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It was said that the Ruby 7 was the greatest getaway car in the galaxy. Nureyev had known it by that reputation for many years, since he was a starstruck youth on Brahma following the exploits of the Unnatural Disaster, with a heart full of rebellion and a head full of grandiose delusions. If a narrow escape was to be had, there could be no better vessel than the Ruby 7, a car that could do the impossible. That was its claim to fame, anyway, or perhaps more accurately its claim to infamy.
Nonetheless, ever since they’d landed on that forsaken Trashteroid, Nureyev had known with a queasy certainty that he would be making no more grand getaways, with or without the Ruby 7.
And with or without Juno Steel.
Which… made it that much harder to wrap his mind around the fact that here he was, sitting in stunned silence behind the wheel of the Ruby 7, and that beside him, Juno Steel was coughing the last of the Trashteroid’s stale air from his lungs. Just like old times , came the unbidden sentiment, but Nureyev shoved the thought down, down as far as it would go. This was not like the Utgard Express, this was not like any of the jobs they’d pulled together in their time on the Carte Blanche . It was not a heist they left behind them, sailing away in their getaway car in a blaze of glory– as it turned out it was a gross mischaracterization to call the Ruby 7 a car at all.
Nureyev tried to cling to reason; they had succeeded. They had shattered the Dokana Group’s insidious plan. They had freed as many debtors as could be saved. They had even managed to do the impossible and survive .
And… they had not been able to save them all. And… they could not get back the time they had wasted in the name of an impossible promise. And… their loved ones were as dead as ever, as dead as they’d always been; liberated from the machines that breathed for them and nourished them, their flesh finally freed from that static comatose limbo. The burning trash heap grew smaller and smaller in the Ruby’s rearview mirror until it might have been just another distant star, and not the funeral pyre of Dokana’s empty promises. And… of Slip.
Some pitiful sound must have escaped Nureyev, though he would not have noticed it himself had Juno not spoken, “Nureyev–”
“ No ,” the word came out hoarse, harsh, all but spat at Juno and in the corner of his eye Nureyev saw him flinch. He sucked a breath in through his teeth and forced his voice into a gentler register, “That is, not-not yet .”
“Yeah, sure,” Juno acquiesced at once, not a glimmer of his usual snark, “Of course.”
“Thank you… Juno.” he’d barely caught the endearment before it slipped from his tongue. He could feel Juno’s eye on him, knew that with his keen detective’s mind he likely had heard it even without it being spoken. For a few seconds, he thought Juno might speak again, but he allowed the silence to lapse between them.
When Nureyev glanced back at the rearview mirror, he could not tell which speck of light in the sky behind them was Slip’s final resting place. He shut his eyes and leaned his head against the Ruby’s seat, and wondered if he was in shock. He did not expect to fall asleep.
Over the coming days, Nureyev would be very grateful for that nap in the Ruby 7. The inevitable crash from the days, weeks, months, nay, years of running on little more than a flicker of hope and adrenaline – both now well and truly snuffed – made that first sleep come easily, the sheer exhaustion swallowing him in blissful nothingness. Sleep did not come easily again after that.
Nureyev had seen many planets and moons in his years of thieving, but neither business nor curiosity had ever brought him to Io. He hadn’t seen much of it, admittedly, little more than the view from his lodgings and the dreary diner Juno had dragged him to on three occasions now, but he didn’t seem to have missed much by skipping this particular frozen moon. Perhaps it was unfair of him to pass judgment on an entire moon based on one or two buildings and the frozen drive from one to the other, but Nureyev wasn’t interested in seeing more of Io and he couldn’t bring himself to care whether or not he was giving it a fair chance.
In truth, he wasn’t sure why Juno had brought him here. Dull and distracted though his mind was, he could see that the trust and friendship Juno shared with Puck was old and nigh unshakeable. There was a time when perhaps Nureyev would have felt envious of that relationship or left out as he had in his weaker moments felt aboard the Carte Blanche , but indeed he felt little about Puck Falco at all. He could scarcely resent the person who had opened their home to himself, Juno, and Rita without hesitation, or, it seemed, any advance warning of three indefinite houseguests. Juno had occasionally mentioned Puck but those stories had always been tinged with his bitterness towards the Hyperion police force and the faith his younger self had had in that sordid establishment. And, too, those tales had been riddled with narrative holes where Juno avoided mention of Diamond, or his mother, or Benzaiten unless absolutely necessary for a story’s telling.
