he's got one because Jupiter insisted space technology would be too obvious to use around her family. And sure enough, it's her, telling him she's still working, they've got a new client, and she can't bail yet. Caine never had relatives, but he gets her devotion to them, especially after they almost died in a conflict that revolved around her. He likes to think she knows this, but texts back anyway, assures her it's fine, they have the whole week, he'll pass the time until she can join him. Hours pass, and it's gotten dark outside by the time he senses Jupiter's proximity, her scent intensifying, filling his senses, and it's that moment when he realizes just how much he missed her. Before he met her, his yearning was aimless and without direction, the general emptiness of knowing he belonged somewhere but having no idea where it was. He smiles to himself and inhales, breathes her in, which is when he realizes there's something different about the way she smells, a tell-tale metallic tang mixed in with her scent and the faint whiff of cleaning detergents she always wears when she comes back from work. Blood. She's bleeding, or she has been, he's not sure.
In an instant, he's on his feet and rushing over to the door, wings folded behind his back, hands on his gun. His heart is beating in his throat. He inhales again, trying to determine if there's someone with her and coming up empty. Whatever happened, she's alone, and it should be a good thing, should calm him down, but it doesn't. His breath is still coming too quickly; he's hyperventilating and it steals away his common sense, the ability to assess any threat with a clear head and react accordingly. The smell of blood explodes all over his senses. He closes his hand on the gun, ducks away from the door before it opens, and presses to the wall. The door clicks as it's being unlocked, and he freezes, time slowing down to a crawl while he watches it open.
Jupiter is alone, seemingly unharmed except for a bandage on her arm, and he expects the tension locking his muscles to fall away at the sight of her, but it doesn't. He watches her eyes widen as she steps closer to him, but he can't relax, can't bring himself to move away from the wall, to take his hand off his weapon and stand down. He breaks eye contact, lowering his gaze, and the sound of his own breathing, still too fast and downright erratic, rings in his ears. She's okay. She's okay, but she could've not been, he wasn't here, he'd left her alone and vulnerable and what if something had happened, what if he'd come home to find her seriously hurt, or worse, what if he'd come home to find her gone –
“Caine,” she says, reaching out a hand but not touching him. “Hey. What's wrong?”
Her eyes scan the room and fuck, well done, now he's scared her, made her feel unsafe, here, in what's supposed to be their retreat from a world that has been turned upside down. But he can't speak, can't tell her that there's nothing wrong, his mind playing tricks and his body falling for them hook, line, and sinker, so he just shakes his head. She takes another step in his direction, and it's all he can do not to flinch back.
“Did something happen?” she asks, and he shakes his head again, feeling his cheeks go hot with embarrassment.
He swallows past a throat dry like sandpaper, wets his lips. “No, I just.” He nods towards her arm. “I smelled that. The blood.”
Her features soften with understanding. She holds the arm up, turns it this way and that so he can see the whole bandage. “It's nothing. I dropped a vase at work, cut myself while cleaning it up. No one got to me. I'm fine, really.”
Another tentative step in his direction, and this time his body doesn't feel the need to recoil. She touches his jaw, and he leans into it, inhales her scent, more intense now that she's so close, tries to let that wash the smell of blood out of his nostrils.
“I'm fine,” Jupiter says again, snaking her arms around his torso, pulling him towards her. He gives in, hugs back, chin resting on top of her head. For a few moments, they stay like that, until she shifts, drawing away just enough so she look him in the eye. She doesn't say anything else, though, and he's grateful. He leans down to kiss her. When they part, she drags him towards the mattress and flops onto it, and he goes down with her until they both lie flat down, him curled around her from behind.
Jupiter takes possession of the remote control, chiding him for his terrible taste television programs, but he hardly listens. He’s got his forehead pressed to the space between her shoulder blades, breathing her in, this close less obscured by the pervasive metallic tang that’s slow to leave his nose. He can feel her muscles move as she pushes buttons on the remote, and he can feel her chest expand and contract with her breathing. That’s what he focuses on, inhaling and exhaling in sync with her, until his body and his nerves have settled down.