#but when he leaves juno is in fact still waiting for him down the hall (see pic) having collected a bunch of books literally abt ocd

[liquidstar]

a friend who'd wait :)

[timelesslords]

invisible string

read on Ao3 

Missing scene from Mark of Athena- Annabeth realizes the curse of Achilles is gone. 

Annabeth wasn't one to call fighting monsters fun, but she might just have to make an exception for ones made of tar.

Okay, so the actual monsters hadn't been fun. And really, fighting monsters was never really fun. But she couldn't deny that there was something exhilarating about fighting alongside Percy again, after so many months apart. She had been worried that they might be out of step, that the distance and the time might have weakened the bond they shared. That Percy's memories wouldn't quite be the same, or still be distant and fuzzy like Jason's. But they were as in sync as ever. As soon as the first monster had risen from the tar, all it had taken was one glance to solidify their strategy for dealing with it.

Add in Percy's new shape-shifting friend Frank for a speedy getaway, and Annabeth had the most fun she had had in months. Of course, there was still the minor issue of actually getting the ship in flying shape once they got back. And being separated from Percy again, even if it was only a few floors away, instead of hundreds of miles. And the aftermath of trying to get the tar out of her hair– that had been something Annabeth seriously never wanted to repeat. 

But something was bothering her, something she didn't have the time or mental energy to explore until she was sitting on her bunk, trying to dry her hair. Percy had fought impressively; he always did. But he hadn't been the one-man army Annabeth had gotten accustomed to, during and after the war. He hadn't been invincible.

She wasn't sure– wasn't positive– but her gut was telling her that something was off. And she thought she might know what, even though the thought of it made her stomach do somersaults. 

They were going to have a meeting in the mess hall soon, and she didn't have a lot of time. But she had to know. So Annabeth slipped out of her cabin, making her way towards the one she knew Percy had claimed an hour or so earlier. She knocked, but didn't wait for a response before opening the door. 

"Hey," Percy said, sitting up from his bunk. He looked pleased to see her, his classic troublemaker smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

"Hey yourself." Annabeth said, letting herself in and shutting the door behind her. It wasn't technically allowed for them to be in the same room together alone, especially with the door closed, but Annabeth had brought her invisibility cap just in case. She could probably slip it on fast enough to avoid being caught. Probably.

Percy scooted over, making room on the bed for her. She sat down next to him, and he wrapped his arm around her. It felt so nice to just be together Annabeth almost didn't bring it up, but the long, shallow scratch on the arm holding her made that impossible. 

She traced the scratch with her finger. It shouldn't have been possible, and yet here it was, staring at her in the face.

"It doesn't hurt." Percy said, noticing her attention, but misreading her concern. 

"But it shouldn't be there." Annabeth said. 

Percy looked at her strangely, like he didn't understand what she meant. Annabeth felt a cold and familiar fear in the pit of her stomach. Ever since they had cracked Hera's sick riddle and figured out that Percy and Jason had been swapped, Annabeth had been haunted by the very real possibility that even if they managed to find Percy, he wouldn't remember her. Obviously that hadn't happened, but this wasn't a small thing either. What if Percy's memories weren't as intact as he was letting on?

"The curse of Achilles," Annabeth prompted, trying to keep the fear out of her voice, "You should be invincible." 

"Oh! That." Percy said, recognition finally flashing across his face. Annabeth was suddenly torn between abject relief and the very strong urge to yell at him for making her panic. She settled on relief. 

"I had to give it up when I crossed the Tiber.” Percy explained, “Hera– or Juno, whatever, she said it was a Greek curse, that I couldn't carry it into Roman territory."

Without thinking, Annabeth took her free hand and slid it around Percy's back, brushing her fingers over the small of his back, his Achilles heel. Percy had told her that it felt like a thousand little lightning bolts were racing up and down his skin, when she touched it. She remembered the look in his eyes when he had guided her fingers there for the first time, equally terrified and exhilarated. She got no such reaction now; just a sort of sad apologetic look. 

She pulled back her hand. Annabeth had already known intellectually that it was gone, but it still felt like something had snapped inside her.

"Oh." Annabeth said. 

"Disappointed?" Percy asked. He was studying her expression carefully, like he was trying to decipher a puzzle. 

Annabeth sighed. She'd originally started calling him Seaweed Brain because he could be so obtuse sometimes, especially when it came to reading her. He hadn't even realized she liked him after they'd kissed in that stupid volcano, for gods' sake. But the longer they knew each other, the more difficult it became for her to hide anything from him. He was actually surprisingly perceptive, especially now that he knew to be looking.

"No, no." Annabeth said, wrapping her hand in his, "I just– I don't know. It feels like a bad omen." 

"I've honestly gotten used to not having it." Percy admitted. He interlocked his fingers with hers, and Annabeth was pleased to find that they fit together as perfectly as they had before. That, at least, hadn't changed.

"You never really needed it." Annabeth said, truthfully. Percy had always been a skilled fighter. And, okay, maybe it had been necessary for the war, but only because they had been so hopelessly outnumbered. But unless they were facing 250 monsters to one demigod again, Percy could easily hold his own without it.

"You're still upset though." Percy noted. 

Annabeth bit her lip. She felt a bit stupid for it, but she wasn't really upset about Percy losing the protection. Sure, it sucked that he was a little more breakable now, but he hadn't exactly been very breakable to begin with. 

In truth, she felt worse that the connection between them forged by the Achilles curse had been wiped away. Not just her having taken that knife for him, though that was part of it. Percy had told her later that the thing that had kept him tethered to his life, to himself when he bathed in the Styx had been her. She had been his lifeline, literally. Maybe that was how she had known to take that knife for him in the first place, because that little spot had tied them together in some hallowed, inseparable way. 

And now it was gone, along with their matching grey streaks, the only other physical reminder of the bond they shared. Annabeth was embarrassed to admit how much it had upset her when the grey had finally worn out of her hair. 

"It's just... I don't know. It feels someone cut an invisible string between us." Annabeth said. 

Percy nodded, like he understood, and Annabeth knew he did. knew he was thinking of all the same things she was. As if to prove it, he took his free hand and brushed the one curl that had once been grey behind her ear. She, too, could pick out his strand of hair that the sky had marred, even if it had turned dark again. 

"I felt like that too, at first." Percy admitted, "I didn't want to give it up. I knew it was important somehow. But I also knew if I wanted to see you again, it was the only way." 

Annabeth looked in his eyes, warm and earnest, and felt something in her chest glow. It was still incredible to her that he had remembered her, despite Hera's full force. She knew it had to have been him, and just him; Hera hated her too much to leave the memory of her in his mind. 

"I guess I can deal with you being a little more delicate. As long as we're together." Annabeth said. Percy smiled, squeezed her hand.

"Delicate, huh?" 

"Like fine china." Annabeth teased, "I'm going to have to watch out for you."

"You always watch out for me." Percy smiled. 

"Somebody's got to." Annabeth said.

They sat quietly for a minute, just enjoying each other's company. 

"You're still my lifeline, you know." Percy said, suddenly, "Wiping away the curse didn't change that." 

It was Annabeth's turn to squeeze his hand, because if she tried to speak she thought she might cry. She settled for kissing him instead, slow and sweet, revelling in the fact that he was finally back with her again.

They only broke apart when Annabeth heard footsteps coming down the hall. She managed to shove her hat on just as Piper knocked on the door.

"Come it!" Percy called, desperately trying to straighten out his shirt. Annabeth bit down the urge to laugh.

"Meeting in the mess hall in five." Piper said, poking her head in the door, "You too Annabeth."

"She's uh- she's not here." Percy said. It was so deeply unconvincing, what with Percy's flushed face and mussed hair, that Annabeth actually had to cover her mouth to prevent a giggle from escaping. Piper smirked. Even if she hadn't been a daughter of Aphrodite, the scene would have been fairly obvious to most onlookers. And Piper was most definitely a daughter of Aphrodite.

"You're a terrible liar." she said, amused, "But whatever. If you happen to see her, could you let her know?"

"Yeah. Yup. I can do that." Percy said, but Piper had already disappeared down the hall. Annabeth shimmered back into view, unable to hold back her laughter anymore.

"Is she always like that?" Percy asked, his face still red. 

"Oh yeah. I think you're going to like her." Annabeth said, standing up, pulling Percy with her. They walked down to the mess hall hand and hand.

So maybe the curse was gone, and the grey streaks in their hair had faded away. But they didn't need those physical reminders of each other, not really. He had remembered her, and she had found him. They were tying new invisible strings to each other, ones that couldn't be severed by any sword, or any river or any god. 

And Annabeth had a feeling this was just the start. 

[thiswasinevitableid]

Indruck 22 for the meet uglies?

Here you go! I went SFW on this one

you’re on a date with this awful, awful person who keeps getting under my skin because my friend and I have been eavesdropping all night and your date says something that makes me snap … I thought it was a first date, not a three year relationship

“...such a waste of money. I mean, why spend all that to get something tacky on your skin?”

Indrid rolls his eyes at Barclay from across the counter of the Amnesty Lodge coffee shop, the cooks arms and hands sporting a plethora of tattoos rivaled only by Indrid’s collection.

“I dunno, l like the one I got.” The other man--who seems to be on the worst first date of his life--shrugs.

“You honestly think you and Juno couldn’t have spent that money on something else in college?”

“I mean maybe but, uh, we were earnin our own cash, figured we got to decide what to spend it on.”

“Hmmmm” the first guy sips his coffee, “sounds like a typical excuse for someone who doesn’t want to admit a mistake.”

“C’mon, that ain’t fair-”

“Ugh, stop saying ain’t! I can’t take someone who talks like that to meet my family.” Before the target of his disdain can respond, he snaps his fingers, “hey, buddy, can I get a refill or what?”

“The station for black coffee refills is right there, sir.” Barclay indicates the very obvious corner of dispensers, his voice the kind of calm that Indrid knows means he’s memorizing this guys face to warn other staff about.

They earn a brief reprieve while The Asshole leaves the table. When he returns, he’s shaking his head.

“God, have you looked at the photos they’ve got up? Who the fuck wants to look at bones?”

Indrid quickly glances at his friend to be sure he’s permitted to start a fight. Barclay nods.

“Quite a lot of people.” Indrid spins on his stool. “I’ve sold a number of them just from the display here. So perhaps you could keep your rude, unclultured, close-minded, obnoxious mouth shut.”

The man balks, looks to his companion for help. He offers none, mouth trying to form words and only coming out with halves of ones (except for the “fucks” which are plentiful).

“Oh my fucking god, you agree with him! That’s it, I’m out.” The Asshole pushes back from the table and storms out. The remaining man leaps up, panicked.

“Fuck.”

“It’s okay man, shitty first dates happen to all of us.” Barclay offers from beside the bakery case.

“I mean yeah, they do, but that wasn’t one of ‘em. That was my boyfriend of three fuckin years.” He dashes out of the shop, sparing a final glare at Indrid as he does.

Indrid trades a sheepish look with his friend, “Oops.”

-------------------------------------------------

“I’m glad you finally get to meet Duck!” Aubrey grins over her shoulder as she and Indrid wind down the hall at the office Kepler magazine.

Founded by childhood friends, Kepler worked a combination of print and video content that saw its subscribers and revenue climb while other publications struggled to stay afloat. Aubrey was head of the video team, though she contributed content to the magazine in the form of interviews about environmental activists of color and sustainable gift guides.

Kepler has three sections: travel, science, and environmental writing. Indrid now has the honor of being one of their primary photographers. He started two weeks ago and is thoroughly enjoying his work and the company of the other staff. The only person he’s yet to meet is Duck Newton, one of the founders and main reporters, as he was off on an assignment.

Aubrey knocks, gets a friendly “come in” and ushers Indrid into the office.

Looking at him from behind the desk is The Asshole’s Boyfriend, whose face goes from open and friendly to confused, then to perturbed.

“You okay?”

“I, uh, fuck, n-ye.” Duck sighs, “remember how I told you Alex and I split after a shitty date in a coffee shop?” He points at Indrid, “this was the fella who, uh, expedited the process.”

“Ohhhh.” Aubrey frowns, then shrugs with a smile, “whelp, he’s our new photographer. We’ll see you around.” She hurries them outside once more, shutting the doors. As they head back the way they came, she whispers, “his ex was a huge fucking dick, so if word gets out everyone is gonna think you’re a fucking hero.”

“He didn’t seem to see it that way.”

“It was only a few weeks ago, so it’s still pretty fresh. He’ll heal from it okay, Duck’s a tough cookie. And I’m sure you guys’ll get along eventually.”

---------------------------------------

“Juno, please, you gotta come with me.”

“I would bud, except it’s April and I’s fifth wedding anniversary that weekend. And no, we already have plans, so we can’t just take over this assignment as part of the celebration.”

“Fuck” Duck leans back in his chair.

“...You really asked everyone?”

“Ye-no, fuck-”

“Duck.”

“I ain’t asked Indrid yet.”

“There it is.” Juno smirks, “you gotta ask; besides, we were gonna have him do illustrations for the feature, but photos would be even better. And we both know it ain’t his fault y’all broke up.”

Duck nods, promises to ask Indrid after lunch. He finds the photographer flipping through his files from his shoot for next issues cover. His silver hair is pulled back, red glasses sitting on the desk beside him so he can gauge color correctly.

Duck kind of wants to pull the silver locks just to see what happens. It’s not his fault Indrid looks like his Sophomore roommate who he had a raging crush on, only with more tattoos and a much more captivating face. Pity he helped fuck up Duck’s last chance at a stable relationship.

“Hey, Indrid, you got a minute?”

The photographer cocks his head.

“I, uh, so we got a feature on this whole chunk of places touting themselves as ‘sustainable romantic getaways. I booked a bunch of places, but a lot of ‘em will turn me away if I turn up solo. And the person I was supposed to go with ain’t an option any more. Neither is anyone else. You get my drift?”

Indrid pinches the bridge of his nose, “you realize this is a terrible idea, yes?”

“Hey, we been workin together just fine. Ain’t we? Wait, fuck, I ain’t been treatin you bad even when I’m tryin to be professional, am I?”

“No, you’ve been perfectly polite. But there’s a world of difference between being cordial in an office and going on what’s functionally a vacation together.”

Duck crosses his arms, “I ain’t about to lose eight hundred bucks in deposits.”

Indrid blinks, then chuckles, “Fair. What day do we leave?”

-------------------------------------------------

The temperature rises and the air dries as they speed south on Five. Indrid fiddles with games on his phone as cover for the list of “will this be a disaster or not” he’s mentally constructing. So far the signs are positive; Duck isn’t very chatty, but neither is Indrid. They have similar tastes in music, which makes much more sense when Duck explains he was a burn-out in high school. He also isn’t agitated by Indrid stimming, which makes it easier for the photographer to relax and enjoy the drive.

But they haven’t spoken about the elephant in the car, and Indrid resolves not to be the first to do so. No point in poking the sore spot if he doesn’t have to.

They stop at a Sinclair for gas. Duck reaches into his glovebox for something as Indrid climbs out, comes away with a photo instead. It’s one of those ones from a photobooth, faded but unmistakably him and his ex. His face falls for a second and Indrid scurries into the Dairy Queen attached to the convenience store.

As he waits in line, he turns one fact over in his mind like a picture he’s trying to make sense of; it would be easier to let their awkward first meeting go if he did not genuinely like the other man. He’s charming, in a quiet way, and very friendly. He’s built like the guys Indrid always got useless crushes on in college, usually third tier frat boys or--if he was lucky--a bear a few years older than him who liked his men on the odd side.

He doesn’t like seeing Duck sad. The sadness isn’t something he can fix. The stalemate between these two facts annoy the living hell out of him.

He’s next in line, glances up to confirm what he wants, and gets an idea. Last week, he overheard Duck talking with Aubrey about roadtrip snacks of their youth.

“One chocolate dipped cone, on me.” He holds the treat out to the other man.

“Oh. Uh, thanks. These are my favorite from when I was a kid.” Duck’s smile returns.

“I remembered. Or, ah, that is, I remembered you saying that.”

The smile changes, “you didn’t need to.”

“I wanted to. Shall we?”

“Yep. Uh, you gonna be able to drive and eat that at the same time?”

“Do not doubt my ability to consume ice cream under difficult circumstances, Duck Newton.”

They make it to their first stop unscathed. It’s what Duck refers to as, “eco-bespoke,” a fancy spa and hotel built in a former school, the kind that was made in an era of beautiful instead of grim educational architecture.

“Goats!” Indrid claps his hands, delighted, at the two animals stabled near the main building. One of it’s supposed sustainable elements is the small farm that helps feed the on-site restaurant. Duck smirks and Indrid suddenly feels the gulf in their upbringings, “Ah, I suppose they’re not exciting to someone who grew up in a rural town.”

“Nah, but they’re damn cute.” Duck checks the tag on their room keys, “okay, we’re in the green building, room 2B.”

Indrid snaps some photos as they cross the grounds, more to remind himself of things he wants to come back to later than anything else. He’s busy studying a strange mark on the wall by their door when Duck says, “I can sleep on the floor.”

“Why--oh” he stares at the single bed, “in retrospect, we should have seen this coming.”

“Yeah.” Duck drops his bag near the closet, slides the door to look for spare linens. Indrid summons his courage, finds it lacking, and so bolsters it with nonchalance.

“It’s a king, we could easily share.”

“You’d, uh, you’d be okay with that?”

“It is only narrow definitions of masculinity that mean something like sharing a bed is inherently sexual.”

He’s not entirely sure that made sense, but Duck nods, “You want the right side or left?”

“Right, please.”

“Great. And, uh, Indrid? Thanks for rollin with all this. I, uh, I know it’s fuckin weird but this is a huge feature for the magazine and we woulda been fucked if we had to pull it.”

Indrid gingerly sits on his side of the bed, “You’re welcome. And I don;t know about you, but” he smiles, catches Duck watching him intently in the mirror, “I’m enjoying myself so far.”

------------------------------------------------------

“Why has an activity that renders one incapable of using their thighs been deemed ‘romantic?” Indrid mumbles, face-down on the bed to offer his burning legs relief.

“Fuck if I know.” Duck groans as he sits next to him, “Kinda fun, but if I was doin this to get you in bed, I’d be fucked.”

“I am in bed” Indrid teases.

“And if I tried to put the moves of you you’d toss me outta it. Assumin I could even move myself that close.” Duck nudges him, then clears his throat, “uh, I mean, not like we’d be doin that-”

“Nono, point taken.” Indrid rolls over. The horseback ride was one of the “couples exclusives;” a trot out to a beautiful oasis for a gourmet picnic. Indrid got some excellent shots, including one of Duck with honeycomb dripping down his chin, which he will not be offering up to editors but may keep for himself. For it’s beautiful composition, of course.

Mercifully, their next stop is the pool. Indrid settles himself in the hot tub while Duck types some notes on his phone. Then his friend doffs his bathrobe and Indrid may as well be in a dream. In the steaming, echoing paradise of multi-colored tile and ecstatic shouts, Duck stands like one of the angelic fountains at its heart has come to life.

“You okay there, ‘Drid?”

“Yes.” He hopes his lack of glasses means Duck will mistake his blatant staring for trying to get his vision in focus.

“Then scoot your cu--uh, your butt over so I can sit down.”

Indrid gladly moves aside, finds he’s so comfortable with Duck pressed against him that he begins nodding off in the warm lull of the water. When the other man nudges him, saying it’s time to go, he finds a strong arm draped over his shoulder and Duck’s smile the most relaxed it’s been all trip.