So, Nureyev could see reasonably well why Juno might want to be on Io, where he could share the company of an old friend and colleague. But that did not explain why he had brought Nureyev here. He was sure that Juno had some intention for him. He kept waiting for Juno to corner him and force a thorough conversation out of him. Each day he expected would be the day Juno pinned him with some ultimatum or other; get talking or scram , the lady might say, or what the hell are we? or some other variation of, dammit, Nureyev, shit or get off the pot.
He would be well within his rights to do so. But weeks had passed on Io and still Juno had said no such thing. It wasn’t silence that reigned between them, no, they had spoken plenty. Every morning the detective came to his door, sometimes bringing a mug of tea or coffee or a bite of breakfast, and sometimes Nureyev successfully fooled Juno into believing he had awoken him. Nureyev preferred the days when he managed to fool him, he liked to see the flicker of a relieved smile on Juno’s face over Nureyev actually getting some sleep, even though it wasn’t true. But whether Juno knew his night had been sleepless or not, he would talk to him for a while – recount a story Puck had told him, or chat about the blizzard that would be blowing through Pickham Point that day and gripe about the cold, describe a stream Rita wanted them all to watch together, or sometimes he would even tell him something of some consequence, a scare he’d encountered in their time apart, or some bittersweet story of his childhood in Oldtown. Sometimes he would even coax Nureyev into bundling up and going for a walk, or Rita would demand his attendance in watching a stream, or Juno would drag him down to the kitchen or to the diner and watch as Nureyev forced down some food that tasted like ash on his tongue. Nureyev would do his best to engage with these things, and some days he even caught himself guilty of enjoying it a little, while other days nothing could break through the all-consuming numbness of his grief.
He knew grief was the name for what he was experiencing, though it seemed much too small a word. Nureyev was not exactly a stranger to grief, though he had never slowed down enough to feel it quite like this. He had always fled from it before, filed it away for future consideration. And he had considered fleeing; he had cooked up a plan of escape several times in his first days on Io before admitting to himself that he was simply too tired and too broken to run any longer. And as for filing it away, it was as though the filing cabinets within him had all been smashed to bits, like a bomb had gone off and obliterated all his carefully organized and ignored feelings, and they were all lying around his mind now in utter disarray. It was too much to take in and the numbness was the only defense he had to protect whatever remained of his sanity.
He was beginning to feel rather impatient with himself, and he failed to understand how Juno had any patience left. All those sleepless solitary nights meant plenty of time to think. And much of that time had been devoted to Slip, wanting desperately to cry about what a waste it all had been only for his tear ducts to fall short and remain dry. Slip’s potential, all those years of Nureyev’s life, the breakneck pace of his thieving career brought on by a sense of urgency all built on lies upon lies. He had felt something like this feeling that fateful day on New Kinshasa when his trust in Mag had shattered and he realized his entire worldview was skewed by that man’s lies. But this… this was more dreadful still. Not least of all because Mag’s betrayal should have taught him a lesson, should have taught him not to trust, should have taught him to know a con when he saw one.
But even when his mind had chased those thoughts in circles, he had still been unable to sleep and that was when his mind would invariably drift to Juno Steel. Nureyev had let himself down in a great many ways, that much was abundantly clear – indeed that seemed to be the thesis of his entire squandered life – but none of it stung as fiercely as acknowledging how thoroughly he had failed Juno.
After much pondering, what Nureyev knew was this:
Firstly, he knew that he loved Juno. He would not deny that fact, even at his most desperate to be rid of the stubborn lady, he had been unable to lie about it worth a damn. He had loved Juno since sometime in Miasma’s dreadful cave, if not earlier than that still, and in the years since then, that love had only grown. It had grown no matter how much he had tried to carve it out of his heart, no matter how many lightyears he had put between them, no matter what either of them said or did. He loved Juno Steel, and he did not doubt that he always would.