Their last task at this location is to locate the speakeasy somewhere on the premises and order the “lovers delight” (only available to couples). To do so, they follow clues purple light bulbs, doors that lead to tiny, art-filled rooms, secret staircases, and a false supply closet to a dark wooded, dimly lit, incredibly pleasant bar looking out over the property. The drink turns out to be a massive goblet (more a bowl that someone stuck on a stem) of ginger syrup, prickly pear juice, and silver tequila.

It also turns out to be incredibly strong. So much so that when they get back to the room, Indrid loses his balance getting his shoes off, which makes Duck laugh, which results in both of them flopping onto the bed.

“S’fun. You’re, you’re real good at the clues. Should, should go to an escape room when we get home.”

“Wasn’t, hic, that hard. They, they want, hic, want you to find it.”

“Take the compliment, goofus” Duck pushes his shoulder.

“You’re, hic, the goofus.”

“Nuh uh.” Duck sticks his tongue out. Indrid does the same, then licks his cheek just to hear him laugh.

Duck rolls onto his back, giggles dying down to a contemplative sigh, “He woulda hated this.”

“Your ex?” Indrid crawls to stay close to him.

“Yeah. Everythin I like, or, or thought was fun, he thought it was a waste of time or just plain worthless. He, he wasn’t like that at the start. Dunno what changed. Probably me. Probably got borin. Got worse.”

Indrid is not so drunk that he believes he can fix this. But he’s just drunk enough to stroke Duck’s cheek and murmur, “No. Nono, hic, you’re th’best.”

He doesn’t remember falling asleep after that, but he must have, because his phone is beeping at them to get up and face the day. They do so with to-go coffees in one hand and their bags in the other, neither speaking of the night before until Indrid has turned the car into deeper desert.

“Sorry for gettin on a thing about Alex last night.”

“It was a three year relationship; goodness knows you’re allowed to have feelings about it.”

“Even relief?”

Indrid glances at him, “Of course.”

His friend leans back in his seat, sipping from his travel mug, “That’s half the reason I been in such a funk. I feel like I oughta be sad, then I feel guilty for the fact I’m relieved instead. But if I really was that unhappy in it, why did I hang around so long? Maybe that was the best I deserved, y’know?”

“I know the feeling, yes, but I can’t say I agree with your statement. You deserve someone who sees you for who you are and adores it, not someone who loved what you once were and became bitter when you grew.”

Duck looks at the console between them, at Indrid’s chipped black nails and the hand he hopes isn’t shaking. He squeezes it a moment longer than necessary, “Thanks, ‘Drid. It’s nice to hear that from someone who’s still gettin to know me. Juno and them, they’re my friends, I know they’re in my corner but, uh, sometimes I worry that anyone new is gonna find me dull or somethin like that.”

“I’m sure some people would, just as some take one look at me and decide I’m a weirdo who they don’t want to deal with. But I can say with certainty that I don’t find you that way.”

Duck grins all the way to their destination. It’s a quirky trailer park full of amenities and built mostly from salvaged materials, doing it’s best to run off the grid. It also gives each trailer a theme, and Indrid flaps his hands when he sees they’ve been booked in the “The Cramps” themed one.

“Hell yeah.” Duck mirrors his excitement as they open the door. Their haven from the desert sun is full of kitschy horror artifacts and a much smaller bed than the previous spot. There’s no debate this time; Indrid settles on the right, Duck on the left, and they settle in for a nap before venturing out to work.

They take in the bar, the arcade, the mini-golf course, and the “couples supply room” (“damn, didn’t know they made eggnog scented massage oil” “ooh, I like how that smells”), but Duck turns out to be most excited to rent a stargazing kit and guide Indrid out into the dark desert. They’re on their backs, shoulder to shoulder and munching chocolate covered fruit, when he discovers the source of his glee.

“There!” Duck points to a crackling streak of silver.

“A meteor” Indrid wiggles happily as a second one speeds through his view.

“It’s the Perseids, and this is a damn good place to watch ‘em. Look, there’s another one.” He’s breathless each time and Indrid’s heart threatens to beat hard enough to crack the earth at the sound.

“Did you ever wish on stars when you were little?”

“Yep. Never asked for much worth notin, though I’m pretty sure I wished once to just wake up and be a boy. Or, uh, guess for everyone to see me as one. What about you?”

“I wished...I wished for someone to do things like this with, some who’d kiss me and tell me that they didn’t need to wish because what they wanted was right here.. I love the world, I want to see so much of it, that’s half the reason I chose my profession.. But when I was young I thought I’d be with someone when I did. I thought it was easy to find that kind of love. To be worthy of it.”

“Hey now” Duck rolls onto his side. He’s backlit by the moon, meteors zipping behind him as if they, just like Indrid, are pulled to him, “what happened to all the stuff you said in the car about deservin someone who adores you?”

“It’s easy to apply such things to you, harder to believe them about myself.”

“How come?”

“Because you are everything a sensible person could want in a man and I am not.”

“That’s where you’re wrong” He sets a hand next to Indrid’s shoulder, “Can think of at least one sensible fella who wants to get to know you a whole hell of a lot.”

“He’ll get to know me plenty, we’re co-workers.”

“There are different kinds of gettin to know someone.” Duck dips down, brushes their noses together, “for instance, the last few days I’ve gotten to know you’re a damn good travel companion and that Ned was smart to hire you. But I’ve also gotten to know there’s some things about you I really wanna know.”

“Such as?” Indrid’s fingers find Duck’s sides.

“Such as whether you wanna go on a date with me when we get back. No assignment, just the two of us gettin some time together.”

“I want nothing more.” He leans up to kiss him, feels him shudder happily when their lips meet. Indrid wonders how long it’s been since someone kissed Duck like they meant it, and resolves to make up any deficits with an enthusiasm that would put horny eighteen year olds to shame.

Indrid nips Ducks ear, “you know, were it not for the threat of mosquitos and scorpions, I’d suggest we make good use of the non-food items in that basket.”

Ducks grin lights Indrid up like a comet, “Then howsabout we go test just how conducive our trailer is to romance?”

Indrid kisses him adoringly, “Lead on, sweetheart; I’ll follow you anywhere.”

[evening-starlight]

Daddy’s Best Friend

I’ve gotten really into this story so updates are coming in QUICK

All Work Master List

DBF Master List

5

Word Count: 1942

    "Armel?" Amaris asks, shock taking over her face as her ex stands in front of her, in New York with that precious smile that made her fall for him in the first place. "How.." She shakes her head to try and get her bearings. "How did you find me?"

    Armel chuckles, tilting his head to the side as he answers, "You're not as secretive as you think you are, Mon Amour. There are many Amaris Clarke, but only one you." Amaris blushes at the pet name he gave her in Paris the second day they knew each other.

    Their romance started fast, meeting in the cafe she frequented, and he worked at. He bought her a coffee when he left his shift, writing his number on the cup before setting it down and leaving without a word. They toured France together, Armel showing Amaris his birth town and beautiful places tourists don't frequent. He took her breath away from the very first day, but nobody could keep her attention as long as Tom could.

    Amaris says she broke up with Armel because she didn't want him to see the lifestyle America thinks she leads, but deep down, it was because he wasn't Tom. She won't admit it to herself yet.

    "Oh, come in, come in." Amaris gestures, opening the door wider for Armel and his one black suitcase. "Why.. why'd you come?" She asks after the door is closed behind the brunette.

    "Who could leave such a smile without a fight?" Armel asks in a thick French accent, laying a soft hand on her cheek with a faint smile on his face. "I did as you did. I got a study program at, uh," He thinks over the college name. "Ehn-yu?"

    "NYU?" Amaris corrects. He nods with a bright smile.

    "Oui." Armel steps closer to Amaris, hand still on her face. "You are a treasure, Mon Amour. I was depressed when you left and remembered, 'ah-hah,'" He acts out his thought process with a finger up in the air, something Amaris found endearing about him. "She adores romance. Hence," He gestures himself up and down, then to her. "New York."

    "Who the hell is at the door?" Danica yells, entering the foyer with a huff. Her tone changes quickly when she sees the handsome french man in the front. She smoothes out her wrinkled pajamas and tucks a stray hair behind her ear. "Oh, hello there." Danica walks towards them and offers a hand to Armel. "I'm Danica. And you are?"

    Armel takes Danica's hand and presses a soft kiss to her knuckles, causing the twenty-year-old to giggle like a schoolgirl.

    "Armel. I am Amaris's..."

    "Friend from Paris," Amaris interrupts Armel, not wanting to explain their complicated relationship just yet. "He flew in to surprise me." Danica eyes Armel up and down, a flirty look evident on her face. Amaris rolls her eyes, slightly annoyed her younger sister is trying to flirt with a boy she met first.

    Danica shifts her focus back to the eldest sibling. "Your omelet is getting cold. So if you want to lose, stay out here talking to this cute guy." Amaris sighs and slips her hand into Armel's.

    "Grab him a fork; I want him to taste the monstrosity you call food." Danica sticks her tongue out at her and skips off to the kitchen. "I'm so sorry, but you're about to meet my family." Armel shrugs, tightening his grip on Amaris's hand like if he lets go, she'll leave once again.

    "I assume. This is family house." Amaris giggles at his broken English. He wasn't fluent but knew more than enough to get by with her family. They start walking towards the kitchen, where Amaris can hear Juno and Danica arguing how only siblings can over which fork is better. "Is omelet the one I taught you?" Armel asks as they get closer to the kitchen.

    "Of course, Cherie," Armaris slips back into the habit of calling him pet names. They get to the kitchen, and all eyes fall on them. "Guys, this is Armel. He's a friend from Paris who came to surprise me. He's gotten into study abroad with NYU." William stands up, sizing up the boy who's holding his daughter's hand. He offers a hand to Armel, who shakes it without hesitation and a bright smile.

    "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Clarke. Amaris tells me much about you," Armel greets. William makes eye contact with Amaris, giving a slight nod. That was his seal of temporary approval. Armel made a good first impression on her dad, but the support can always be revoked.

    "Please, call me Will, son. Take a seat," Will offers, motioning to a seat next to Juno.

    "That's my dad's friend, Tom," Amaris starts to introduce her little family in order from right to left. "You already met the witch herself," She teases as she gestures to her sister.

    "Hey," Danica huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. Before she can retort, Amaris moves on.

    "Dad, and my youngest sibling, Juno." Juno gives a small wave, backing deeper into the chair behind them. They didn't like meeting new people when they know nothing about Juno and their situation. They'd much rather disappear. Although, if it was Amaris's friend, they should be alright.

    "Pleasure to meet you all," Armel smiles before taking his seat next to Juno. Tom looks the boy up and down. Of course, Armel was exactly Armais's type. Curly, tall, French. She always had a weakness for french accents; she's admitted as much herself. But why did she introduce her ex as a friend? Was Tom the only one who knew they were together in Paris?

    "Okay, try the next one," Danica shifts attention to the breakfast judging. When everyone took their first bite, their eyes roll back, and food-related moans leave them. "Oh, that's bullshit," Dancia fights, taking out a fork and trying a bite herself. She moans as well, followed by, "Fuck."

    "Armel, try the other one," Amaris suggests, handing him the plate. She obviously won, but she had to win fair and square. Armel takes a bite of Danica's omelet. It was tasty but not as delicious as Amaris's. "Alright, so who wins?" Amaris asks, already knowing the answer from the reactions she got.

    "Oh shut up, Mari. We all know your stupid omelet won." Danica pouts, including the jutted-out bottom lip. Everyone agrees the one on the red plate was superior. Amaris laughs with her hands in the air.

    "Those cooking lessons paid, did they not?" Armel asks, leaning on the counter with the damned smile that makes Amaris lose her breath every time. Danica gasps.

    "That's not fair! You had Paris cooking lessons," Danica complains. Amaris shrugs as she reaches for the orange juice she set out earlier. "I demand a recount with the new information." Amaris rolls her eyes as she brings the cup to her lips.

    "If my apartment is cooking lessons, Oui," Armel inputs, causing Amaris to choke on her sip. Danica looks between the two ex's, slowly putting two and two together.

    "Holy fuck, you two fucked didn't you?" Amaris starts to blush furiously, confirming Danica's suspicions. "Oh my God." Danica looks over Armel one more time. "I mean, I don't blame you, but ew," Danica continues her dramatic 'ews.'

    "Are you done now?" Amaris huffs, burning up from being under the spotlight. Danica holds up a waiting finger and throws out three more ew's for good measure. "You done?" Amaris asks again.

    "And finally, ewww." She pauses. "Now I'm finished." Danica smiles a pleased smile. She loves to torment her older sister, especially in front of the boys she likes. But, unbeknownst to Danica, she embarrassed her sister in front of two boys she likes.

    "You're the most annoying sister on the face of the planet," Amaris complains, starting the breakfast clean-up, picking up the empty plates that Juno and Dad finished off.

    "So you're saying I have to be more annoying than the annoying sisters in the center of the earth?" Danica quips, laughing at the murderous look Amaris shoots at her.

    "I literally hate you more than Cleo," Amaris mumbles as she moves around Danica towards Armel. "We're gonna be outside talking." She states quickly before grabbing his hand and dragging him down the hall and out the double french doors.

    "They do not know?" Armel asks once the door is closed behind them. Amaris shakes her head, leading Armel to the lounge chairs. "Why?"

    "I didn't know how to tell them I dated a boy they didn't know about for a year and left him in France." She shrugs, pulling her legs onto the chair so she could sit criss-cross. Armel nods, picking at his cuticles and avoiding her stare. "So, why'd you come looking for me?"

    Armel looks up at her, lips tight. He brushes a stray curl out of his face before confessing his love in French. Amaris stares back at him. They promised they wouldn't say those words unless they were truly meant, with the fact that she would be leaving in less than a year when they met. "I've searched a thousand lifetimes for a woman like you, Amaris. That's no thing to let go." Amaris feels guilty for feeling the joy she feels.

    Tom would never make a move on her; he has too much respect for William to take that chance. But it still feels like cheating to Amaris after he kissed her just the night before. Or maybe she felt guilty because she didn't feel guilty when she kissed Tom.

    Amaris repeats the confession in the same language Armel did, smiling when Armel jumps up and plants a passionate kiss on her lips. They kiss for a second before they hear someone clear their throat behind Armel.

    William stands there, hands across his chest looking strict, but really his heart was filling with pride and happiness for his daughter. From first impressions, this was a wonderful boy for his daughter. She deserved nothing but the best after her rough start in life without a mother figure helping her with the boy problems that came in her teen years.

    "Hi, Dad," Amaris draws out. Armel walks over to him, hands clasped in front of him in a begging pose.

    "Mr. Clarke, sir. I ask your blessing to date your wonderful daughter," Amaris covers her mouth with a finger to stop from laughing out loud at Armel's antics. Will looks back at his daughter with a raised eyebrow and smirk. He loved this kid instantly.

    "Only if you promise to treat her right," Will states in his best father voice he can muster at the pleading boy in front of her.

    "Of course, of course. Amaris is a goddess and deserves the world. I will give her as much as I can," Armel continues to gush. Will sets a hand on Armel's shoulder, smiling at the boy.

    "You have my blessing, Armel. I expect you at family dinner this Wednesday." Will says before walking back inside. Armel throws his hands up in the air like he won a championship boxing match and turns to Amaris, who continues to giggle at the scene that unfolded.

    Tom stands in the living room window, watching the blessing happen and feeling a pang of... jealousy? Why would she choose a kid when she could have a man like him? Tom shakes the thoughts out of his when he sees them kiss yet again. He should be happy that she found someone who made her giggle like that. So, why does he feel angry?

Taglist: @queenofallhobos​

[ratisnotcrying]

you’re useless

Summary: “Well, maybe if you weren’t so goddamn useless then we wouldn’t be stuck here.”

Juno hadn’t meant to say it. He didn’t even really believe it. Maybe he would have, when he was still a PI, before he had first met Peter, but he had changed so much since then. He still had bad days, but he handled them better now. He knew when he was in the wrong.

Prompt: "You're useless." from palettes-and-prompts

Pairings: background Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, background Buddy Aurinko/Vespa Ilkay

Warnings: implied child abuse, descriptions of violence, hidden injury, hurt/comfort

Word count: 2.6K

A/N: this is crossposted on ao3 - ik that repeticism isnt a word but im making it one for this fic 

~~~

“Well, maybe if you weren’t so goddamn useless then we wouldn’t be stuck here.”

Juno hadn’t meant to say it. He didn’t even really believe it. Maybe he would have, when he was still a PI, before he had first met Peter, but he had changed so much since then. He still had bad days, but he handled them better now. He knew when he was in the wrong.

~~~

Rowan isn’t quite sure how they found themself on board the Carte Blanche and on the outskirts of the Aurinko crime family.

They had the typical, cliché backstory of a lone-wolf operating within the underbelly of society - a surface-perfect home life destroyed by something seemingly mundane blah blah blah, trust issues, a long line of enemies, enough friends to count on one hand, and nothing much else to show for over two decades of living.

One good thing about working alone is the need to get creative, and this is what had put them on Buddy’s radar in the first place. A few years ago, Rowan had been hired to acquire a tank of rare fish - this is about where they stopped asking questions, they didn't care as long as they got paid - and, after some very elaborate lies, an even more elaborate disguise and a rigged game of cards, they had managed to win a tank of the ugliest fish they had ever seen.

The part that caught Buddy’s attention, though, was the escape. Rowan had been found out before they had a chance to get out of the building, and had only managed to escape because they had memorised the security’s routes. It took a bit of guesswork, but they had been able to work out where the security would be coming from, found an unguarded window, clambered down a drain pipe, fish tank sloshing precariously in their bag, and landed near perfectly in a pile of rubbish bags outside the window - if you discount the broken bottle that had gouged their leg.

Buddy had picked Rowan up a few weeks after Juno and Rita, but it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, no matter how much anyone may have wanted it to be.

The problem wasn’t that Rowan couldn’t do their job - if that were the case they wouldn’t be here. No, the problem was that being thrown into close quarters with a bunch of strangers was… a lot. Especially for someone who had been alone for so long.

Rowan liked Jet well enough, he was straightforward and honest but intense; Buddy’s ‘take no shit but do no harm’ attitude aligned perfectly with her unwavering morals, and this was a welcome relief from the lies and deceit Rowan had lived with for so long. Rita and Peter were surprisingly welcoming, and Rowan formed a reluctant almost-friendship with Vespa. Juno, though. He and Rowan were too alike: fiercely independent, stubborn as a mule, and they both fell back into old habits as easily as anything.

Maybe this clash of bad habits, the deceptive comfort in being who you were, even for a moment, is how this job went so spectacularly wrong.

~~~

It was supposed to be a simple in-and-out job. Rita had taken out the security cameras, Jet was waiting in the car, and Juno was sneaking down the darkened hallways with Rowan.

“I still don’t understand why we need this goddamn painting. It looks like a baby threw up crayons and then just threw up on a canvas.”

“I’ve just eaten, Juno, shush if you don’t want me to throw up too.”

“Rowan, darling, please do not do that - this painting is priceless and highly sought after, which is why, Juno, we need to swap this for the information August Reid is refusing to give us. I did mention this in our family meeting before you left.”

Vespa’s aggravated voice piped up in the background of Buddy’s comms, “He was too busy swooning all over Ransom to pay attention.”

~~~

They had gotten the painting easily, so it was just a matter of getting out again. Rowan had been tasked with studying the guards’ shift patterns and routes, and had had no problem getting them in. Apparently, their luck couldn't hold.

They crept forwards, leading Juno left, right, left again, ducking this way and that to avoid the, quite frankly excessive, number of guards patrolling the halls. And that’s when it happened.

Rowan ducked right around a corner into another corridor, one that was supposed to be empty for another six minutes at least and there, at the other end, was a guard. A guard who was looking right at them.

“Crap.”

“What? Rowan we need to kee- crap.”

Both of their comms beeped, Buddy asking them questions with thinly veiled panic in her voice, but neither of them answered, stood frozen, eyes locked with the guard. Then all hell broke loose.

Everyone took out their guns and bullets started flying, the guard was shouting and footsteps could be heard thundering closer from all directions.

A tidal wave of de ja vu crashed over Rowan, “Fuck, this way,” they shouted, turning to run, voice tinged with something Juno didn’t have time to decipher, but Juno grabbed their sleeve and dragged them in the opposite direction.

“Hell no. You are done giving directions, I am not letting you get me killed here.”

They ran back the way they had come, and Juno skidded to a stop in front of a storage cupboard.

“Get in, quickly. There’s a vent at the top we need to get through. Do you think you can manage that?”

Rowan wasn't sure - there was a searing pain in their side that sent shocks of nausea through them with each breath and black dots into their vision with each movement. But this was their fault - they had failed at the one job they had - the one thing they were supposed to be able to do, they got themself shot and had put Juno in danger. They did not need to hold the job up any longer - they just had to get out of here and they could deal with the shot later.

It was a tight squeeze, both of them were crammed awkwardly into the vents, waiting for Rita to work out where they were so she could guide them out.

“Christ, it’s cramped in here - my side is killing me.” Rowan muttered to themself.

“Well, maybe if you weren’t so goddamn useless then we wouldn’t be stuck here.”

Everything seemed to shift and sharpen, Rowan suddenly violently aware of everything around them whilst simultaneously being blurred by memories they had tried so hard to bury: Juno was trying to listen and see if they had been found, there was shouting from down the hall, the smell of musty metal was almost overwhelming and Rowan jerked as if physically struck by Juno’s words, completely at a loss for what to say. Luckily, Rita, who had been on the comms, was not quite as speechless.

“Mistah Steel! That is a horrible thing to say, how could you-”

“Goddamnit Rita, I don't have time for this - how they hell do we get out of here?”

~~~

Jet was still outside with the car, and took off at break-neck speed as soon as the doors were shut. Juno sat in the front seat, the painting on his lap, talking to Buddy about something, and Rowan was slouched in the back, trying to cover up the fact that their organs were about to fall out. Well, that was an exaggeration. Probably. Just to be safe they grabbed a jacket they had left in the car weeks ago and slipped it on, wrapping it tightly around themself to try and hide the blood and hopefully-not-organs.

Juno had gotten a bit banged up in the vents, so when they arrived back at the Carte Blanche he went straight to the medical bay to meet Buddy with the painting and then to get checked.

“Rowan, it is recommended that you also get checked out. You look very ill,” Jet said as Rowan turned away from the medical bay and towards their room.

“No worries, Jet, I just want to get changed first - these clothes are filthy.”

~~~

“It was a mistake, darling, the best of us make them.”

“Yeah, well, it ws a stupid mistake - all they had to do was make sure they knew where the guards would be and then make sure we weren’t there!”

Vespa growled at Juno, who was gesticulating wildly whilst she was trying to wrap a bandage around his arm.

“Juno, I don’t care if Rowan walked straight up to that guard and told him why you were there - we are a family, and you will not speak to any member of this family like that.”

“That’s another thing - I get why everyone is here except Rowan - you said it was some daring escape that brought them here, but after today’s performance… what exactly do they bring to the table?”

“I’m going to leave that for you to work out, Juno.” Buddy said tersely.

He deflated a little, head tipping back to stare at the ceiling. Goddamnit.

“Are we about done here, Vespa, I’ve got places to be.”

~~~

Rowan would quite like a stiff drink right about now. Partially to actually drink, but mainly because they had run out of steriliser and this wound was definitely going to get infected and it would be this whole thing and they would get ill and-

“Get it together, Rowan.” They hissed, pulling out a sterile needle and taking a deep breath as they began to stitch themself up. This was not the first time, and likely wouldn’t be the last, that Rowan has had to do this - working alone and working recklessly meant most jobs ended with soft pink staining bandages and staining baths, throat and skin burning from cheap whiskey. Tonight didn’t have to be different.

The shot had skimmed their side so, luckily, no organs were falling out, but it was still going to be a bitch to heal, likely would be ripped open a few times and leave a nasty scar. This, unfortunately, was also not uncommon.

The painful repeticism of the needle going in and out lulled Rowan into a violent comfort they tried to avoid, the panicked calm soothing them until they couldn't quite hold back the memories they had been reminded of earlier.

Raised voices, gritted teeth and finger shaped bruises. Running, up stairs, through doors, arou-

There was a knock at their door. They flinched, snapping back to reality.

“Rowan, it’s Juno. Can I- can we talk?”

They almost said yes, just called Juno in like nothing was wrong. Then their brain kicked it’s way through the fog and realised they were sitting in bloody trousers, half stitched up wound and thread fully exposed to anyone who might walk in.

“Rowan?”

They picked up the shirt closest to them - part of a matching pyjama set - and tried to tuck the needle away so they could carry on when Juno was gone, and threw the door open.

“Sorry, I was just getting changed. Just sit anywhere.” They mumbled, haphazardly shoving piles of washing off of a chair.

“Thanks. Listen, about earlier, I know that you didn’t mean for that to happen. It’s been a rough week, not that that’s an excuse for what I said- are you alright?”

Rowan had half-sat, half-fallen back onto their seat on the bed and was focusing very hard on not fainting, so much so that they couldn’t really understand what Juno was saying. Maybe this wound was worse than they had thought. They nodded and hoped for the best.

“Right… Anyways, what I actually came to say is that I'm sorry I called you useless. You made a mistake, no one died, well I don’t think anyone died. Whatever, it couldn’t have been avoided. I know that I can be abrasive,” he said with a look that meant he had been told this many, many times before, “but that doesn’t mean that- Rowan, you really look like crap.”

“Wow, thanks, Juno, you say the sweetest things,” they took a deep breath and tried not to panic at the fact that they couldn’t really feel most of their torso anymore, “I know you didn’t mean it, we’re fine. Stop looking at me like that, I’m fine, I just need a nap.” The last words were pointed, hinting sharply at Juno to leave.

“Yeah, because slurred speech and sweating and shaking all scream ‘I’m fine’,” he paused for a moment and Rowan could almost see the cogs whirring, piecing together the information - bullets flying, the unidentified something in Rowan’s voice, the jacket they hadn’t been wearing before, the sterile wrappers on the bed… Then the last piece clicked into place, “Rowan, is that blood?”

They looked down at their top - their white pyjama top - as their vision began to fade out, their head too heavy to hold up and mouth too numb to speak, “No-”

~~~

When they came to, they were in the medical wing wearing a loose sleep shirt - distinctly not soaked in blood - and shorts. They tried to get up and go but a not-so-gentle hand pushed them back to lying down.

“Goddamnit, stop moving. You’ve already ripped your stitches once and you weren’t even awake,” Vespa growled, fussing with the bandages wrapped tight around Rowan’s middle.

“Sorry, I’ve always been lively in bed.”

“That’s cute, darling. What’s not cute is the stunt you pulled last night - if Juno hadn’t come to see you when he did... “ An uncomfortable look passed over Buddy’s face, “Let’s not dwell on that. I will want to talk about this later, but, for now, somebody else wants to see you.”

“Great,” Rowan tried to get up again, “Where are they?”

“Nice try, tough guy, but you’re staying right here until mean old Vespa lets you out.”

“Bite me, Steel.”

“No, thanks, I think I'll leave that to-” He cut himself off at Buddy's warning glance and didn't speak again until Buddy and Vespa had both left the room.

Rowan glanced at the bandage wrapped around Juno’s bicep, “Is it bad?”

“No, just a flesh wound, unlike that one you’re sporting - what was the plan? Stitch it up and hope you didn't drop dead in the middle of the next job?”

“Something like that.”

“Goddamnit. Okay, I don't know how much of what I said yesterday you heard but I'm sorry for what I said. I know we don't really… get along, but you remind me of,” he sighed, “You remind me of someone I used to know.”

“Juno, I really don't need a pep talk.”

“Well, here's the thing - you absolutely do because this,” he gestured to the bandages and the bed, “can’t happen again. You can't see that we care about you - you wouldn't be here if Buddy didn't think you were worth something and Rita is the best judge of character I know; she thinks you’re great. You have a goddamn family here, Rowan, stop trying to push us out.”

Rowan sighed, and Juno graciously didn't mention the tears in their eyes. “I don't know how to-” Rowan shook their head.

“We aren't going anywhere, Rowan, I know that's not what you want to hear but I don't care. For right now you need to stay here and stop ripping out your stitches. Take care of yourself for once. Then we can work on whatever complexes you’re holding onto so tight.” Juno said, squeezing Rowan’s shoulder as he stood.

Rowan didn’t say anything till he was half-way out the door, “Hey, Juno? Thanks.”

“Sure thing.”

[lurking-umbra]

Bad things happen bingo fill #11: Caught in an Explosion, requested by @fawncyfeline​ and Reddo on discord 

cw: vomit mention

None of the members of the Aurinko crime family expected the explosion, likely because it hadn't been one of the charges they had set up and so it happened when they didn't expect it. Vespa and Peter had been leaving the building following a successful breaking and entering job, of which one small explosive charge had been placed on a nearly impossible to crack safe when Vespa had gotten impatient and Rita had warned them over their comms that security was fast approaching and she was unable to redirect them. Vespa and Peter had been nearly silent as they snuck into the building, past security, and to the safe that held the old-school paper and pen records that they needed. On the way out, however, they had only been as silent as they needed to, arguing over whether or not they should have used the charge whenever they were slipping through an area clear enough for them to hiss at one another. Jet had been standing watch outside as their getaway driver, listening over the earpieces Buddy had insisted on since the Zolotovna job as Peter and Vespa argued.

Upon seeing the pair, Jet disembarked from the car in order to open the back door for Peter and Vespa, as if they were one of the many rich socialites who worked or visited the building. Peter held the door open for Vespa to walk through when the building rumbled ominously before part of one of the upper floors exploded outward. This then set off a chain reaction as the entire building wobbled before listing to the side and collapsing, sending debris everywhere. Peter only just managed to knock Vespa out of the way of some falling debris, only for some to collide with him instead.

When the noise stopped and the building had collapsed entirely, there was rubble everywhere and a thick cloud of dust in the air. Jet was the first of their trio to rise, having been the farthest from the collapse. He easily shook off the few smaller pieces of rubble that had made it out to where he had been in the street and moved towards the area where he had last seen Vespa and Peter.

Vespa waited until the ground stopped shaking and the sound of falling rubble stopped before she allowed herself to relax her protective position. It took her a moment to get shakily to her feet, somehow mostly unharmed even while among the rubble. She was pretty sure that her shoulder had dislocated with the force of her body hitting the ground, but that was a minor inconvenience at best. She looked among the rubble among her, searching for a sign of Ransom. He had knocked her out of the way of some falling detritus, but he couldn't have landed too far away. She began to clear out the rubble around where she thought he might be, though it was slow going with only one arm until Jet moved over to join her.

It took them a while to find Peter, buried under the rubble as he was. He was out cold, which worried Vespa, especially when added to the fact that he had been underneath some sizable pieces of rubble. He didn't respond at first when Jet managed to get enough room to lift him out from among the detritus and towards a clearer part of the street. A few passers-by attempted to approach them to offer help, but Vespa's scowl made them stay clear.

"It appears as though the local police force and emergency services are approaching," Jet pointed out, looking further down the road where sirens could be heard and flashing lights were just barely in sight.

Vespa quickly surveyed the area around them before stalking off in the direction of their rendezvous spot with the Carte Blanche, away from the approaching officers. They had only just barely moved out of the area when Peter twitched in Jet's arms.

"Jet?" He slurred, his eyebrows pulling into a confused frown as he spoke. Jet paused and peered down at Peter.

"Have you regained use of your faculties?" Jet asked him calmly.

Peter blinked up at him, his eyes blank and somehow dull. "Gonna be sick," he slurred and both Vespa and Jet leaped into action, Jet placing Peter on the ground and Vespa helping to move him into an upright position. It wasn't long before he was only dry heaving and the only thing that stopped him from collapsing into the puddle in front of him was two sets of hands pulling him gently backwards instead.

"This doesn't look good," Vespa rasped. She looked over at Jet. "It's possible he has some type of head wound or internal bleeding somewhere."

"Is he stable enough to last the trip to the Carte Blanche without treatment?" Jet asked.

Vespa grimaced. "I'm not sure. The head injury I can only do so much about anyway, but I am concerned about the internal bleeding. Depending on where it is, he might be worse off than he looks."

She moved to crouch down next to Ransom, away from the vomit. "Ransom," she said softly, "I need to look at your abdomen." Without waiting for permission, she managed to push Peter's shirt aside, wincing at the dark purple bruise that covered about half of his stomach. She glanced over at the puddle of vomit and was relieved to see no sign that he had thrown up any blood. Not yet, at least. She looked up to see Peter looking down at his bruise as well. She frowned as she placed a hand on each side of his face, using one hand to cover and uncover his eyes to check his pupillary reflex. They reacted to the change in light unevenly, causing Vespa's frown to deepen. She rose from her crouch and looked over at Jet. "He likely has a concussion, and probably some internal bleeding as well." Her mouth twisted into a grimace. "He can survive that for a bit, but it won't be comfortable and we should hurry if we don't want him getting worse."

Jet nodded at her and as one they turned to look at Peter, staring dazedly up at them. Peter didn't seem to make any move to be sick again, and so Jet picked him back up in a bridal carry. The trio moved at a slightly faster pace than before, though now that Peter was more conscious, they had to stop for him to be sick twice more, the last time bringing up what looked like coffee grounds. Vespa had seen it and paled, telling Jet to get moving again as soon as it seemed like Peter was through with this round of vomiting.

Thankfully it wasn't long after that when the Carte Blanche finally came into their view. The main entry door opened long before they reached it, Buddy, Juno, and Rita waiting at the entrance.

"Miss Vespa, Mistah Jet, Mistah Ransom!" Rita exclaimed with delight from where she stood, practically bouncing in place. In Jet's arms, Peter flinched lightly at the sound, curling farther into his hold.

"Perhaps we should save the celebrations for another time," Jet said softly as they drew up at the doorway.

"What happened to Mistah Ransom?" Rita asked in a slightly quieter tone, though it wasn't far below her regular volume.

"He's got internal bleeding and probably a concussion from that blast," Vespa explained, stepping closer to Jet and Peter. "We need to get him to the medbay."

"Vespa, what in the world even happened down there?" Buddy demanded as she followed Jet and Vespa down the hall. "Things seemed to be going well enough, and then suddenly the earpieces cut out and it was only Rita's quick thinking that allowed us to learn of the building's collapse, but it's been hours without contact since then."

"Someone else planted that explosive," Vespa explained as they reached the medbay and Jet placed Peter down gently on one of the cots as Vespa busied herself with grabbing supplies.

"Vespa and the thief were nearly out of the building when it came down. Our earpieces must have been ruined in the blast or subsequent collapse," Jet explained.

Buddy looked like she wanted to ask more questions, but Vespa already had the body scanner out, and was more focused on determining where Peter was bleeding from. He must have passed out at some point in between arriving at the Carte Blanche and Jet placing him down in the medbay.

"Is he--" Juno started, in a much softer voice than usual from where he was hovering at the back of the group, still in the doorway. "Is he going to be okay?"

"He will be," Vespa replied, looking up from her scans to lock eyes with him. "As long as you lot let me do my job."

With a look from Vespa, Juno and Rita cleared out of the room, Rita placing a comforting arm around his waist as they exited. Jet met Vespa's eyes and nodded once before leaving the room as well. That left Vespa and Buddy alone in the medbay with the unconscious Peter.

Buddy stayed silent for a long moment as she watched Vespa complete her diagnostics, locating the spot where Peter's internal bleeding was coming from before setting up the anesthesia machine for the small surgery. She was done prepping and had started in on fixing the bleed when Buddy finally spoke up.

"I thought I had lost you," she said, her voice softer and more hesitant than usual. Her mouth twisted into a bitter expression as she added, "Again. I thought I had lost you again, and I just..." Buddy broke off when her voice started to crack with emotion.

Vespa only managed not to look up at her from her very delicate task because of years of practice. Distractions during a surgery could mean that someone died. And though she may not have fully trusted Ransom, she trusted Juno well enough, and beyond that, she trusted Buddy to make the right decisions. She wasn't going to let Ransom bleed out when there was something she could do to stop it, no matter how much she wanted to look at Buddy's face in that moment.

"I came back to you. I'll always come back to you " Vespa rasped, and she hoped that Buddy could hear the utter conviction in her voice. "Not even death itself could stop me." With the bleeding finally stopped, Vespa was free to look up at Buddy and see the love on her face that was hopefully echoed in her own expression.

A smile stretched its way across Buddy's face as she stepped closer to Vespa. "Of course you would," she said, pressing a gentle and chaste kiss to Vespa's lips. Vespa's hands came up slightly as if to grip at Buddy, before realizing that she still wore a pair of bloody gloves. With a wince, she tossed them to the floor and moved to pull Buddy in closer for another kiss. They pulled back from the kiss gasping for air as if coming up from underwater. Vespa looked at Buddy and then away, feeling a little like looking at her expression was like looking at the sun. As she looked away, her eyes caught on the anesthesia machine. Before getting distracted by Buddy, she had managed to turn off the anesthesia itself on autopilot, keeping Peter on the oxygen as he would wake up slowly and in mild pain. She shook her head slightly and stepped away from Buddy, moving to grab a syringe of pain medication she had prepped beforehand and administering it to Peter. She and Buddy were quiet as Peter slowly woke up from the procedure, finding it enough to simply lean on one another, their hands intertwined.

The quiet lasted until Juno and Rita both poked their heads into the medbay, their sharp and discordant exclamations of excitement breaking the silence that had stretched to cover Jet's presence as well, hovering in a corner of the medbay, watching the monitors Vespa had set up on Peter intently. Juno wasted little time in rushing over to Peter's bedside, their hands clasping together like the opposite poles of two magnets despite Peter's obvious weakness. Vespa watched the two of them, joined quickly by Rita, for a long moment before sighing heavily and heading for the door, Buddy pulled along in her wake by their joined hands.

Juno caught Vespa's eyes as she reached the door and nodded once, which Vespa took to be his gratitude. She had just been doing her job, but she supposed the acknowledgement was nice.

"Hey Steel," Vespa called out right before she crossed the threshold, Buddy stopping on the other side. "When Ransom is more awake, tell him not to get caught in any more explosions."

Juno's surprised expression pulled into a smirk as he visibly rolled his eye. "Yeah, sure Vespa."

With that said, Vespa turned and followed Buddy out of the room, letting the door close behind her.

Buddy was grinning mischievously at her, and Vespa couldn't help the swell of love that rose up in her chest. "If I didn't know you better darling, I'd say you actually seemed to care for our Pete."