Secondly, he knew that he had had lied to Juno. Many, many times. Even on the Carte Blanche , when they had both sworn to give honesty and intimacy their best shot, even then he had lied. He had profaned the sacred moments they’d shared in the sweet quiet safety of their shared bed, lying and concealing and obfuscating even as Juno bravely bared it all. His feeling for Juno had been true, but so so little else.
Third, he knew that he had left Juno. He had disappeared without explanation and he knew all too well the bitter sting of such an act. It had struck a heartbreaking blow the one time Juno had abandoned him, but Nureyev done the same to him all the same. Time and time again.
Fourth, he… had not listened to Juno. As much as he trusted the other man’s intelligence and skill, he had ignored all of Juno’s warnings, Juno’s intuition and sensible insistence that Dokana was just another corrupt corporate entity and that the program was all a scam. Worse than not listening, he had rebuked him repeatedly, stubbornly keeping himself in blinders, as if ignoring the signs would somehow change the facts.
Fifth, he had… chosen a dead man over Juno. Despite the very real love he felt, despite the fact that Juno was so very alive… Nureyev had cast him aside for a childish fantasy. His love for Slip had been no less real, but it was also little more than a long-ago memory. In truth, after so much time had passed, even if Slip’s reanimation had been somehow achieved what would that love have possibly looked like?
And lastly, Nureyev knew that he owed his life to Juno Steel. Many times over, in fact, but most recently because Juno had had to practically carry him off that Trashteroid and throw him into the Ruby 7 when they made their escape. Nureyev had been paralyzed by it all and had it not been for Juno Steel and his unbearable stubborn streak, Nureyev would have happily let himself be consumed by the flames. In truth, he sometimes wished that Juno had left him there, so that he might have avoided feeling everything he was feeling now, but then he will see the flicker of a smile on Juno’s face and wonder how he could wish to be gone when there was beauty like that in the universe left to witness. Even if Juno could no longer be his.
That was what he had determined about Juno Steel. All that, and also that that very lady’s footsteps were approaching his door. That must mean morning had come already. Nureyev twisted his duvet in hopes that it would portray a night of restless tossing and turning, cast off his glasses, ruffled a hand through his hair, and assumed a slack facial expression. He only just managed to slow and deepen the rhythm of his breaths when the soft rap of knuckles sounded against his door and a second later it creaked open.
He fluttered open his eyes at the same time – it would be useless to try and convince Juno that he had slept through the door opening, the detective was well aware he was a light sleeper – and was met with that look . The worry lines etched into Juno’s brow eased ever so slightly, his one brown eye glittered, and the corner of his mouth crept up just so. It never stretched into a real proper smile before Juno would school his features into what he must have thought was a neutral expression, though the guilt was plain enough for Nureyev to spot. He hated to see that guilt almost as much as he yearned to see that glimpse of an almost-smile. What in all the worlds in all the galaxies did Juno have to feel guilty over?
“Hey, Nureyev,” Juno said, soft and sweet and as casually as he could manage, “How’d you sleep?” Nureyev hummed, a sound that Juno could interpret as a sleepy waking-up noise or an answer, whichever suited him. Nureyev would not outright lie to Juno again, not if he could help it, “Can I come in?”
“If you’d like,” Nureyev murmured.
“I’d like,” Juno parried gently, and Nureyev almost smiled himself. That was about as close to flirting as Juno got these days, “Brought you some coffee,” he said, a bit apologetically, “Puck finished off the good stuff so it’s that bland sim-crap he had when we first got here, but the caffeine works just as well.”
“Thank you, Juno,” Nureyev said, sitting up and accepting the cup. Juno opened his mouth, and then closed it. Nureyev took a sip of the coffee – it was rather bad, but he couldn’t trust himself to judge it fairly in any case. Juno opened his mouth again, but nothing came out, and then he began to turn towards the door.
Most days, Juno tried valiantly to make conversation, but not every day. Nureyev’s heart sank slightly. If Juno walked away, nothing else was likely to break up the monotony of his mourning, “Juno!” Nureyev was surprised by his own voice, but not nearly as surprised as Juno, who tripped over his own feet and only just managed to catch himself against the doorframe. He leaned his back against it and turned to face Nureyev, his expression expectant and fretful and scared, like a small animal unsure if it would need to fight or flee or fawn, “We – I – Would you–?” Nureyev cleared his throat, and painfully dragged out a true statement, “I don’t want to be alone… today.”