Vespa's face twisted into a grimace. "It's a good thing you do know me better then."

Buddy hummed ambiguously and Vespa narrowed her eyes at her. She growled and lunged toward Buddy, scooping her up into a bridal carry easily. Buddy giggled in delight as Vespa carried her to the bedroom they shared before dropping her lightly onto the bed.

"You... you might be right about the thing you said earlier," Vespa said as she stood over Buddy, leaning down to fix a hair that had fallen out of place. Buddy grinned up at her, placing a gentle hand on her cheek. "But if you tell any of the others I said that, I'll deny it."

Buddy giggled once more before leaning up to press a kiss to Vespa's lips. "I know, dearheart. I certainly know better than to do that."

"Good. Now I'm tired of thinking about Ransom. I've been doing that all day."

"I'm sure I can think of something else to occupy your mind," Buddy said wickedly, pulling Vespa down for another kiss. 

[saedii-gilwraeth-simp]

Operation Arsinoe and Billy - one-shot

Hell yeah new fic time. This is just a quick one shot to act as a seperator from my previous fic to my next one but I love it nonetheless

Operation Arsilly Bilsinoe Arsinoe x Billy (Junoe)

Objective: Get our dumb chaotic bisexual professor friends together because their pining is fucking Jules you can’t write that fucking annoying.

January 17 - Jules

For someone currently getting a needle through her ear, Arsinoe is smiling. She had decided that despite being a professor of political science, a new set of earrings (her eighth) would be a good look to come back to the school year with. Jules just thought she was trying to impress someone.

Probably the “cute” law professor down the hall. Arsinoe and Billy were friends but it was Jules’ job as Arsinoe’s best friend to set them up, since they so obviously wouldn’t do it themselves.

But she couldn’t do it herself. She needed help. And what better help than someone who was close with both her subjects?

January 30 - Mirabella

When Jules Milone had told Mirabella Queen that they had to work together to get her sister and friend together, Mirabella had sighed. She knew that meddling with Arsinoe’s love life was never, ever a good idea and that Mirabella should respect her privacy. Alas, Jules did not seem to understand this concept.

So, Mirabella agreed to help, if only to keep Jules from completely enraging her sister with her lack of subtlety or tact.

February 2 - Jules

Arsinoe was up early the first day of the new university term, waking Jules with the sound of their dog returning with Arsinoe from her run. Jules’ kitten, Camden, climbed on her chest and pawed at Jules’ face until she opened her eyes.

Day one of the plan initiate.

Jules threw herself out of bed and super casually entered the kitchen where Arsinoe was sitting on the bench eating toast while scrolling through her phone. Arsinoe acknowledged her with a smile and went back to scrolling.

“So, back at school today? You happy to see your students?” Arsinoe shrugged and nodded, her face still stuffed with Vegemite toast. Jules turns away and feigns picking her nails. “Are you excited to see some members of staff, such as, oh I don’t know, Billy Chatworth,” Jules smiles at the slight choking sound Arsinoe makes behind her. Jules schools her face into concern and turns to face Arsinoe. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah I’m good. And I guess it’ll be good to see some of my work friends.”

February 6 - Mirabella

She was spying on her sister. She probably shouldn’t have been but when she sets things up, like a coffee date between two unknowing participants, she wants to see the results.

She had texted Billy and Arsinoe separately to see if they wanted coffee and luckily, both professors had free time that Tuesday morning. So it was a little devious but if it meant she would beat Jules into getting them together faster, it would be worth it.

The two met in the cafe, as though they were surprised to see each other and sat for nearly an hour before they went their seperate ways. Mirabella smiled and went to drive away when a knock came from the passenger side. Mira jumped and turned her head to meet her sisters irritated eyes. Arsinoe didn’t do anything other than glare at her and then walked away. Message sent.

February 11 - Jules

She was lurking near Arsinoe’s classroom, texting Mirabella to tell her that her most recent attempt was underway. The bell went and bored university first years poured out of Arsinoe’s classroom. Jules watched down the hall as Billy left his classroom, coming straight down the hall. Blending into the freshman, Jules stuck her prosthetic leg out, effectively tripping Chatworth into Arsinoe’s doorframe. Jules quickly walked through the crowd but she didn’t miss Billy smile slightly and walk into Arsinoe’s classroom.

Jules watched and waited and Billy didn’t leave for another half hour. When the two exited the classroom, It was together, both chatting amiably, but Jules didn’t miss the way Billy’s usually flat hair was pushed back or that Arsinoe’s hair, which had been in a ponytail when she left the house that morning, now was down on her shoulders.

They walked away and Jules listened until their footsteps retreated. She left the alcove she was hiding in, only to be met with her best friend’s annoyed posture and face.

“First Mirabella and now you. Explain. Now,” Arsinoe doesn’t seem angry but she also didn’t seem happy. Jules showed no sign of faltering before she responded.

“I was just here looking at classes. Thought I might take a Poli-sci class. Recreationally, y’know,” she says casually. Arsinoe’s eyebrows pinch together before her face goes calm.

“You can sit in on my fourth year class if you want. And don’t think I don’t know that you’re lying to me. I’m going to figure it out,” Arsinoe says and then turns on her stilettos and stalks away.

February 14 - Mirabella

She gives Arsinoe chocolate. It was a talent she picked up in high school to forge handwriting (not that anyone needs to know why) and it was paying off because Arsinoe was receiving chocolate from Billy, or so she thought.

Jules and her were crouching behind a wall where the teacher’s pigeonholes were, watching Arsinoe approach her own to get her daily letters. Arsinoe smiles and pick up the box of chocolates. Jules and Mirabella smiled at each other.

“What are you two doing?” Mirabella and Jules jumped and stood, turning nervously to be met with none other than Billy Chatworth. He glances around them to see Arsinoe and frowns. “Why are you spying on Arsinoe? Are you struggling to speak with her?” He asks. Mirabella sighs internally. Why must Billy be so intuitive? Of course if he wasn’t, Arsinoe probably would even notice him, let alone be attracted to him.

“We were just…” She struggles to form an excuse.

“Mira, Jules, what are you two doing here?” Arsinoe’s voice joins the conversation. Mirabella and Jules wince and turn.

“Hey, Arsinoe,” Mirabella says, trying to come up with an excuse. She was good at forgery but a terrible lier. Arsinoe raises an eyebrow. She transfers her gaze to the man standing behind them.

“It seems the entire education faculty has left you gifts, Chatworth. You might want to get onto that before Pietyr notices,” Billy nods and rounds the three, entering the office. Arsinoe turns back to them.

“If your going to spy on me and forge a love letter, do it with more subtlety. Have a good day both of you. I’m sure you can find the exit of campus relatively easy. Goodbye,” she pushes between the two of them, walking off in the direction of her classroom.

June 19 - Jules

“We need to plan this better. Arsinoe’s figured us out every time and you could probably assume she knows what we’re up to,” Mirabella says. They sit at Mirabella’s kitchen counter, a notebook full of crossed out plans and ideas in front of them. Mirabella’s head leans on Jules’ shoulder in slight defeat.

“Maybe we just need to lock them in a room together,” Jules said. Mirabella pointed at the notebook. Oh right, they had tried that. They probably should have considered the fact that Arsinoe could pick locks at the time. “Maybe we should just give up. They don’t seem to be taking the bait. I mean, Arsinoe kicked me out this morning just so she could have a guy over without me having to share a wall with her. She seemed serious about him and I think I would have noticed if it had been Billy.”

“We can’t give up. Billy and Arsinoe are destined to be together,” Mirabella asserts.

“How do we know?”

“Can’t you tell just by looking at them,” Mirabella finds a photo of the two she had taken during a ‘recon mission’. They were an extremely cute pair, smiling at each other like they had just pulled off the worlds greatest prank.

“Ugh, fine. I say we try locking them in a room together again, but this time an electronic one, like the uni has,” Jules says, drawing the lock on the page, circling the places where pickable locks weren’t there.

“Let’s do it,” they locked eyes and Jules ignored the butterflies at seeing Mirabella’s smile. Now was not the time.

June 25 - Mirabella

They were sitting outside the door of the room she has shoved Arsinoe and Billy in, waiting. Jules was listening with her ear pressed against the door for signs of something. Mirabella was watching Jules’ mouth. She was thrown by her recent crush on her sister’s best friend, it had been a long time since she had liked anyone like that, not since she broke up with Bree last year. It was proving troublesome for their mission. She was trying to get two people to fall in love, not fall in love herself.

“Jules, what if they got out somehow?”

“They haven’t. They’re talking. I just can’t tell what they’re saying,” Jules leans against the door further.

“Jules,” Mirabella starts, making the brunette turn her head. “Did you maybe want to go for coffee after this?” Jules turned to her, watching her closely with her mismatched eyes as if trying to figure her out.

“To plan another move?” She asks, making Mirabella shake her head.

“No, just to talk. Kinda like… like a date,” Jules goes completely still and then her cheeks go bright red.

“I would like that, immensely- oof!” Jules grunted as her and Mirabella fell backward into the room. Billy and Arsinoe stood above them, smiling like a couple of little shits.

“I take offence that you thought I couldn’t hack this lock. But hey, success anyway,” Mirabella’s eyebrows furrowed.

“What are you talking about?”

“You and Jules obviously. All we had to do was string you along for a time long enough for you to have crushes on each other and then even longer for you to ask each on a date. You really tested our patience,” Arsinoe steps over them and they sit up.

“What are you talking about?” Jules asks. Arsinoe sends her a sharp smile.

“You think I didn’t know what you two were up to months ago? Please. So Billy and I hatched a plan to get you two together and we succeeded,” Mirabella frowned, looking at Billy, who shrugged.

“But… we were trying to get you two together,” Mirabella says, still evidently confused. Arsinoe smiles wider.

“Billy and I have been together since last December. We just didn’t get to talk much over the holidays because he was away. You two just assumed we weren’t, which is on you. Have a good coffee date,” she takes Billy’s hand and they walk down the hall together.

Mirabella look at Jules. Jules looks back at Mirabella. Sure, they got played, but all’s well that ends well.

[wantedformanysins]

@casqet​

The cut is not deep, just long and bloody. It runs from his shoulder down his back and, freshness aside, does not appear all that impressive next to the faded array of scars already littering his pale freckled skin.

As little as he cares to delegate first aid responsibilities to another person, this falls into a gray area between preserving his dignity and being an obstinate fool. Twisting around trying to reach his own back will definitely put him into the latter category. Just like following his attacker out of the mansion in the dead of the night would have been.

Is he still bitter he did not? Yes.

Juno leans over the tub in silent agreement, propped with his palm against the tiled wall, and watches the water stained with red rush down the drain. His once-white shirt is on the floor, soaking up a puddle and making the bathroom look only a little less like a murder scene. The carpet in the hall will need to be replaced.

“Steristrips are under the sink,” the redhead informs his companion. They are in a clear plastic container, along with other medical supplies. He will need to get proper stitches for this.

Later. That asshole might still be in the woods, waiting.

Without a pause, Juno adds, “He knew what he wanted to do, but not how.”

The intruder went straight for the jugular. Even with the element of surprise on their side, the attack was easy to deflect. The lack of experience with the knife unfortunately did not extend to running.

“Knew the house layout, too.”

And that is the worst part.

The first time Nathan had seen Juno, he thought he’d hit the jackpot: handsome man, good physique, looked like he could kill a man, everything Nathan needed for a sober hookup. Hell, seeing the mansion was the whole cherry on top to this fine cake Nathan thought was going to shake up his world and when Juno hadn’t even kicked him out after Nathan pretended to fall asleep after sex (wasn’t hard to do, man knew what to do in bed), he’d thought he’d won the lottery. The soft mattress and luxury sheets were a far cry from his shitty, busted bed back home and it wasn’t something he was going to pass up on given the chance. Little did he know, the wonderful experience came with some downsides.

It is one thing to be rudely woken up by his hookup looking to kick him out of bed, it’s another thing entirely to be woken up because his hookup is in the process of being stabbed. If he was smart, Nathan should have run the second he saw the scars, should have known a man doesn’t collect that many without dipping his foot in the wrong side of the law but fuck, was he hot and besides, Nathan didn’t actually think he could kill a man. Or well, at least defend himself from an ambushing assailant. Same thing really. A man who can defend himself that quickly surely has done a thing or two.

Regardless, that doesn’t change the fact that Nathan’s now rummaging through the cabinet to help patch up said man’s back because after all, it’d be a bit rude to just dash after the man had let him stay over at his very expensive house. A part of him wishes he’d at least put a shirt on before the whole incident because now here he is, in only boxers, in a strange house, in god knows where of town, caring for a bleeding man who doesn’t even sound remotely surprised by what happened. On the upside though, the only thing Nathan will have to chuck out will be his underwear and not one of his only good shirts. Truly, a balanced scale. 

“This happen a lot? Get a lot of stab and runs out here?” Nathan asks as he tears open the package, wipes away any new blood with a wash cloth, and starts trying his best to lay the strips down well. At the very least, he should be grateful the altercation ended with only a manageable wound and not, oh, you know, a knife through the heart. This, he’s familiar with. A knife through the heart, not so much.

“Why’s someone trying to kill you anyway and hell, even go through the trouble of learning the layout? You’ve got a jealous lover or something?” Nathan jokes because, to be honest, he’d take the jealous lover explanation right now. Would be a nice little bow to conclude this event, something Juno could call the police about, wipe their hands of, and let it be a funny little tale Nathan can tell his work buddies and think nothing of. If it’s anything else, Nathan doesn’t want to know. He learned young where sticking your nose in other people’s dangerous business leads you and that usually was in a garbage bag thrown in some back alleyway near the abandoned hotel. Still, his brain works as quickly as his hands down Juno’s back and he has to know what this means for him, if it means anything at all. “This isn’t something I should be concerned about, right? I mean, I haven’t accidentally connected with some super wanted gang that’s going to cause me to end up in a ditch somewhere, right? I’ve got no problems leaving at this wonderful hour of the night if it means I don’t end up dead in the near future.”

[ernmark]

Ok, in the space vegas fic, we have Juno realizing he's screwed and actually really into Peter. How about the moment when Peter realizes he's actually fallen for Juno? 👀

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3  | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | NSFW Part 9

It isn’t inevitable. 

Juno may insist that there’s no getting out of it, but he hasn’t seen the escapes Peter has made over the course of his illustrious career. If he wanted to avoid a phone call, there was no force in all the universe that could make it happen.

It is important to note, then, that Peter fully consents to having this conversation with Juno’s secretary. And not because he was bullied or annoyed into it, as Juno seems to believe. True, there may be an inkling of guilt involved-- after all, it was Peter’s carelessness that spilled the secret of their relationship to her in the first place-- but Peter would hardly call it a guilt trip, either. 

In fact, he rather enjoys their conversation.

“So this is Rita!” he effuses, the moment she appears on the screen of Juno’s comms. He flashes his warmest, most winning smile. “Juno’s told me so much about you, but you’re even lovelier in person.”

Really, it takes nothing at all before she’s blushing and giggling, her questions deflected with compliments and charm and gushing commentary on the most recent drama streams. 

Juno watches him the entire time-- at first ready to intercede and yank the comms out of Peter’s hand, then scowling and surly, and finally dumbfounded as his secretary dissolves into a drooling mess. 

“How the hell did you do that?” he asks, once Peter finally ends the call. 

“I just found the right way to talk to her. There’s a right way to talk to everyone, Juno – you just have to find it.” Peter folds the comms and presses it into Juno’s hand, leaning too close to be casual. His fingertips linger against Juno’s palm. “Here’s hoping we find ours soon, eh?”

“Real funny, Nureyev.” Juno rolls his eyes, but he can’t stop his gaze from flitting to the point of contact. “You already got me in bed with you. I think we’re past the point where you need romance me.”

Peter leans closer still. “But what if I want to romance you?” 

Juno misses a beat, but he manages a shrug. “Everybody needs a hobby, I guess.” 

“Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind joining me for dinner and a show tonight. There’s a performance of Love in the Time of Vaudeville that I’m told I can’t miss.” 

--------------

The show is, naturally, a delight-- even moreso thanks to a running commentary from Juno, shared behind a cupped hand during the show, and bantered over the dinner table as they share their meal, and mumbled incoherently across the pillows as he drifts off that night. 

Peter stays awake, watching as Juno’s face goes soft, as his eyes flit about behind their lids while he dreams, as he drifts into the deepest phases of sleep.

This is the time to get up and leave-- if he waits too long, Juno might wake up from the sound of it-- but Peter puts it off for another minute, and another, and another. Juno just looks so vulnerable like this, so trusting and tender and sweet, and Peter wants--

He slips out of bed and into his clothes without making a sound. 

Peter wants to not be caught, and that means taking care of the paperwork before the Solar government catches wind of an Outer Rim terrorist in their space. According to the keyloggers he left on City Hall’s servers, the marriage license has finally been filed. It’s time to move.

Getting into the building proper is no issue, thanks to the key card he swiped from the assistant governor’s pocket just before the show. The cameras are obvious and easily avoided. Just like that, he’s in the filing room, staring down a hundred thousand physical documents.

His gloves whisper against the stacks of file folders until he comes to the right date and time. The marriage license and certificate, each signed in a drunken but unfortunately legible scrawl: Peter Nureyev. 

He slides them free from the file and slips them into his bag. These nobody will miss-- enough documents get innocently misfiled every day that their absence will go unnoticed. 

Now all that’s left is the digital record.

It won’t be difficult. He already knows the passwords. Using one of the local networked computers will get him safely past the firewalls and security encryptions. It’s even well-organized, as far as government filing systems go. He finds the file quickly.

All it will take is a few key strokes, and he’ll be no longer married to Juno Steel.

His name will be a secret once more. He can leave Venus behind, and with it the hotel room, and the performance, and the pretend relationship and all its absurd trappings. 

He stares at the file, his fingers lingering over the mouse, not quite willing to open the file. 

It doesn’t make sense. Why should he hesitate? This past week was certainly fun, but it was a vacation from his real life, nothing more. Years from now he’ll look back fondly over his brief marriage, but that’s all it will ever be: a fond memory. 

But he doesn’t want it to be just a memory.

The realization closes like a fist around his chest, and suddenly he can’t breathe. He doesn’t want it to be over. Not yet. Maybe not ever. He wants to keep being married to Juno-- he wants to take him to dinner and talk to him for hours about things that don’t matter and listen to his breathing slow as he falls asleep. He’s gotten the briefest taste of a hundred quiet intimacies, and he wants to bask in a hundred thousand more-- he wants to explore them all. 

With Juno. Only with Juno.

He opens the file.

[welcometothepenumbra]

JUNO STEEL AND THE FINAL RESTING PLACE

SOUND: DOOR OPENS, BELL RINGS, RAIN.

MUSIC: STARTS.

CONCIERGE: Good evening, Traveler. Welcome to The Penumbra.

SOUND: KEYS JINGLING.

These may be Detective Steel’s final moments, dear Traveler. Trapped miles underground and abandoned by the thief who promised to save him, only Miasma decides whether Detective Steel lives, or dies.

He’s in there now, Traveler. If we step in, we may lose the old Juno Steel forever. There is still time, of course: time to turn back, time to allow Detective Steel to forever remain as we remember him. And if you wish to turn back, dear Traveler, now is your chance.

Very well, then.

SOUND: THREE KNOCKS. SILENCE.

Come, Traveler. Come with me into room J-18.

SOUND: DOOR CREAKING OPEN.