The emotions flitted across Juno’s face too rapidly for Nureyev to identify, but then Juno was back at his bedside, “Yeah, of course,” Juno seemed for a few seconds to consider perching on the edge of the bed, decided against it, and then asked, “Do you want to stay here or do you wanna go somewhere?”
“I… believe a change of scenery might… do me some good.” How did other people simply walk around telling the truth as if it were easy or something?
“Sure, yeah, that makes sense,” Juno said, his brow furrowed slightly now and Nureyev could practically see the gears turning in his head, coming up with a suitable outing, “You get dressed and, uh, meet me downstairs when you’re ready?”
Nureyev nodded his assent and watched Juno leave the room. He drank down the dreadful coffee in one gulp and set the mug on the table beside the bed. One long bitter sigh and he dragged himself upright and dressed distractedly. He glanced in the mirror and watched his own frown deepen. He looked like a ghost of his former self. Paler and thinner than usual, his hair a dull mop on his head and a few days past being in need of a shampoo, the lines on his face drawn deeper than he’d ever seen them. He had abandoned his rigorous skincare routine and hadn’t bothered to put on makeup since before . He looked so old.
But what did it matter? What was the point in styling his hair when it would be squashed beneath a knitted hat anyway? What was the point in accentuating his features with clothes or makeup when he hadn’t the energy to act at all? And even if he did, it wouldn’t fool Juno. Juno knew him far too well at this point to be dazzled or distracted by his beauty or the illusion of beauty, as the case were. The days of wooing and diverting Juno that way were behind him, he couldn’t do it anymore, and even if he could, he had resolved to be honest.
Nureyev pulled on another sweater and went down to meet Juno.
Juno looked beautiful, of course, and Nureyev could not help but find himself lacking. He was dressed casually enough in thick knit trousers that hugged his strong legs and a fuzzy sweater, his puffy brown coat with the synth-fur lined hood folded over his arm. But the petrol blue shade of the sweater was so striking against the warm brown of his skin, and the way his hands fiddled with the coat and the way he rocked his weight betrayed a nervousness that Nureyev had found so endearing in Juno since the first day they’d met. Regardless of his age, it made him look like a teenager about to go on a date.
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” Nureyev intoned politely as he descended the stairs and felt an unusual flutter of nerves in his own gut as Juno’s eye scanned him up and down. He couldn’t imagine Juno was admiring the way he looked right now, but Juno half-smiled at him all the same. Beautiful.
Juno waved off the apology and pulled on his coat before grabbing a second coat from the hooks by the door and holding it open. Nureyev blinked at it before recognizing it as his own. Embarrassed, he felt heat in his cheeks as he allowed Juno to guide the coat over his arms. Even with two sweaters under it, it fit a little roomier than it once had. Juno’s hands petted down his shoulders to encourage the fabric to lay flat, and regardless of the innocence of the touch and the layers of fabric between them, it made Nureyev’s stomach do somersaults and he yearned for Juno not to pull away. He did, of course, and Nureyev told himself that his stomach was merely fighting with the coffee he had drank entirely too fast.
The cold air of Io was always surprising. It felt like entering a freezer to leave Puck’s front door, but Nureyev did not burrow his face into his coat to avoid the cold but held his head high, relishing the way the cold air bit at his skin. It was… almost refreshing. The Ruby 7 was directly outside and opened the passenger side door for him with an obliging whistle, and he got in. Juno got in beside and the Ruby whistled again, but without Juno giving any instructions or touching the wheel or pedals, the car-that-wasn’t-a-car began to drive. It did not take the road to town, however, but peeled away from the buildings and into the open tundra beyond.
“Where are we going?” Nureyev asked, blinking rapidly to adjust his eyes to the way the light reflected off all that snow and ice.
“Want to show you something,” Juno’s eyes didn’t leave the frozen wastes beyond the windshield, but the corner of his lips quirked up in a smile that Nureyev knew was directed at him.
They drove in silence for some time. The two of them had shared many companionable silences since their initial meeting back on Mars but there was nothing comfortable in the silence that fell between them now. It wasn’t even so much a silence as it was an absence, so many things unsaid that Nureyev doubted they could ever say them all even if they started right that very second.