Juno Steel and the Final Resting Place.

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

***

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS. GATE OPENS.

MIASMA: Juno Steel. I’m afraid your time has come at last.

JUNO: Diving into another mind this early? Should’ve given me some warning – I would have brought my swim trunks.

MIASMA: That won’t be necessary. I’ve found a way to manage the end of this process without you.

MUSIC: STARTS.

JUNO: Hey, hey, w-what are you—

MIASMA: Assistant. Kill him.

JUNO (NARRATOR): It’s been coming down to this for days. A dark cell, in a Martian tomb, two masked assistants crowding me on either side. Miasma standing in the doorway, looking at me with all the interest she’d give an old chair she’s been meaning to throw out for weeks. My name’s Juno Steel, and this is probably where I die.

MUSIC: STOPS.

JUNO: Whoa, whoa, aren’t you putting the cart before the booster here a little bit? How are you gonna gloat if I’m dead?

MIASMA: I don’t need to gloat, Juno Steel. I just need to win.

JUNO: What happened to your plan, the whole—

MIASMA: Assistant, I’ve had enough of this. Kill him, or, give the gun to me and I’ll do it.

JUNO (NARRATOR): One of the assistants places the barrel of a pistol up against my head. Hard.

SOUND: GUN COCKING.

It’s a big barrel for a big, big gun.

MIASMA: That’s more like it. Clean up when you’re done.

JUNO (NARRATOR): The pistol pulls back, just a millimeter. I feel the hand on the other end of it flex.

When Nureyev disappeared, days ago now, he promised me he’d be back before it was too late. Well buddy, clock’s tickin’. Where the hell are ya?

SOUND: TWO BLASTER SHOTS, GRUNT, THUDS.

JUNO: That was cold, killing the two of them so fast.

NUREYEV: Apologies, Juno, but I didn’t think diplomacy would be quick enough for this rescue operation.

SOUND: CLINK.

JUNO (NARRATOR): He pulls off the mask, and there he is: Peter Nureyev, looking like a knight in stolen armor. I don’t want to admit it, but… it’s a weight off, seeing him again.

NUREYEV: If you’d like to swoon and fall into my arms, now would be an excellent time.

JUNO: Don’t get a fat head about it—

NUREYEV: My head is perfectly-sized, and we both know it.

JUNO: Even with Miasma dead, we’re not out of the woods yet. We can’t afford for anyone to raise the alarm before we find the weapon.

NUREYEV: So we have to hide the bodies – yes, yes, help me get them in the cell. You drag the guard, and I’ll take…

JUNO: Nureyev?

NUREYEV: Hmm?

JUNO: Where are the bodies?

NUREYEV: They appear to have… vanished.

JUNO: …That ever happen to you before?

NUREYEV: I’m typically the one disappearing, not the one left behind.

SOUND: HISSING, DISTANT BANGS.

JUNO: The hell was that?

NUREYEV: I have no idea. It could be… this is an ancient tomb deep beneath the surface of the planet. It’s entirely possible that the walls are just… shifting… basic plate tectonics.

JUNO: I might not have done so well in physical science, Nureyev, but I think I’d remember the day the teacher said that the same thing that caused earthquakes also makes corpses disappear.

NUREYEV: Keep your head, Juno. Just because we’ve come up against something unexpected doesn’t mean we should jump to conclusions.

JUNO: Honestly, I would love to, but I can’t think of a single goddamn conclusion to jump to.

SOUND: DISTANT METAL CLANGING, HISSING.

Actually, scratch that. I got a conclusion for you: I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.

NUREYEV: Well, dislike it while we walk, at least. We have quite a way to go.

JUNO (NARRATOR): We make our way down the hall; I just wanna get the hell out of there and see the sun again, but there’s something big we have to do first and we both know it.

NUREYEV: Before I came to collect you I did a bit of poking around throughout this base. It sounds like the Martian weapon is being kept in a huge storage and records chamber at the end of this hall.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): So we keep going deeper and deeper down that twisting hall. Those Martians must have had a hell of a lot of people to bury. There’s always another turn, another door, another staircase up or down…

NUREYEV: The final chamber’s behind those large doors just ahead.

JUNO: Does this place seem sort of… I don’t know, empty to you? We haven’t seen a single assistant.

NUREYEV: I’ve lived through too many rough escapes to turn down a smooth one, Juno. Let’s just assume it will all go swimmingly until it doesn’t, shall we?

SOUND: DISTANT BLASTER SHOTS.

Right on cue. Quickly, behind me.

SOUND: QUICK FOOTSTEPS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): We cram ourselves to one side of the hall and wait, holding our breath. Down the hall, a door opens.

SOUND: DOOR CREAKING OPEN, BLASTER FIRE.

NUREYEV: It’s one of the assistants. Shoot him, Juno!

JUNO: Hang on, he’s…

SOUND: BLASTER SHOT.

He’s not firing at us.

JUNO (NARRATOR): He isn’t. In fact, he’s shooting into the room he just came out of. Backing away, hands shaking. He backs himself across the hall, towards the final chamber where we’re headed.

SOUND: RELEASE OF AIR, MECHANICAL HUM. BLASTER FIRE.

Those double doors open. He falls back into it, and the door slams behind him.

SOUND: HISS OF AIR, MECHANICAL WHIRRING.

NUREYEV: What do you suppose he was firing at?

JUNO: That many blasts with a gun that size… I’m not sure it matters, whatever it was before, it’s probably paste by now.

And if it isn’t… honestly, I’d rather not see it.

NUREYEV: Agreed. I’ll take point in the final chamber and eliminate the assistant while you barricade the door behind us?

JUNO: Got it.

SOUND: RUNNING FOOTSTEPS. BUZZ, RELEASE OF AIR, MECHANICAL HUM.

Done. You take care of that assistant yet, Nureyev? …Nureyev?

NUREYEV: I would love to, Juno, but he… isn’t here.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I turn to see what Nureyev’s looking at. An assistant’s mask is lying on the floor, but– but there’s nobody around to wear it.

JUNO: He couldn’t have just disappeared, right? This big room, he must be somewhere in here.

NUREYEV: He certainly… could be.

Up on that pedestal, it looks like the case with the Egg of Purus in it. Let’s just take it and leave – quickly.

JUNO (NARRATOR): There’s something about this room I don’t like. Something besides the fact that someone just disappeared in it, I mean.

Miasma was collecting ancient Martian junk for years and whatever she wanted it for was supposed to happen in this room. The gang’s all here: the key, the mask, the throne, the teleporter, and a bunch of other Martian odds and Martian ends that are all raised on a platform in one end of the room. And even higher behind them sits the Martian weapon: the Egg of Purus. The only thing not here is the Saffron pill.

Well… it was the only thing not here. Until I showed up.

SOUND: CLICK, SCRAPING.

NUREYEV: (STRAINED) The damned… egg… won’t move. It must be fastened to the box somehow.

JUNO: Can’t you cut it off or something? I just wanna take the egg and get out of here.

NUREYEV: If you want to play with a knife around a bomb of this power, Juno, I’ll hand you mine. I will ask that you give me one hour and thirty-seven minutes to escape Mars first.

JUNO: How do you know it would take… never mind, of course you do.

Well, there’s gotta be something in this room to help us with this stupid bomb, right? It’s not like she was gonna just let the thing blow up her base.

NUREYEV: Seems as though she’s kept some records down there. Let’s start looking.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I didn’t even notice the records until Nureyev pointed them out.

The room’s packed tight enough to make a sardine feel crowded, arranged with boxes and shelves and bizarre lab equipment. I don’t know what kinds of experiments Miasma was up to in here, but they don’t look like the kind of experiments you walk away from in one piece.

SOUND: PAPER RUSTLING.

NUREYEV: These appear to be Miasma’s translations of ancient Martian texts. If she plans to use that bomb, one of these must have told her how. With any luck, it will tell us how to disarm and detach it as well.

JUNO: Great. So we’re looking for an ancient Martian instruction manual. You know, if she was organized, we’d find it somewhere between the instructions for the ancient Martian egg beater and the ancient Martian blender.

SOUND: DISTANT BANGS, INDISTINCT NOISES.

How about I go check on the barricade.

NUREYEV: I’ll keep reading. Stay within my line of sight.

JUNO (NARRATOR): There are carvings on the walls in this room, too. Pictures and symbols and strange shapes.

SOUND: UNINTELLIGIBLE WHISPERS.

Something about those things always makes me feel like they’re watching me, whispering to one another.

VOICE: (WHISPERING) Juno Steel…

JUNO: What was that?!

NUREYEV: What was what, Juno?

JUNO: I… nevermind. Must be hearing things, or somethin’.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

Barricade’s intact, looks like one of these boxes just hit the ground. Must have been unbalanced or somethin’.

NUREYEV: What’s in it?

JUNO: Must be a hundred boxes just like this one in here. Whatever’s inside must be important.

SOUND: HISS, LATCH UNLOCKING.

Hear that sound? It means they’re freshhhh, uh…

SOUND: RATTLING.

Whatever they are. “Take two daily with ten milligrams of water, wait at least three hours after consumption before attempting… reproductive activities.” Well, that seems kinda personal.

NUREYEV: The door. Is there anything else we can do to secure it?

JUNO: I mean, I could shove an even bigger box in front of it—

NUREYEV: Juno—

JUNO: Kidding. Kidding, there’s a panel right here. I’ll see if I can lock the door.

SOUND: ELECTRONIC BEEPS.

Hey, uh, Nureyev?

NUREYEV: Yes?

JUNO: …This says there are two doors to the room.

NUREYEV: There couldn’t be.

JUNO: There are. It could be a mistake, but… I’m just gonna lock ‘em both.

SOUND: MORE BEEPS.

NUREYEV: That sounds like a very good idea.

SOUND: LOUD SUCTION, CLANK.

COMPUTERIZED VOICE: Airlocks activated.

NUREYEV: That’s… quite a lock. You don’t think this was where—

JUNO: Where Miasma was gonna hide after she set off her bomb? Yeah, I do, actually. I think the box that fell might have been full of of nutrient capsules, long-term bomb shelter food, the kind of stuff they used to hand out during the war.

Set off the bomb, seal the airlock, and live alone in here on nutrient soup while everyone rots on the surface. She was close. But this means the bomb must be dirty, right? It gets in the air or something.

Nureyev? …Nureyev?!

NUREYEV: Hmm? Oh, apologies, Juno. I’ve just found something we might find useful.

JUNO: Just try not to give me a heart attack every time you pick up a good book, alright?

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

NUREYEV: I’ll try not to make a habit of it.

JUNO: So. What’d you find?

SOUND: PAPER RUSTLING.

NUREYEV: These appear to be some sort of instructions for activating the weapon, but… they’re only partially translated. “Press our hand upon our Purus Egg,” something something, “watch the numbers as they fall,” and then “our planet will be clean again.”

JUNO: Then what?

NUREYEV: I thought that was rather a lot.

JUNO: Well, that didn’t tell us a damn thing. Keep looking.

NUREYEV: Of course it did. It told us the Purus Egg has a timer before it detonates: “Watch the numbers as they fall.” And it told us how to activate the egg, too—

JUNO: Yeah, I got that, but it was wrong, Nureyev; it said you just have to touch it to start the timer, and you already did that on the train.

NUREYEV: That is true. But… it doesn’t say ‘a’ hand. It says ‘our’ hand.

JUNO: Yeah, but that thing says ‘our’ everything: our hand, our egg. Martians probably would have called it ‘our Earth’, too, if there weren’t a bunch of monkeys already running the place.

NUREYEV: This predates apes by about ten million years, Juno.

JUNO: Cave-monkeys, then.

NUREYEV: But perhaps – is it possible that the ‘our’ is intended literally? Only a Martian hand can activate the bomb.

JUNO: Well, how do we deactivate it, then?

NUREYEV: …This doesn’t say.

JUNO: Figures.

So… what do we do if it turns out you can’t deactivate the thing?

NUREYEV: Don’t be ridiculous. There must be a way to deactivate it – you don’t just build a weapon that goes off if you graze it and forget to add an off switch.

JUNO: Unless there’s no reason to have an off switch.

Unless you’ve weighed all the options ahead of time… decided it’s better if there’s no turning—

SOUND: BEEP, HISS OF AIR, MECHANICAL HUM.

COMPUTERIZED VOICE: Airlocks deactivated.

NUREYEV: What in the world?

JUNO: The lock system must be faulty, I’ll go take care of—

SOUND: BOOM, LOW RUMBLING.

JUNO: Dammit, what now?

COMPUTERIZED VOICE: The platform is now rising.

NUREYEV: The weapon, Juno!

JUNO: And that’s… it can’t be…

NUREYEV: Miasma.

JUNO (NARRATOR): It can’t be Miasma. I’d watched Nureyev shoot her, I’d heard her hit the floor and smelled that dead body smell that you can never quite pin and never, ever get used to. It can’t be her… but it is. Standing on that pedestal, her hands closing around the Egg of Purus. I don’t have time to think, so I don’t.

SOUND: BLASTER SHOT, THUMP.

NUREYEV: That was quite a shot.

JUNO: Compliment me later. That pedestal is still rising, and I don’t wanna know why. I’ll go check on the bomb, you head back to the console by the door and stop the pedestal.

NUREYEV: Alright.

SOUND: QUICK FOOTSTEPS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I hoist myself up onto the pedestal and check the bomb. Symbols glow through the sides of the egg, and though I can’t read them, I can guess what they mean.

JUNO: Nureyev! Miasma started the damn bomb!

NUREYEV: (DISTANT) How much time do we have?

JUNO: I don’t know – the egg says ‘elephant’s foot, sideways W halfway into a gumbo.’

SOUND: ELECTRONIC BEEPS, DULL BOOM.

COMPUTERIZED VOICE: The platform has stopped rising.

JUNO: Thanks.

NUREYEV: Check on Miasma. If your laser didn’t kill her, we might be able to get some information out of her.

JUNO On it.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I see where the platform’s been heading: a circular airlock in the ceiling, leading to a long, dark tunnel above. That probably goes all the way up to the surface. We came too close all over again.

There’s one thing I don’t see, though.

JUNO: Nureyev? I’ve looked all around this thing, but I… can’t find Miasma… Nureyev?

SOUND: LOW RUMBLING, GEARS TURNING.

COMPUTERIZED VOICE: The platform is now rising.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

NUREYEV: (CHOKING)

MIASMA: Juno Steel.

SOUND: WEAK THUMPS.

MUSIC: STARTS.

Just in time to watch me kill your… Peter Nureyev.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Miasma. She’s sitting on Nureyev’s chest, her fingers tightening around his throat. She shouldn’t be able to hold him like that! She’s small, and old, and I’ve seen Nureyev escape from too many things to believe he could be caught by her. But Nureyev’s pinned. He looks beaten.

JUNO: Get off of him, Miasma.

MIASMA: Or what will you do, Juno Steel? Kill me? Again?

SOUND: THUMPS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): It’s just a hunch, but in a line of work like mine, you live and die on your hunches. Then you cross your fingers, and hope nobody else has to die on ‘em.

At the last second, I turn my gun away from her head and aim at her arms.

SOUND: TWO BLASTER SHOTS.

MIASMA: (GRUNTS)

NUREYEV: (GASPING)

SOUND: RUSTLING.

MIASMA: Very good, Juno Steel. I imagine you must have been a very good investigator… before you came up against me.

SOUND: SQUELCHES.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Her arms are still moving. They’re flopping around on the floor like dusty old eels. And she’s standing now, her arms ending a quarter of the way down. And her face… there’s always been something wrong with her face. Something that turns your stomach. Like a mirror halfway to funhouse. Wrong, but not wrong enough to register.

But now… now it’s like her skin was just a paper-thin membrane, floating on something… liquid. Rippling. One of her arms reforms, and then the other. And—

SOUND: SQUISHY, ZIPPING NOISES.

MIASMA & JUNO (NARRATOR): (IN UNISON) —these ones she doesn’t bother to cover.

JUNO: What the hell?!

MIASMA: Don’t look so surprised, Juno Steel. I told you I always get what I want.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Her hateful little eyes are pointed straight at me, bobbing on that waterbed face of hers. Looking at her makes me feel like my stomach is learning a new dance step but it’s worth it, because behind her, perfectly silently, Nureyev’s on his feet, headed for the panel by the door. Just a minute. I just need to stall for a minute.

JUNO: You want this? Seriously?

MIASMA: I have worked tirelessly to get what I want. I wanted the mask, so I took it. I wanted the teleporter, so I made it. I wanted the growth inside you, so I created it for myself. You have no right to stand in the way of what I’ve worked for, Juno Steel. What I’m owed.

JUNO: And… what do you want, Miasma?

JUNO (NARRATOR): Nureyev’s halfway to the door before Miasma catches him. Her arm cracks across the room like a bullwhip, but this time, he has his knife ready.

MIASMA: Back away from the panel, thief!

SOUND: BLADE SWINGS, WHIP CRACKS. SQUELCH. GRUNTS.

NUREYEV: Juno! Cover me!

SOUND: BLASTER SHOTS.

MIASMA: Attack me as much as you like. You’ll tire eventually, and I won’t. I always get what I want.

SOUND: SQUISHY, WET THUMPS. BLASTER FIRE.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Her arms keep lashing out after him. I keep shooting, and they keep coming, and– and then they aren’t her arms anymore. They’re just lashing out from every part of her, like she’s a thing without an outline—

SOUND: WHIP CRACKS.

—constantly spilling into weird, impossible shapes. And then she’s beside him again, and I don’t know how she got there. Just looking at her makes my head feel like it’s—

MIASMA & JUNO (NARRATOR): (IN UNISON) —going to split in two.

SOUND: WET THUD, SQUELCHES.

NUREYEV: (GRUNTING)

MIASMA: You can delay me all you like, but I always get what I want. Always.

SOUND: WHIP CRACKS. BLADE SWISHES. SQUISHY THUMPS. GRUNTS.

NUREYEV: Juno, the Purus Egg! Go deal with the egg!

JUNO (NARRATOR): The weapon. The pedestal’s high now, but I should be able to jump to it.

What the hell am I supposed to do when I get up there, though? I can’t disarm the bomb, and even if I can figure that one out, there’s still Miasma to deal with.

MIASMA: And I’m afraid Miasma will not be dealt with so easily.

SOUND: WHIP CRACK.

JUNO: (PAINED GRUNT)

JUNO (NARRATOR): She grabs me by the leg from across the room and pulls.

SOUND: TENTACLE SLAPS.

MIASMA: Come here, Juno Steel.

JUNO: (YELPING)

JUNO (NARRATOR): And she’s dragging me across the floor, that appendage of hers squeezing tighter and tighter, and more of them are coming. And more.

NUREYEV: Very rude of you, Miasma—

SOUND: WHIP CRACK.

—to interrupt me in the middle of our conversation!

SOUND: SQUELCHES. BLADE SLICING, STABBING. WHIP CRACKS.

Why don’t you and I continue this privately?

JUNO (NARRATOR): Nureyev’s hacking through her, shredding her to pieces, working so fast that she has to let go of me and turn back on him. I have to move quick before she starts trying to shred him. He won’t be coming back. I have to stop her, but we’re playing right into her hands.

MIASMA: Oh, what makes you think that, Juno Steel?

JUNO (NARRATOR): I have to stop the weapon. I have no idea how to stop the weapon… but Miasma does. And I can still look into her head. Can’t I?

MIASMA: No. Juno Steel!

NUREYEV: (PANTING) I told you, Miasma. Me. First.

JUNO (NARRATOR): It’s almost easy by now; I close my eyes, I reach out, feel for the cold, steely thing that Miasma has for a mind.

SOUND: STRANGE HUM.

It feels wrong, like I won’t fit, like her thoughts are wiggling and shifting around mine. I reach. The first spikes of pain push into my eye. I reach further, and finally I find the opening.

I pull.

SOUND: HUM & STATIC GETS LOUDER, THEN FADES OUT.

MIASMA: (DISTANT) Ancient Martians created the only society on record in which all citizens were completely equal. For them, there was no all. Only part…

JUNO (NARRATOR): A conference hall. Miasma’s standing before a near empty audience, her papers lined up in front of her.

I don’t have time for this! I keep pushing. Flipping deeper, deeper, moment after moment. A childhood trip to the park. A girl with her favorite book, reading beneath a shady tree. I keep looking. Birthday presents as big as your head, but… it’s just a lot of nothing.

You know how much of life is just nothing? Just the quiet moments of killing time between big things? You can’t get from ceremony to ceremony or murder to murder without all these times between where you fall asleep on the couch, eat soup for dinner—

MIASMA: (DISTANT) Assistant! Get back in there, you useless – if I have to tell you one more time! Do it properly!

SOUND: KEYBOARD CLICKING.

JUNO (NARRATOR): —write your papers, eat soup for dinner, yell at your employees, think about cleaning the house, eat soup for dinner, eat soup… for dinner. Wow, Miasma ate a lot of soup.

SOUND: SLURP.

But there’s no time! I need to defuse the bomb. So I keep pushing. Even if the pain in my eye is growing, even if it feels like the needles in my eye are taking root and spreading.

SOUND: ELECTRONIC BEEPS. LIQUID BUBBLING.

I see her gathering everything she needs down here. I feel how happy the thought of a clean, lonely planet makes her. No other voices – just quiet and thought.

MIASMA: (DISTANT) Yes… yes…

JUNO (NARRATOR): I am so close, I’m almost there. I can feel it. The bomb – how the hell do I defuse the bomb?

SOUND: LOW VIBRATION.

MIASMA: The Egg of Purus – using the teleportation technology – I’ll extract the traces of DNA – trapped in the folds of the Mask of Grimpotheuthis – the Throne of Architeuthis – and the Vampiris Key – my splicing technology will take care of the rest – a society of one, replicated one billion times – but the only one is me. And then, the Egg of Purus will be under my control. Unless…

JUNO (NARRATOR): So. Close.

MIASMA: The Egg of Purus… if I were to change my mind, all I would have to do is…

JUNO (NARRATOR): Damn you, just say it!

MIASMA: Oh, Juno Steel. You didn’t really think it would be that easy, did you?

SOUND: RUSHING STATIC. CRACKLING.

JUNO: (YELLS)

MIASMA: Welcome back, Juno Steel. Did you find what you were looking for?

JUNO (NARRATOR): I try to reach for her again – to read her mind, but I can’t. That part of me is just… gone.

JUNO: (YELLS LOUDER, GASPING)

JUNO (NARRATOR): Ow, my head, my eye… no, no – focus, Steel, focus. She has Nureyev against the wall now. He’s still fighting, but he doesn’t look like he has much fight left in him.

I can’t tell why, but the room looks off. Like someone’s tilted it since I left.

I take a shot.

SOUND: BLASTER SHOT, CLINK.

It goes wide. Real wide.

I feel something on my face and without thinking, bring my hand up to it. The hand comes away dripping and red, and I can’t see it until it’s a few inches away from my face.

What did I do? What the hell did I do to myself?

NUREYEV: (PANTING) Juno! Have you figured out how to stop the bomb yet?

SOUND: DISTANT WHIPPING, SQUISHING, STABBING.

JUNO (NARRATOR): As soon as he says that, I have it. I don’t even need to dive into Miasma’s head to figure it out. And the beautiful thing is it’ll take care of Miasma, too, all in one moment.

NUREYEV: Juno – quickly!

JUNO: I’ve got it! Just… hold on for one second!

JUNO (NARRATOR): I go to take another shot and think better of it. I’ll miss again, and I can’t risk hitting Nureyev. When I get close, though, close enough that I have to hit something, I lay into her.

SOUND: BLASTER FIRE.

MIASMA: Shoot as much as you’d like, Juno Steel. I have plenty of time.

NUREYEV: Glad you made it, Ju—

Juno… your eye…!

JUNO: Yeah, it’s beautiful in the moonlight, I know. Mind if we deal with this business right now?

SOUND: BLASTER FIRE. SQUELCHES. BLADE SLICING.

MIASMA: You can’t… hold me back… forever.

JUNO: Yeah, maybe not, but we can hold you back long enough. Nureyev, this way.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): We back up to the door, step by step. We work well together, Nureyev and I. We’re holding her back, and she doesn’t like it. My back hits the wall.

SOUND: ELECTRONIC BEEPS.

I reach for the panel with my free hand.

SOUND: BOOM, MECHANICAL WHIRR.

COMPUTERIZED VOICE: The platform has stopped rising.

NUREYEV: Juno! What are you—

SOUND: WHIP CRACKS.

You’re going to set off the bomb in here.

JUNO: Guns and knives might not work, but we know one thing that can kill a Martian, don’t we?

MIASMA: Don’t be absurd.

SOUND: BLASTER FIRE. WHIP CRACKS.

JUNO: Just gotta make sure we’re not collateral here. Head out the door and I’ll cover you.

NUREYEV: Juno—

JUNO: Now!

NUREYEV: Alright. I’ll see you there, Juno.

MIASMA: Get back here!

SOUND: BLASTER FIRE.

JUNO: Hands off, Miasma!

NUREYEV: Juno, now! While she’s regenerating, you—

SOUND: ELECTRONIC BEEPS. WHIP CRACK. MECHANICAL WHIRR, LOUD SUCTION, CLANK.

MIASMA: No!

COMPUTERIZED VOICE: Airlocks activated.

MIASMA: You idiot!

SOUND: BLASTER SHOTS. DULL POUNDING.

NUREYEV: (THROUGH THE DOOR) Juno! Juno, what are you doing?!

JUNO: This is the way it’s gotta be, Nureyev.

SOUND: SQUELCHES. BLASTER FIRE. WHIP CRACKS.

NUREYEV: (THROUGH THE DOOR) No, it isn’t. You self-aggrandizing—

JUNO: If I head out there with you, there’s nobody to stop her from getting to that panel, and sealing herself in here and sending that bomb up to the surface where it’ll make Mars a wasteland all over again.

NUREYEV: (THROUGH THE DOOR) You don’t have to do this alone, you idiot!

MIASMA: (GROWLS)

SOUND: BLASTER SHOTS. WHIP CRACKS.

JUNO: And add you onto the bill? I don’t think so. Just think of me as the price tag, Nureyev. The cost of a fresh shot at the world.

NUREYEV: (THROUGH THE DOOR) Open this door! Open it now!

SOUND: BANGING.

JUNO: It’s too late for that. I can’t read the numbers on the bomb, but I can see that they just dropped a digit. We’re next door to the end, Nureyev.

MUSIC: STARTS.

Smile for the camera.

MIASMA: I’ll kill you! I’ll kill—

SOUND: BLASTER SHOT. CHOKING SOUNDS.

JUNO: Hey, we got a quiet minute while her face is rebuilding itself.

Mind if I let you in on a little secret, Nureyev?

NUREYEV: (THROUGH THE DOOR) You idiot. Juno, you idiot.

JUNO: You’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. (CHUCKLES BREATHLESSLY) Wow, that’s a load off. And it’s true! You make me feel like… maybe it’s all worth it. Like maybe there’s something out there worth seeing.

NUREYEV: (THROUGH THE DOOR) Of course there is. But you need to be alive to see it.

JUNO: Ever since that night I tried to turn you in, I’ve been thinkin’ about that – the adventures we were talkin’ about, the bouncing from star to star? Leaving this dump behind and seeing what the galaxy’s got to offer.

MIASMA: (YELLS)

SOUND: BLASTER SHOT. SQUELCH.

JUNO: I wish we got the chance to do that, Nureyev. If I’ve got one regret, it’s that.

NUREYEV: (THROUGH THE DOOR) Juno…

JUNO: It’s been nice knowing you, Nureyev. (SIGHS) It’s been a gift I… don’t deserve.

NUREYEV: (THROUGH THE DOOR) Open this door. Juno! Juno!

SOUND: BANGING, POUNDING.

MUSIC: ENDS.

JUNO: Alright, Miasma. You were tryin’ to say something to me?

MIASMA: Juno Steel. What have you done?

JUNO: Something I don’t think anyone’s ever done to you. You wanted something. I said no.

MIASMA: That bomb won’t just kill you. It will tear you to pieces. Do you know why hardly a shred of Martian matter was left after their extinction? What’s inside that bomb… it chews through you, devours you. You’ll feel it in your every cell.

JUNO: Hey, I’ll try anything once.

SOUND: WHIP CRACK. BLASTER SHOT.

JUNO: If you’re so scared of it, why not disarm it?

MIASMA: It can’t be disarmed, you idiot. It is the final weapon, the punctuation mark on life! (GROWLS)

SOUND: WHIP CRACKS. TWO QUICK BLASTER SHOTS.

Open that door, or we’ll die in here. We have seconds, you fool!

JUNO: And if you really wanna torture me, Miasma, you’ll spend them talking my ear off.

JUNO (NARRATOR): The numbers tick down. A digit drops.

SOUND: WHIP CRACKS, BLASTER FIRE.

I miss more shots than I should, but at this range, I can get her at least, keep her thousand cold appendages from the panel.

MIASMA: (GROWLING)

JUNO (NARRATOR): I’m tired… I hurt… and the numbers tick down. And I just have to hold out a little longer until I can rest—

MIASMA: You can’t take this away from me! You can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t!

JUNO (NARRATOR) And then… the numbers stop.

MIASMA: No! I can’t die! I’ll never die!

JUNO (NARRATOR): A crack shines in the side of the egg, then another. And another. And then… it hatches.

SOUND: ELECTRONIC BEEPS, RISING IN PITCH.

MIASMA: (SCREAMS)

SOUND: SCREECHING METAL, WIND, STATIC GETS LOUDER, THEN FADES OUT.

NUREYEV: (THROUGH THE DOOR) Juno? Juno, you impossible idiot, answer me! Answer me please!

SOUND: DULL POUNDING.

Juno! Juno, no, no, no…

SOUND: ELECTRONIC BEEPS, HISS OF AIR, MECHANICAL WHIRR.

COMPUTERIZED VOICE: Airlocks deactivated.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

NUREYEV: Juno… you’re… alive! How could you be?

The egg. It looks just like it did before. It must not have gone off, is that it? After all these aeons, it didn’t even work! (LAUGHS) …Where’s Miasma?

JUNO: The weapon went off. Miasma’s dead. Every shred of her… gone.

NUREYEV: But… how?

JUNO: I was just wondering the same thing. (CHUCKLES) But you know, it make sense when you think about it.

NUREYEV: D-does it?

JUNO: It’s simple, Nureyev. You just gotta think like a Martian – all that stuff in those writings, right, all that stuff Miasma was after to clean Mars, to make it pure again. That’s what the Martians wanted, right?

NUREYEV: Yes, I suppose—

JUNO: But clean what, is the question.

The Martians were all the same, they bred by splitting so they had the same DNA. They could read each other’s thoughts! If their bodies were the same, their minds were the same, there’s no difference, one to the other.

NUREYEV: Juno, I don’t think—

JUNO: We’ve been looking at this all wrong, Nureyev! The weapon wasn’t a mistake, it wasn’t a product of a war or an experiment gone wrong. It wasn’t a Martian genocide. It was a Martian suicide. They thought it through and they put the pieces together and at the end of the day, they figured Mars was better off without them.

NUREYEV: You don’t know any of that for sure.

JUNO: Miasma’s gone. I’m not. The weapon scrubs Martians clean down to the last cell and doesn’t touch another thing. You have any better theories?

NUREYEV: Only that it doesn’t matter anymore. The Martians are dead, the last of them gone. Their choices have been made and buried in this tomb. You and I, Juno, we’re alive. And free to make whatever choices we please… and I can think of one I’d like to make right now.

SOUND: KISSING.

JUNO: You’re right… they’re gone. They’re all gone.

NUREYEV: What do you say we leave the dead to their rest, Juno? We have some living to do out on the surface, I think.

JUNO: Yeah. The surface. I’d like that, Nureyev… I really would.

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

***

SOUND: HEAVY RAIN, CARS HONKING. DOOR OPENS.

NUREYEV: This is quite the hotel. I, for one, am looking forward to a good night’s sleep. It’s been weeks.

JUNO: The hotel’s alright.

NUREYEV: Juno… I’m sorry that the doctors couldn’t save your eye.

JUNO: I… got another.

Besides, it’s not like I needed that eye, anyway. I’m sure there are plenty of P.I.s with one eye. P-one-eyes. Hell, I’ll never shoot straight again, but not a big deal – it’s not like sharpshooting was the basis of my entire career or anything, I—

NUREYEV: Juno, Juno. Shh, it’s alright. There are options. You know, you could always look into a cybernetic eye.

JUNO: You think I got that kind of money to kick around? Only people who can afford those things can afford to buy an army to do their shooting for ‘em.

NUREYEV: I do have very wealthy friends, Juno. I could ask around—

JUNO: Let’s just… not talk about it right now, alright?

NUREYEV: Alright. It can wait. Though I can’t say I understand why you insisted we come to a clinic in Hyperion City when Olympus Mons was so much closer.

JUNO: (SIGHS) I… I just wanted to see the place one last time, that’s all.

NUREYEV: I see. I suppose… I don’t have the penchant for nostalgia that you do.

JUNO: It doesn’t do me any good. City’s gonna change whether I’m here or not. This area used to be crammed with apartment buildings – you’d see people walking up and down the street all the time, carrying groceries, and kids hanging on their arms.

NURYEV: I didn’t see any apartment buildings.

JUNO: It wasn’t even that long ago, couple months maybe… city’s gonna change. That’s just how it is.

NUREYEV: Juno?

JUNO: Yeah?

NUREYEV: …Are you certain that you want to leave Mars?

JUNO: Yeah, yeah, ‘course I am. I said that, didn’t I? Back in the tomb, before… the bomb.

NUREYEV: This city… I can tell it’s very valuable to you. Truthfully, I can’t say I know what that feels like. I was so excited to leave Brahma behind. I’ve been so excited to leave behind every planet I’ve seen.

JUNO: All that bad, huh?

NUREYEV: Not at all. They’re beautiful, every one of them. So beautiful that as soon as I land on one, all I can think of is the next, the incredible future ahead…

I’m excited to share that future with you, Juno, but only if it’s the future you want. And, if it isn’t, I’ll leave alone. For good. And that will be that.

So?

JUNO (NARRATOR): Leaving Mars. Forever. That’s what I said I wanted, wasn’t it? Freedom? Adventure across the galaxy. With Peter Nureyev.

NUREYEV: So?

JUNO: I wanna leave. With you.

SOUND: RUSTLING FABRIC.

NUREYEV: And I am so happy to hear you say it, Juno.

SOUND: KISSING.

Are there any last preparations you need before we go?

JUNO: No. In the morning, I’ll call Rita, tell her to close up the office, sell off the junk in my apartment – that should carry her until she can find another job, but… I don’t think I can go back there again.

NUREYEV: I understand. We’re on the edge of a brave new future, Juno. It’s exciting, isn’t it?

JUNO: Yeah… yeah, it is.

NUREYEV: What do you say you and I begin that beautiful future right now?

JUNO: That sounds exciting, too.

SOUND: FABRIC RUSTLING, KISSING.

JUNO (NARRATOR): We spent the night together. It was… nice.

It was like nothing else. Just like Peter Nureyev.

NUREYEV: You know, Juno… call me a fool if you like, but— (YAWNING) I think… I may have… fallen in love with you.

JUNO: I… (LAUGHS) If you’re a fool, that makes two of us.

NUREYEV: (CHUCKLES)

JUNO (NARRATOR): Nureyev falls asleep in minutes. I watch him in the dark for hours. Smell his cologne, see those sharp teeth peek past his lips as he snores. Nureyev sleeps deeply, like someone who knows the tomorrow he’s waking up to will be worth showing up for.

Lying next to him, I feel that way too. And suddenly, desperately, I wanna chase a future of that feeling every single day. With him.

SOUND: FABRIC RUSTLING, CREAKING, FOOTSTEPS. KEYS JINGLING, DOOR OPENS.

NUREYEV: (MURMURING IN SLEEP) Juno…

SOUND: DOOR CLOSES. FOOTSTEPS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Hyperion City.

MUSIC: STARTS.

It takes a lot of people to fill up a city like this, big and filthy and beautiful. Killer stars and runaway execs and starving kids and bad parents, old friends who made it, old friends who didn’t, smugglers, murderers, mercenaries and mad anthropologists.

Master thieves and private eyes.

You meet enough of those people in my line of work, and you start to notice something: everyone thinks they’ve got the answer, that silver laser that promises they’ll be happy forever. But no one’s ever been happy forever.

All those people chasing after all those promises, running full tilt towards a thousand paradises that never were and never are going to be, Steel, no matter how bad you want it – well, it makes a big mess.

And sometimes, when the whole thing feels like too much, it’s tempting to lie down and let all of the other runners trample you.

(SIGHS) But I can’t.

SOUND: KEYS JINGLING, DOOR OPENS.

So instead, I take my lumps. The world gets a little bigger, a little meaner. Maybe I did, too.

From my office window, I get a good view of the city: the mansions floating over Uptown, the drunks drifting through the streets, the addicts who’ve turned their skin to pincushions, and the powerful people who profit off every pinprick.

SOUND: GLASS CLINK, LIQUID POURING.

(SIGHS) My name’s Juno Steel. I’m a private eye, and this is my city.

I’m not proud of it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth saving.

And hell, it’s not like I had anywhere better to go.

MUSIC: ENDS.

***

SOUND: RAIN & MUSIC.

CONCIERGE: I’m afraid this concludes season one of The Penumbra Podcast, dear Traveler. But worry not: the travails of our dear detective and his fellow guests will resume in March, and in the meantime, we’ve plenty of surprises planned for you.

Are you concerned you’ll miss us? You can stay up to date with all of our establishment’s plans by liking us on Facebook, following us on Twitter @thepenumbrapod, and following us on Tumblr @thepenumbrapodcast. If you check those pages today, Traveler, you’ll find instructions to submit questions for a Q&A with The Penumbra’s co-creators to air next Tuesday, the fifteenth of November. They’re waiting to hear from you.

If our first season of tales has impacted you, we hope you will consider showing your appreciation by supporting The Penumbra on Patreon. For the donation of just a few dollars per episode, you can access our scripts, art raffles by our artist Mikaela Buckley, and other tantalizing rewards. Your support helps ensure that we will be able to keep creating these stories for you in the future. You can find that page at patreon.com/thepenumbrapodcast. If you support us on Patreon at the $10 level or higher, you’ll receive access to commentary tracks like this one from actors Joshua Ilon, Kate Jones, and Noah Simes:

SOUND: DOOR CREAKING OPEN.

NOAH: Right, right.

KATE: Oh, that grumpy Juno. Like, he’s… he’s really struggling, with some—

NOAH: Yeah!

KATE: Dark stuff.