He trusted Juno Steel implicitly, but there was a small part of him that wondered if he was just driving Nureyev to Io’s spaceport to get rid of him once and for all. It was merely a passing thought, but once it had its claws in him, he couldn’t seem to shake it. That would be perfectly reasonable after all he had put him through, that was really what he should have done sooner.
He crested a ridge and Nureyev’s jaw dropped at the view that unfolded beyond the rise. There were plenty of old volcanoes on Io, stoppered up and long since frozen solid, but this was different. It did not look like a volcano, or even like a hill, it looked like a vast lake of jewels, or perhaps a small sea, “Juno,” Nureyev whispered in awe, leaning forward in his seat and gripping the dash with both hands, “What is this place?”
“It’s called ‘Loki Patera’,” Juno said, “And before you ask I have no idea where the hell it got a name like that.”
Nureyev’s brain sputtered to a start. After weeks of using it only to obsess over the sorry circumstances of his own life, it was a little slow to rifle through the contents of his memory to solve the puzzle of that name, “Old Earth words,” he muttered, “Though from two very different cultural origins; interesting. ‘Loki’ was the name of an ancient god, not unlike ‘Juno’, as a matter of fact, though they inhabited different pantheons. If memory serves, he was a trickster god, a bit of an agent of chaos, often shapeshifting and double-crossing and things of that sort,” Juno snorted beside him but he did not trust himself to see what the look on his face betrayed, as he feared Juno was thinking there might be some similarity between Nureyev and that particular old god, “And ‘patera’... hm, I believe that was the name of some sort of plate, or perhaps, no, something closer to a bowl. Used by a very ancient Earth civilization for ritual drinking, if… if I’m not… mistaken.”
Nureyev’s words faltered as he glanced at Juno beside him, head cocked to one side and giving him a strange look. Juno blinked, “Go on.”
Nureyev shrugged, “That is all I can remember about either of those words, and as I said, I may be misremembering any or all of it.” Juno’s lips twitched and Nureyev recognized the tell, “What is funny about any of that, Juno?”
“Nothing really, it’s just…” Juno looked away, fidgeting with the handle on the driver’s side door, “I like hearing you ramble on like that, about smart stuff like ancient Earth history. It’s stupid but I just like it.”
“No wonder you were so quickly charmed by Rex Glass.” the words were out of Nureyev’s mouth before he was even aware he was thinking them, and he opened his own door in a hurry, saying, “But that’s rather ancient history too, I suppose.”
This place offered no protection from Io’s cutting wind, but it was worth it for the view. The basin before them shone and shimmered, frozen ripples of black igneous rock swirled together with various other minerals, gleaming shades of orange and green and pink, all of it crusted with ice like a coating of sugar crystals. It was strange and breathtaking and Nureyev had never seen anything like it.
“It’s bizarre to think this whole place used to be fire and ash and gas,” Juno mused, having come to stand beside Nureyev, “They must have thought he was a lunatic, whoever it was who decided to terraform this place and try and make it habitable. I guess he succeeded, like technically, but he just changed it from a place that wanted to burn you to a place that wanted to freeze you to death. Still…” the snow crunched under his feet as he stepped a little closer to Nureyev but not close enough for their shoulders to touch, “It’s pretty beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Nureyev agreed, his eyes tracing a ribbon of black rock, “Quite beautiful.”
Slip would have found it geologically fascinating. He couldn’t help but think it, and in any case, he had been filing away thoughts like that for years. But things were… different now. There was no possibility, however tenuous, of one day showing this to Slip because Slip was gone. And filing the thought away neatly was about as improbable as Slip somehow coming back to life after all. A small frustrated sound escaped Nureyev, something between a grumble and a whine.
“I mean, I’m sure you’ve seen way more impressive things that this,” Juno said, and from the defensive note in his voice, Nureyev suspected he had misinterpreted the sound, “I’m sure it wouldn’t have even been a footnote in your tour of the stars.”
It was like a shock to his system, hearing Juno bring that up, “Juno…”
“No, hey, look, sorry,” Juno floundered, frowning deeply and flapping his mittened hands, “Dunno why I said that, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“ Don’t , please, Juno,” Nureyev pleaded, “Don’t apologize to me, you have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I’m supposed to be cheering you up!” Juno insisted, “Pretty crappy of me to bring up the whole running away together thing that never happened right now, like, way to go, Steel, that’ll be a real pick-me-up!”
“It is I who should be sorry, Juno,” Nureyev argued, “I made you that offer with very little regard for how to possibly make it happen,” he shook his head, eyes stinging from the cold wind, “And then had the nerve to hold it against you that you walked out, but in truth, had you stayed, it would have been no better. My debt, my… obligation to Dokana, it was always going to come between you and I.” Juno was looking at him strangely, like Nureyev was some broken thing that Juno did not know how to mend, “Don’t look at me like that, please, I beg of you, Juno. In… in a different world, it might have been different, it could have been sublime, if only I hadn’t been such an utter fool.” Nureyev choked on the words, the tears that had defied him for weeks all bubbling to the surface now, streaming hot from his eyes only to freeze on his cheeks.
“Nureyev, hey–” Juno reached for him but Nureyev took a shaky step back.
“Why did you bring me here? ” Nureyev demanded in a raw shout.
Juno’s shoulders curved inward and he glanced back at the view, his expression crumpling as he asked, “You really don’t like it?”
“Not that , it’s incredible,” Nureyev corrected himself tearfully, “I, I mean here ,” he gestured broadly, “Io.”
“Where was I supposed to bring you?” Juno countered, “Vespa and Buddy are finally on their honeymoon and I didn’t think you’d really want to go to Mars, in any case–”
He still wasn’t understanding the question, “Why are you still here with me at all, Juno? After that debacle with Dokano, why not just drop me at the nearest spaceport and finally wash your hands of me?”
A flicker of anger on Juno’s features and he stood up taller, crossing his arms across his chest, “Nureyev, I chased you halfway across the goddamn galaxy, why would I just ditch you now?”
“ Because Juno,” Nureyev’s voice faltered around the impatient whine, “I was never worthy of you in the first place! That must be obvious by now! You’ve saved my life, you’ve freed me and now you can move onto other projects.”
Juno was glowering now, “ ‘Projects’? Nureyev, what? What are you even talking about? You were never a project to me, you’re the man I love and if you’d stop being such a goddamn drama queen you’d know that that’s why I'm still here!!” Nureyev blinked at Juno, trying to wrap his mind around Juno’s words. He had loved him, yes, but surely he couldn’t still…
As fast as it had come, Juno’s anger appeared to wither, “Dammit, I’m sorry, you’re not being dramatic,” he backtracked, “You’re grieving and I’m doing an amazingly terrible job of supporting you. Grief is fucked and I get that, I really do, and I want to give you all the time and space you need, and I just, Nureyev ,” the strain in his voice as he spoke Nureyev’s name speared Nureyev’s already battered heart, “I just want to help you. Because I love you.”
“Juno… how can you still love me?” Nureyev asked, voice barely above a whisper, “How can you forgive me, after the way I treated you?”
“I… never said I forgave you,” Juno tore his gaze from Nureyev, turning his head to look instead at the lake of long-frozen lava, “That one’s gonna be a little more complicated.”
Oh. So that was how it was. Yes. That made sense.
“I see,” he said, looking at his own feet, the contrast of his black boots against the snowy ground, “Then you do see how unforgivable my conduct has been–”
Juno gave a huge groan, “Will you stop ? Stop making assumptions, stop putting words in my mouth! I said it would be complicated, I never said anything about unforgivable,” he sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, “Just… we’re gonna need to talk about a lot of stuff that it hasn’t felt right making you talk about yet! I can barely keep myself from hugging you and squeezing you because you just look so small and sad, but I know you just want to be alone, and, and nurse your wounds on your own or whatever, and I’m just trying really hard to be respectful of your grieving process and–”
“You don’t have to do that.” Nureyev interrupted, shaking his head and taking a step closer to Juno.
“Wuh?” Juno asked eloquently.
“If,” Nureyev said delicately, close enough to Juno now that he could feel the plumes of his warm breath, “You feel the urge to hug me, by all means do not stand in your own way.”