NOAH: Yeah. It’s striking.

JOSHUA: It’s– it’s an interesting peel-away of the curmudgeonly, hard-boiled detective. It’s the—

NOAH: Right.

JOSHUA: The everything that we blindly accept with this genre are real symptoms of a real thing.

SOUND: DOOR CREAKING CLOSED.

CONCIERGE: We would like to give thanks to all who support us on Patreon, but especially to Hannah Tsim, Elizabeth Miller, Angel Acevedo, Eliza Grey, and Sarah Richardson for their incredibly generous contributions per episode. Thank you.

If you cannot afford to support us, we understand – but we hope you will take a moment to rate and review us on iTunes or your podcast service of choice so that we can spread our tales further than ever before.

This tale, Juno Steel and the Final Resting Place, was told by the following people: Joshua Ilon as Juno Steel, Noah Simes as Peter Nureyev, and Kate Jones as Miasma.

On staff at The Penumbra: Kevin Vibert is our lead writer and recording engineer. Sophie Kaner is our director and sound designer. Grahame Turner is our script editor. Original music by Ryan Vibert. Promotional art by Mikaela Buckley.

The Penumbra is created and produced by Sophie Kaner and Kevin Vibert.

We’re sad to see you go, but worry not. The Penumbra will find its way to you again. Farewell, dear Traveler. For now.

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

[edelwary]

By Being Reckless - Chapter 1

Hello ! So, I fiiiiinally made this up ! It has a, major character death but it’s not a focus point : Keith is an angel so he’s dead but the death is not the point don’t worry ! (Although there Might Be a chapter focused on it but i don’t want to dwell on it).

 It’s probably a really slow burn Klance fanfic, with a lot of VLD characters involved and plenty of tricky situations and alternate realities! I’ll upload it on AO3 as soon as I get my account. 

Sum UP : Keith was dead. He neither remembered nor cared how, but this became his last concern when he became the guardian angel of his very own human. Between parallel realities screwing up and your local teenage mess doing the same, spread your wings and go fix issues, Angel boy ! But you know, death has its upsides, and some had blue eyes. 

Keith was dead. The main hall was crowded, he managed to keep in track of where he was headed by keeping eye contact with brown hair. Highschoolers were pushing in all directions. The morning sunshine entered shyly in the building, allowing the air to stay fresh a little more before the whole city turns into a burning hell under the late summer rays. He passed by a group of girl. Happily chattering about the end of schoolyear, they carried books for morning classes. He looked at his empty hands. He rehearsed it. He tought about it, turned the phrase a little in his head, but the outcome was the same.

Keith was dead. He followed a kid some more before turning, entering a classroom. Soft conversations faded as the teacher made his entrance right behind him. Keith found a free table at the back. When sat, he turned to the window. The subject of the day was “physics on lasers”. Couldn't care less. Outside, the green of the trees poked through the city. People started their day, unaware of what he knew. The boy's gaze followed an old lady walking down the street. Did she knew ? As she turned at the street's corner, he came back to the classroom, folded his arms and closed his eyes.   He opened his eyes. Funny ones were observing him. Funny because they were really round. Also very close.

-I feel like there is a 99% probability you’re awake. -Huh… Make it a hundred.

Keith lazily sat down, peered around the room. It seemed an hospital chamber, at first, because of the baby blue walls and the high window. It smelled menthol and antibiotics. No flowers, no wheelchair. No beeping, no drip infusion. Either it wasn’t exactly an hospital, and only god knew what it was then, either Keith was very alone. He couldn’t choose what was worse.   -Where am I, exactly ? -In this reality or in the 14 others ? -Huh… In this one, I guess ? -You’re in a special service, for people like you. -People like… What am I ? What are you ?   Keith focused back on his interlocutor. Round eyes, eight arms, a beak, it looked like a ferret had a strange night with both a sparrow and a spider. Odd. -I am a bytor, in charge of you for the first steps. You, are 100% a dead human.   Keith scoffed. Okay, fine. A dream. You know, those weird dreams, were reality is off and everything is… kind of… wrong. Didn't liked them much but it'll pass.    -I usually don’t trust dreams. You’re funny… -Oh, I wish I was. 8 people on 9 I know say I’m not. -You’re not kidding me, are you. -Unfortunately. -Oh-kay, time to wake up Keith ! I've seen enough. -No, you can’t… started the bytor.

Keith jumped out of the bed. The landing was blurry and the world tilted a bit to the right as his vision went white. Shaking anemia out of his system, he turned to the door.

-Do not walk through that… -I’m leaving this dream now, bye, has been nice to meet you.

Keith grabbed the doorknob and crashed the door open . Inhaling, he closed his eyes. And smashed it off on himself.    -Ho hey ! Are you here with me ? Knock kno-ock !

  Bursting eyes open, Keith reported his attention back to the classroom. Dark skin, annoyed gaze, a highschooler was hungry, and kind of in a hurry. He kept asking.

-So ? Where do we eat ? Pidge’s on the roof. -Oh-okay let’s go.

The teen sat next to Keith grabbed his backpack and went after his friend. Keith stood and followed him. Tall, lanky, tan, he had the chram of those kids who talk themselves out of every situation. He was actually pretty, and aware, and Keith would have done anything to make him happy. Literally. As the boys sat next to their friend on the roof, the three of them started discussing, unpacking snacks.

The view was stunning. The highschool was built on three levels, and allowed the students to enjoy the city from above. On the east, hills, a stream, and further a forest, opposed to the cityside. Bakeries, a mechanic or two, seven-eleven, a video-store. The place had an old-timey, retro feel, even more under the soft sunlight of the late morning. The tallest building was only four floors high.Tracing its skyline with his eyes, Keith started daydreaming once more.  

-Ah, you’re awake again ! -My head… Hugh…

Numb, dazed, the teen blinked. The furry creature was still there. He was still there.

-I don’t understand. I slammed a door on my face. I should be up by now. -Yes. And you are already. -This is wrong. I do not know you, insisted Keith, I never went to this hospital. I never came here ! WHY WOULD I EVEN BE HERE ?!

The creature started trembling. Keith, on the other hand, felt a panicked anger bloom inside.

-You do not understand. You are not in an hospital at all. -Then were the HELL, shouted Keith, AM I ! -Hell ? You must mix up with Heaven ? I told you…   Keith mouth shut itself. Now anger and panic were not just blooming, they litteraly fed off him. His shoulders dropped. “You’re a dead human”.    -This is nonsense… -According to previous case studies, started the bytor, your level of ocytocine should explode and… -THIS IS NOT - !   Adrenaline filled his veins. Situation was not okay. In fact, nothing was okay ! He clenched his fist, tensed from fear, uncomprehension and something deeper. Maybe the creepy feeling that it was, in fact, not a dream.    -WHAT I ASKED FOR ! -Keith…   Roadlights run through his mind, a vibrating roar filled his ears. His brains shut off under emotions. His nails dug in his palms.   -Keith, calm down, released in your system, there is a 46% probabili… -YOU SHUT UP !  -When facing the reveal of their death, people tend to…   Oversensitive to the voice, Keith exploded. It was all too much. He was sore and his head hurt from the slammed door and the voice run down his nerves, and the silence and the motor and the road came to his mind and it was so blurry but he…   - STOP !   He punched the wall. His fist fused, his knuckles met the hard surface first, cracking loudly. Then his wrist twisted and something snapped. Blood and pain rushed. Keith fainted and fell down.   -Hey, are you even listening ? I was talking to you ! -Sorry Lance. No… Look, NASA discovered something on Juno ! -Give me the phone Pidge. Astronomical emergency ! -Here ya go.   Pidge, leaned again the rooftop wire fence, handed Lance her smartphone. He scrolled hastily on the article.   -It’s blue ! -Like your eyes, blue, like your eyes… Next to Lance, the boy who snapped him earlier to snack there started humming. He smiled soflty as a thought crossed his mind.   -Maybe we could go karaoke tonight ? What do you think guys. -Sure, shouted Lance, My highscore got weak last time. I dropped the last high note and i can't do that to Shakira. -Matt has something tonight too so I won’t have any trouble coming with you, informed Pidge, so why not ! -Yeah, mumbled Keith, karaoke night…

Not like anybody could hear him anyways. The bell rang and they left the rooftop off for their next classes. The day went on, hours passing by. Finally, when he exited the hall behind Lance, Keith felt relieved.

He wondered if everything was always going to be like this. Sweet spring air on unbrushed hair, backpacks full of teenage mysteries, breeze making petals float around. Almost all the town had of humans between 13 and 19 was there, goofing at the entrance of the highschool. The group stopped on the sidewalk, separating to head back home.

-Pick us up at 20 ? asked Lance. -I’ll be right there ! Do your homework. -Yeah, sure thing, Hun’, chuckled Pidge.   Lance waved at his friend, keys in hand. Pidge, by his side, glared at them, frowning.   -We’re not taking blue, are we ? -My baby’s ready to take off, snickered Lance, and I’m the best pilot you have around, Podge. You’ll never take this hell of a schoolbus bus with me around. -If I walk at least I’m sure to survive but sure, give me a ride.   The small teen opened her door, grinning. Her brown friend poked out his tongue at her and  grabbed the steering wheel.   - Buckle up Pidge ! - I’m tied to this car as I am to my life.   This was some of the fun parts. Late afternoon, the air warm from the hot day, sun shining through the tree leaves… The car started, a cute Ford Fiesta painted in a soft blue, and everyone suspected Lance to had pick up this one just for its name. Lance never denied and stuck with it.

When the doors closed, Keith inhaled and smelled the iode scented air of the inside. Blue was filled with sea and pool items, bean bags and random items such as bean bags or lightbulbs. Pidge sat on the front row and had printed her shoes to the board. Windows open, Lance was singing slowly as he left the parking lot.

By the time the highschool was out of sight, Keith was sat on the top of the vehicule. Best seat of them all. He spread his wings, enjoying the wind in his feathers. His hair stroked his forehead gently. As they drove down the streets of the town, he smiled brightly. Car rides were Keith’s favorite moment of the day. Death had its upsides.   - Do you feel better now ? Keith blinked. Head light, hands neat, he was perfectly fine and back to bed.   - What the… What did you do to me ? - I waited. You fainted due to a rush of endorphine let out by your hormonals glands when your wrist and three of your fingers split in two. Also you breached the wall on a five diameter circle. - No, I mean… For my hand… I broke like… Three fingers ! How did it repair ? - Oh. I did wait. Death has it advantages I guess. We still did not figured it out, but your recovery capacities, since you are more of a spirit and less of a material being, are improved and I suspect 36% of the… Keith inspected his hand. Not a single scratch. The bytor looked away. -I’m sorry, dropped Keith, I scared you. -It had a 72% probability of happening. -Still. -Make it a 0% chance of happening again in this reality and we’ll be fine.   Keith nodded in response.  -Now that this is done, we should leave to the next steps. You see… - no, the blanket needs to be placed here – now that you’re deceased, - more like…- we’ll have you working for us – put it upward – for 58 years, since you died – yes like that – at 17 and thus left your supposed life – yes, yes – to us. - Okay, what ?   The bytor moved to the side of the room, next to closet doors. It peered at them, leaning closer.   - Since you were supposed to die at 75 – the doorknob is slightly fainted here – you owe us the rest of your life you never lived. You died at 17, do the math. - I get the math part, but why should I work for you ? - You died, the bytor gestured vaguely, unaturally. - And so ? I don’t even remember dying ! - Do you want to ?

The tone was deaf. Bytor stopped focusing on the doors, turning its head to meet Keith’s eyes. He averted them away and gulped. The words sunk in, cold and bitter. He left 58 years worth of life back and should work them out to be relieved. 58 years. He shook his head.   - What will I have to do then ? - You’ll make sure this doesn’t happen to someone else. Protect somebody, make him happy… - Are you telling me I’m gonna be some kind of guardian angel ? -Highly probable. -Whomst angel !? -Undefined. You see, the process of attribution of a human is a very randomized process and condition of the choice are regulated in a very special way that - - Okay, cut short. I get it. Huh, thank you ?   From one of its hands, the bytor handed Keith a white tunic. The fabric was soft and silky. Very nice. Very… angelic.   - I’m not wearing that. - I fear you have no other options in this reality. However, in three others I think you… - No. Way. I’ll look half naked. -I fear you can’t go against the reglementation. It’s a rule here, and it can be VERY dangerous to disobey the rules ! - I’ll wear this when I’m dead. -Sorry then. - Wait, what the… HEY !   Fighting against an eight-legged ferret was one of a kind of an experience Keith wished he never lived. As the creature climbed over him, it took away its clothing, leaving him half naked in the meantime it took to replace it with the tunic. Hands cuffed by two arms, on the ground under what seemed like fifty kilos, Keith had flashing nightmares of the strangest mangas he came across.   -OKAY STOP ! I’LL WEAR IT ! -You already do, but thank you for acknowledging. -Oh my…   Red to the bone, Keith crossed his bare arms over his half-bare chest and looked down. Bare legs, bare feet. He did not even bothered finishing his phrase. Was this thing even created to cover him ? Because it felt more of an excuse to uncover him.   - I hate it. - You can still choose for the - - No. - No shoes then, at least i’m not entitled to making you wear them.   Keith suddenly understood why choosing a Bytor for this job. Whoever had no eight arms would have met a very dirty fight.   - Lance, couldn’t we change the music please ? - You have something better than that ? - What if I do ?   Lance nodded at the radio player. While humming along Rick Asley, he turned left. Pidge pulled out her wires and shrieked. - LANCE ! For fuck’s sake, couldn’t you watch the damn road ? - What again ? - Huh, a friggin’ car coming right, that’s what ! - Hey, did it hit us ? Because I sure have seen nothing ! - Fine. Don’t come complaining when you’ll be dead.   Keith snorted. Lance would surely not die, not on his watch no-no. He had a mission and was on duty. Although Lance drive could be easier to manage, but sat on the roof of the car, the angel had seen the other come so long ago that changing its trajectory wasn’t even that hard. Smash mouth blasted from the windows as they turned right, almost ejecting Keith in the process.   - You really are made out of meme material, laughed Lance, you know that ? - Don’t you say that, smirked the girl, it could imply we are brother and sister !     They had left the waking area five minutes ago and Slav, the Bytor, led Keith on corridors on and on. All the way down the halls, his tutor voice kept blabbering. If it was important, Keith would never know. Hugging the walls, he noted the building looked like a modern version of an victorian mansion. 

A crowded, modern, noisy victorian mansion. It had the size and the maze-feeling of it, but combined with futuristic elements such as pretty blue neons everywhere. Diverses creatures were running, jumping, flying all around them. In a matter of minutes, Keith spotted two angels, a yeti and something that oddly looked like a mothman. How was this real ? He had stopped counting toothfairies a while ago when Slav entered a room. 

Away from the multi-creatural hall, this one was filled almost only by angels, a feathery sound emplying the air. None of them had the cliche wings, that being said. Some even had pretty much bat-looking wings. From all ages, the guardians looked mostly tired. A busy day in a busy office, how normal. Slav asked one of them to help him with Keith. Nodding firmly, the angel turned to the walls, covered in librairies. Slav sighed and they hunt through several lockers to find a file.

Keith used this time to examinate the room. In a corner, a chair was surrounded by mechanic gears and computers, screens and technology he could not quite identify. Most of the walls were covered in files stashed on bookcases. Sometimes, “missing” posters and notes would pop. Some really old-looking tapestry hanged from the highest part of the office. Milleniums of death and history. 

Slav came back with a bundle of paper in one of his hands. After the incident of the uniform, Keith had completely forgot about the whole ‘protecting and granting a human’ part of his… forced job. On the front page, his name was followed by the mention : 'gardian’. He pouted.    - Did I had one ? - A guardian ? - Yeah. Did I had a guardian back there ? - Keith, you died at seventeen. - Oh. - You became what you had not, funny isn’t it ?    Funny, right. How pleasant. He suddenly felt like 8 of the 9 people hating Slav's humor. The bytor, totally oblivious to his thoughts - was he really ? - gestured to the chair in the corner.    - Please, take a seat here now, we’ll link you to your human with this. - Like, I seat and I’m on earth ? Nothing more ? - Not exactly. It’s a randomized process and you need a link with a earth, as well as a static position. You’ll connect with somebody that somehows needs you, in any universe. - And what… What if nobody needs me ? - Everybody needs somebody. Actually, I think they are 1 billion people of this reality that would need your help, 39% of them mostly to overcome medical condition, 21%…   Keith sat down on the chair. It was warm and connected to multiple wires linked all around. Smells like burned plastic and feathers.   - This may hurt a little… - What do you mean by a little ?   Slav pressed some buttons. An angel nearby landed to record the process, some more stopped rushing to take a look. The bytor pianoted on the computers. Looking concerned. Then panicked. The warmth of the chair was amplifiying. Keith's back started to itch.   - Slav… I think something’s wrong, hushed Keith. - I know, the realities process are messing up. It’s becoming dangerous. You might end up somewhere undesired.  - I’m sorry ?! - See this blue cable over there ? It’s the reason everything process backward. It seems the SCO composition is turned down.    A snake of bundled up wire layed down between Keith’s feet. Somehow, it seemed wet, like if it had leaked. The chair was getting even hotter. Almost painfully.   - Ya, I see it. Can I get up ? It’s getting too much hot in there. - DON’T! THE PROCESS HAS ALREADY STARTED ! IF YOU LEAVE YOU'LL END UP LOST IN BETWEEN WORLDS !  - Yeah, but your wires aren’t connected. You’ll retry again later, it doesn’t… - KEITH STAY ON THE CHAIR ! THE REALITIES ARE NOT CORRECTLY…! - …matter. - TIED !   Suddenly, the heat burned. Keith screamed but no sounds seemed to escape. The worlds went blank and everything melted along the chair, and Keith on it. His brain got crushed between his bones, his nerves caught fire and what he tought was pain felt like tenderness compared to what he was living. When the agony took an end, he was lying dead on the floor of a bedroom. “A dream. It was a fucking dream.” The phrase echoed, as if somebody has just said the same out loud.

- I slip you not, Pidge, it wasn’t a dream. I swear, I heard somebody screaming here ! - Lance. I’m standing just here, we’ve looked every-fuckin-where here. There’s no one. - But I… - Huh, I am here ? scoffed Keith, offensed, I mean I know I'm short, but not that short.  - Let’s get going. We’re already late and you drive even faster than usual when we are. - Pidge. We’re always late. - I know. That's why I both hate and love you.    Two of the three teenagers left the room. The human ones. Left alone, the angel dropped on his knees. After all the unheard screams, a whisper left his lips and sunk into the emptyness of the room. - Fuck. It wasn’t…   Feathers run down his spine. A shiny, decorated mirror above some white fancy table reflected him in-between snapshots and necklaces. Pale, almost sickly, draped in a soft fabric. Framed by two large falcon-like wings. Small but heavy on his shoulders as realization sunk in.    So here he was, since two days. Following a highschooler from home to classes and classes to home. He wore a tunic, no sandals, tripped in feathers countless times because of wings he didn’t remember possessing ever. He had no idea why nor what. But Keith was dead. And now, he had someone to ward off it. The next morning, in the form of a letter from the highschool, brought answers to the what. 

END NOTE : Hope you enjoyed yourself, the writing is very classic in this one but i needed to place the action by going back and forth so here we have the ending of what could be a prologue ! Feel free to tell me if something’s wrong with the language, I’m french (and so will be Pidge), so english’s not my main language !