Juno canted his head to one side, tilted back slightly to look up at Nureyev, “Youuu… want me to hug you?”
“More than anything.” Nureyev breathed out.
No sooner had the words left his lips than the detective's arms were wrapping around him and pulling him close. They were both bundled up and he couldn’t quite feel the lady under all that material, but it didn’t matter. He buried his face in the warm synth-fur of Juno’s hood and lifted his own arms to tug them closer together and when his tears began to come again, Juno only held him that much tighter, his hood and his hair absorbing them before they could freeze in the wind.
Being in Juno’s arms again was like coming home. Like having heard your home had gone up in smoke only to walk down your street and find it still standing after all, the door open to you, and all your comforts waiting just inside where you last left them. It was more than he deserved.
“Let it out, babe,” Juno murmured into Nureyev’s scarf, “I got you.”
He did not know how long they stood that way, but they were both shivering violently by the time Juno suggested they head back to Puck’s. The Ruby 7’s interior was very warm, and for the first couple minutes of the drive, they both thawed out in silence, “I,” Nureyev’s voice croaked and he cleared his throat, “I don’t know that I’m ready to talk about all of it just yet.”
“We can start small.” Juno replied.
“I… Juno, I know you said forgiveness will be complicated but I need you to know. I am so sorry ,” that was the most important thing to get off his chest, “The way I treated you… not just you, but the whole Aurinko team, Ruby…”
Ruby chirped in a way that sounded distinctly forgiving
“You had tunnel vision,” Juno shrugged, “I’m not excusing it, or forgiving it, but I do get it. Slip had been your priority for so long, I couldn’t expect that to just magically change because of me.”
“Slip was gone before I ever met you,” Nureyev said softly, bitterly, “I was too much of a fool to realize.”
“You… believed in something. Even if you were wrong about it, faith isn’t something to be ashamed of, Nureyev,” Juno’s fingers fidgeted on the steering wheel, even though Ruby was doing the drive without his assistance, “I admire that about you.”
“As I admire your moralistic streak.” Nureyev said, “We are both moralistic fools, I suppose, at the end of the day.”
“‘S’what makes us so perfect for each other.” Juno said, flashing Nureyev a shy smile that threatened to make his heart sing. Could it actually still do that?
“I love you, Juno Steel,” Nureyev said, “I have never stopped loving you. I need you to know that.”
“I know, Nureyev,” Juno said, as the Ruby pulled up beside Puck’s home, “It’s the one thing you absolutely stink at lying about. But still…” his fingers brushed Nureyev’s cheek for barely an instant, “I’d be the one lying if I said it wasn’t a relief to hear it.”
“I’ll tell you a million more times, Juno,” Nureyev said as they walked hurriedly to the door, ready to be out of the cold, “I love you, I love you.”
Juno rolled his eye as they reached the door, “C’mon, let’s warm up,” they entered the house and it was a relief to peel off their outer layers and kick off their ice-crusted shoes, “I’ll make us hot cocoa or something and we can get under some blankets and talk,” Nureyev’s trepidation must have shown on his face, because Juno went on, “And when it gets to be too much, we can just hug again.”
“That sounds nice.” Nureyev said a bit wistfully as he stood by the fridge and watched Juno move around Puck’s kitchen like he owned the place.
“I don’t expect us to fix this in a day, and you shouldn’t either.” Juno said, encouraging rather than discouraging.
“Yes, but… I’m ready to try.” Nureyev said, and he meant it.
Juno smiled – not a cautious, fleeting flicker of a smile, but a real smile. Broad and beautiful and hopeful, lips parting to show the gap in his teeth. Soon, Nureyev would kiss him again, would feel those lips and those teeth. A feeling came over him all of a sudden, a powerful urge to do whatever it took, have every hard conversation and scour the galaxy for solutions, anything to earn Juno’s forgiveness. He had fought for years to save Slip, with nothing but hope to keep him going, and he would work just as hard to rebuild from the wreckage of his and Juno’s relationship. Hope flickered faintly in his chest at the very thought; it would take more than hope alone, that he knew, but the hope in and of itself was a miracle. He’d thought hope had left him for good, but leave it to Juno Steel to bring it back to life.