[razzmatash]

Bambi

Day One: First Meeting

Note: Juno Cortez and Suz belong to @artsybizaar

        Staring at the broken elevator in front of him, McCree barely kept himself from swearing. He had not signed up for a broken fucking elevator. Granted, he didn’t know what he was here for. All he knew was that Reyes had kicked his feet off of the coffee table he’d had them on, pulling him from his nap, and told him to get his ass to the address on a tiny piece of paper.

        “If you had a damn cell phone, this would have been easier.”

        He pulled a face even though the boss wasn’t around to see it. He couldn’t tell if the line he’d been fed about a conference call being moved up was real or if the old man was still pissed about that last mission that had gone sideways. He’d been hiding in Reyes’ office after that grueling training mission him and the rest had been hauled awake at dawn for. Although, hiding wasn’t the right word for it since he’d known the old man would have shown up eventually. He just hadn’t wanted to go home to take the nap so he’d settled on Reyes’ office.

        Hadn’t worked out for him in the end since now he had to go help a person that didn’t even like him.

        If it weren’t for the fact that Reyes would kick his ass if he skipped, he’d go home and forget this had ever happened. But Juno would want to know why the old man hadn’t shown and then he’d know Jesse hadn’t shown and he’d be in shit. More so than he already was.

        Heaving a sigh and fixing his hat, he moved to the door leading to the stairs. No point in putting this off. Even if he was tired from being drilled into the dirt, he still went up the stairs two at a time. It was just the fifth floor. He could do that no problem. He lived on the seventh after all even if his building had a working elevator in it.

        And wasn’t that the kicker. He lived in one of the older residence buildings, having been with Overwatch for nearly six years now, and this was one of the newer ones. How was it that his piece of shit apartment still had a working building and yet this place, which was only a few months old, was already broken? And what the hell was Juno even doing here? She lived in the same building as the old man so why had Reyes sent him here?

        McCree blew out a sigh as he reached the fifth floor. He was about to find out. Apartment five oh seven. Find it, find Juno, find out what the hell he was doing here.

        Easy enough to do, given there was only so many apartments on the floor. But he still didn’t knock right away. Him and Juno hadn’t ever seen eye to eye, even when she was with Blackwatch. Now that she was flying for Overwatch proper, he didn’t see her much but her opinion of him couldn’t be any better.

        “Yer killin’ me, old man,” he growled before reaching out and knocking.

        He thought he heard a pair of voices on the other side of the door, one he definitely recognized, the other not so much. But at least he knew he had the right place. The muffled, angry Spanish coming from inside, however, did not make him feel good.

        The door was hauled open and that voice wasn’t muffled anymore. “Gabe! You’re late! I told you to be here twenty minutes ago!”

        McCree took a step back as Juno stood in the doorway and he watched her expression shift rapidly as she saw him, not the old man. “Cortez,” he said when he saw those thick brows draw together. “Boss had a conference call moved. Sent me to help you out.”

        “You.”

        Oh, Juno was not happy about that. “Yeah. I mean, it don’t have to be me. I can go if you’d rather.”

        Her mouth flattened and she muttered under her breath.

        “You remember the bit where I understand you?” he asked dryly.

        She said something else in Spanish that was highly unflattering and he bit his tongue to keep from saying anything back.

        “I can go, Juno,” he repeated, gesturing at the hallway.

        “Tch, you’re already here, pendejo. Might as well make yourself useful.”

        Well, they were off to their usual start. He started to follow her as she turned away before he froze when she rounded on him again.

        “Take off the damn hat and your boots if you’re going to be inside,” she said, stabbing his chest with her finger. “And be on your best behaviour!”

        “I can get someone else, Cortez,” he said, standing his ground nonetheless when she jabbed him again.

        “You’re here and we’re behind already. Get in here.”

        He’d been trying before she’d damn near shoved her finger through his chest. He waited until she’d gone a few feet down the hall, well out of arm’s reach, before he stepped inside. “What am I even doin’ here, Juno?” he asked, closing the door and stooping down to pull off his boots.

        “Reyes didn’t tell you anything?”

        “No.” He wasn’t going to be grumpy about that, that wasn’t going to get him anywhere with either of them. Hanging his hat near the door, he ran his hands through his hair to try to do something with it as he walked down the hallway. “So what’re we doin’?”

        “Moving Doctor Shaw,” she called at him. “Needed help because the elevator is out. Ay, what is Gabe thinking! I asked him for help for a reason!”

        He tried not to sigh as he realised not only was he going to get the irritation Juno reserved solely for him but also the new shit because of his boss dumping him on her. But he was more hung up on the name. Who was this Doctor Shaw and why were Cortez and Reyes the ones moving them? He didn’t recognize it and if they were connected to these two, the First Flight Officer of Overwatch and the head of Blackwatch, shouldn’t he know who they were?

        Rounding the corner into the main room, he took a second to look around but all he saw was boxes. And more boxes. They seemed to be everywhere. “We really only packin’ one person?”

        “Don’t you start,” Juno said, although it sounded like a growl. “She’s only been here a few months. I don’t know how she got so many things. Why does she need so many things?”

        “What do you want me to do? Pack?”

        Juno stared at him, sucking on her cheek. “I don’t think Evan is going to-”

        “Oh.”

        Jesse’s head swung around at the soft noise and he saw a young woman standing across the room. She was holding a small box in her hands and staring openly at him. Well, there was the good doctor and he definitely didn’t know who she was.

        “Evan, this is Jesse McCree. He’ll be helping us instead of Gabe,” Juno said by way of introduction.

        Big eyes blinked at him from across the room before she looked at Juno with a puzzled frown.

        “Make him do the heavy lifting, mija,” she told her. “That’s why he’s here.”

        Oh joy. He was already sore from training and now he was doing heavy lifting? Well, no use bitching about it. Like Juno said, he was here so he may as well help. Rolling up his sleeves, he looked around again, trying not to notice the way Evan had gone back to staring at him. “Where d’you want me to start?”

        Now Juno was staring at him too and he felt completely out of place. He may as well of walked in on the pair of them naked and it would have been less awkward at this point.

        “If I’m doin’ the heavy liftin’, I should get started, yeah?”

        “Tch,” Juno muttered. “You got your boots off so no point sending you down to the car. Mija, what’s left for him to pack?”

        Those big eyes slid to Juno again but she didn’t say anything before darting back down the hallway.

        She watched her go, an odd look on her face. “Ay, she just got used to Gabe coming,” Juno muttered. “She’s shy.”

        He’d call her skittish. “What do you want me to do, Juno?”

        Her hands were on her hips as she stared after Evan before a deep sigh left her. “Here, help me with the books until she comes back.”

        The silence fell heavily between them as he helped her pack the books on the shelf and his back already dreaded the thought of carrying that box downstairs. He had half a mind to ask Juno why she even needed help; the woman worked out with Reyes all the time and could probably bench him if she had the mind to.

        Which was exactly why he didn’t say a damn thing.

        A sound caught his attention and he turned to see Evan setting something in a box on the couch. When had she even come back in the room? He hadn’t heard her make a noise.

        “Dios mio, mija, we need more boxes,” Juno muttered. “I thought I brought enough but I underestimated how much you have.”

        Evan looked at her, all wide eyed but she didn’t say anything.

        He wasn’t much better, watching Juno as she left the room talking to herself. When the door closed, he looked over at Evan and saw she was deliberately not looking at him. She was looking at everything but him at this point. He almost wished Juno hadn’t left because even though the silence with her had been awkward, it wasn’t as bad as it was right now.

        Juno had said Evan was shy and yet she left the young woman alone with someone she’d never met before? And Evan was young. He couldn’t peg how young but it was younger than him that was for damn sure. Which could only mean one thing. “So,” he said, clearing his throat when his voice caught. “What, uh…what’d you do?” Well, shit that was not the way to ask that if he wanted a proper answer. He’d never really been one for small talk without liquor being involved and since he was trying to kick at least that habit, this was just about as unpleasant as the silence.

        Because it somehow got even worse with the question hanging in the air. The fact that she wasn’t saying anything and was avoiding looking at him made him think she was ignoring him completely. If it weren’t for the fact that Reyes had specifically asked him to come here, he would leave. Evan didn’t want him here that much was clear and this was just turning into another shit day to go along with all the others he was having lately.

        He had half a mind to call his ma just to complain about this damn day. It felt like he’d been dealt nothing but shit cards for as long as he could remember and this wasn’t making anything better. But he’d also already called her today before his impromptu nap and told her everything was hunky dory so it wasn’t like he could just tell her he’d lied about it. Suz wasn’t going to take too kindly to that.

        Another small sound, soft as the first and barely audible, but definitely from her. “What do you mean?” she asked slowly in a heavily accented voice.

        It hadn’t occurred to him that she might not have been ignoring him to be rude but because English wasn’t her first language. She was looking at him with enormous hazel eyes through thick lashes and lenses, curiosity all across her expression. Adding in those freckles dotted across her rosy cheeks, he realised she looked exactly like that damn cartoon deer his Ma used to play for him all the time as a kid. He pretended he didn’t know exactly what that deer’s name was.

        Suddenly he felt stupid when he realised he’d been staring at her.

        “Ah, well, I mean, everyone’s here for a reason so you’ve gotta have one, right? What’d you do to get them to take you?” Because that’s the only reason Overwatch had people this young working for them. Good…or bad.

        She stared at him for a long time, almost like she was carefully translating each word in her head. She suddenly blinked. “Oh. I constructed a portable, miniaturized atom smasher in my university’s mechanics laboratory capable of producing minute amounts of dark matter and was removed from the public by Overwatch to keep myself and my technology out of the hands of the kind of people who would want to weaponize it…for my own safety as well as everyone else’s.”

        It was his turn to blink. That had all come out in one breath and between her accent and the technicality of everything she’d said, she’d lost him. Plus it was the most she’d said in the entire time he’d been there and she’d said it in less than ten seconds. What else was he supposed to do but stare at her? “Well, alright then.”

        “What did you do?” she asked, speaking slower.

        The question caught him off guard, as surely as his had her, but he recovered quick enough. As quick as one could given the answer. “Got mixed up with the kind of people who do bad things,” he admitted, looking away from her and telling himself he was not staring at his feet.

        “Like…a gang?”

        “Somethin’ like that, yeah,” he muttered.

        There was a long silence that stretched far enough to make him start feeling sorry for himself.

        “Are you a real cowboy?” Evan asked suddenly, as if she’d completely forgotten the previous conversation.

        “Wha’dya mean a real cowboy?” he asked back. “You a real doctor?”

        “Not in the medical sense, but I have a doctorate in mechanical engineering. Do you want to see it?” She paused, frowning to herself. “Sorry, you probably don’t and I think it’s packed already. I didn’t mean to say you weren’t a real cowboy.”

        He shook his head, a puzzled frown on his face. Most were being mean when they asked him about that; she seemed genuinely curious about it. But…. “How’d you know?” he asked.

        Her cheeks got pink again. “I saw your hat and boots at the door,” she admitted shyly. “I like cowboys though.”

        “You meet many cowboys, sweetheart?”

        “No. You’re my first.”

        She said it sweetly, almost like she was actually excited about meeting him. He didn’t think he’d ever met someone that was excited to meet him. “Not many cowboys here,” he agreed.

        Evan looked him over before a small smile crossed her face. “Not many anything here,” she said softly, putting down what she had been holding.

        He studied her for a moment, wondering when Juno would be coming back. He felt like they were talking about something that had nothing to do with what they were saying. “Lots of people, darlin’.”

        Her gaze flicked to him before away and she muttered something under her breath that he didn’t understand. But he recognized the look on her face easily enough, had seen it on his own for a long time after he’d been brought into Overwatch, and everything made sense.

        It wasn’t easy, being so young and being brought into this kind of organization. Even if you weren’t on the frontlines. Maybe even more so because there wasn’t anything to really bond you to the people around you like there was in a fight.

        If he recognized that look, it meant she felt the same kind of loneliness he sometimes still did.

        “Well, Bambi, at least you know one cowboy.”

        Those huge eyes blinked at him and her lips moved for a moment but whatever she’d planned on saying didn’t come out as they both heard the front door open again.

        “Jesse, come help me with these!” Juno called.

        He’d never been more thankful to hear her voice than he was right now. He quickly left the living room, trying really hard not to think about what he’d just called Evan or the curious look on her face. He’d have to deal with it at some point but not right now since he was fairly sure that she wasn’t going to say anything with Juno there.

        At least he hoped she wouldn’t because there was no way in hell he wanted to explain to Juno why he’d just given her girl that nickname.

[ernmark]

Can I please have a vixen Peter sequel

Can I just say?

I love that we’re well into the seventh part of this particular series, and all this time the unwritten part is always referred to as the “Vixen Peter Sequel”.

I actually thought of a plot point at work a little while back, and I mentioned it to a coworker. To which she goes “oh, you’re writing this story now? What is it called?”

“Uh….” And honestly, I have no idea. Because all this time, I’ve always been calling it “Vixen Peter”.

Gonna need to come up with a better title before it goes up on AO3…

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

I’ve had some pretty bad hangovers, but they’ve been nothing like this. I squint against the light that hits my eyes, but it doesn’t hurt like it usually does. My vision is swimming– usually that stops by the time I pass out– and I usually don’t get as nauseous as I am right now.

The ceiling over my head is too close, all neutral tones painted over riveted alloy plates. 

This isn’t any bar I’ve ever been to, and it isn’t my apartment or my office. And I… I distinctly remember drinking at home. A bottle of bottom-shelf rotgut I had stashed under the sink. And sure, it tasted kind of funny, but that comes with the territory of “bottom-shelf rotgut I had stashed under the sink”.

But it wasn’t just that, was it?

I try to sit up, and my vision sloshes again. My thoughts are slow, but I can rub enough brain cells together to draw a conclusion: I’ve been drugged. 

I’m too busy trying to figure out which way is up to notice the other person sharing the cramped berth with me until he speaks. “Oh, good. You’re awake. I was starting to worry.”

Peter.

I whirl to face him, and it feels like the inside of my head decided to keep spinning without me. I think I’m gonna throw up, but I manage a glare. “Where– where the hell am I?”

He looks down at a tablet in his hand. “We are… passing through the Solar asteroid belt at the moment, from the looks of things.”

“The as–” Oh god. I’m on a spaceship. “How the hell did I get here?”

“It wasn’t easy,” Peter admits. “You’re heavier than you look, Juno, but I can be quite resourceful when I need to be.” 

It’s a non-answer if I’ve ever heard one, but it tells me enough. “You kidnapped me.” Which means… “You drugged and kidnapped me.” 

“I rescued you,” he says, like this whole goddamn thing is just a matter of semantics. “I take it you’ve never read A Tale of Two Cities?”

“What?” 

He waves me off. “Never mind, it’s ancient literature. These journeys get rather dull if you don’t bring reading material.”

Right now I have half a mind to slug him, but I’m pretty sure I’d miss. “We’re getting off the topic that you drugged and kidnapped me.” 

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” he says– no, whines. He abducted me, and he’s got the nerve to whine about it. “The police were closing in. If I waited much longer, they would have caught you. I wasn’t about to let you rot in prison.” 

“Are you serious?” I’m practically shrieking. “Fleeing the planet just makes me look guilty!”

“But you are guilty,” he points out.

“That was entrapment and you know it.”

“That’s what I said, but the officers didn’t seem to care. In fact, they didn’t seem particularly interested in whether you were actually involved at all.” He sniffs indignantly. “I can see why you quit the force. You’re in better company without them.”

“I didn’t quit,” I mutter under my breath, but my mind is elsewhere, and I’m still too foggy to multitask. “If you actually wanted to help me, you wouldn’t have drugged me to do it.” 

“You were fairly clear about not wanting to see me again. I didn’t think you’d actually listen if I tried to reason with you. You might have turned yourself in, just to spite me.”

I huff. “Come on. Like I’m that petty.” I am, and I know it. And judging by the look Peter gives me, so does he. “Why do you give a damn what happens to me, anyway? I’m nothing but your fall guy, aren’t I? That’s all I ever was to you.”

His expression softens. “Oh, Juno…” And he reaches for me.

And that’s the last straw, more than the drugging or the kidnapping or the fact that he fucking dragged me into this mess in the first place. There’s plenty of time to be pissed about that later. But after all of that, he still thinks he can just bat those pretty eyes at me and I’ll be putty in his hands again? How goddamn pathetic does he think I am?

I slap his hand away before he can touch me. “Don’t even start. I’ve had enough of your lies.”

“Alright.” He sits back, putting more distance between the two of us. “Then turn me in, if you don’t trust me.” 

I glare, but my head is still too foggy to process it. “What?”

“Turn me in if you don’t trust me.” He’s completely calm and composed. “There’s a marshal on this ship with the authority and equipment to detain me. It isn’t as though there’s anywhere for me to run. I’m at your mercy, Juno. Do with me what you like.”

I swallow. There are a few dozen things I’d like to do to Peter, and handing him over to the authorities is pretty low on that list. I’m pretty sure Peter knows that.

Lacking a snappy comeback, I drag himself out of the berth and stomp away. Peter doesn’t try to follow me.

I wander the public halls of the ship, feeling lost on more than a few levels. This is all actually kind of new to me, beyond the drugged-and-kidnapped bit. I’ve  never been on a spaceship before. I mean, I’ve considered buying a ticket and leaving Mars for good, but I could never quite justify it in my head. Where would I go? Why would it be any better out there than in Hyperion City?

Technically now I have the chance to find out. It’s either that or go back and spend the rest of my life in prison over a grudge and a misunderstanding. It might not be all that bad, going out into the great big world and seeing it all firsthand. Maybe Peter might be able to recommend a few good places to start–

“Not going to happen,” I say aloud, and immediately I get shushed by the occupant of a nearby berth with its hatch still open. Frustrated, I keep moving. 

Peter’s a criminal. The last thing I need is to get even more involved with the likes of him. Shady morals aside, that’s a fast track to getting stabbed in the back.

But Peter tried to plead my case to the police, didn’t he? Why the hell would he risk talking to the cops when they’re actively investigating him? Or did he do that at all? Did he make it all up? And if he did, how did he know about how much the cops hate me? It’s not the kind of thing I ever told him myself, after all. 

Dammit, I want to trust Peter. More than anything. But I can’t. I shouldn’t.

I keep walking.

It’s hard to keep track of the exact layout of the ship, but I try anyway. Most of its mass is taken up by passenger berths, some of them large enough to accommodate couples, like the one I woke up in, while others are only meant for a single occupant. They’re not big– long enough to lay down in, tall enough to sit up, and not much more than that. There are larger, more luxurious suites cordoned off to one side of the ship (the back, maybe? It’s hard to be sure), kept separate from the other spaces by a little public area that’s probably meant to resemble a park. At least, it’s painted green and there are a few potted ficuses scattered around. The park is mostly there to let passengers stretch their legs; most of the several-day trip is meant to be spent sleeping or reading or watching the in-flight entertainment.

Which would be fine if I wasn’t trying to avoid my bunkmate. 

I can only make so many laps around the ship before I take a wrong turn and wind up in front of the berth I woke up in. Peter’s still inside, reading something off a tablet and sprawled across the small space in a pose that shouldn’t be nearly so sexy. 

He looks up with a bright-eyed smile that has quite literally brought me to my knees. 

“Ah, Juno,” he says warmly. “Did you enjoy your walk?” He glances over my shoulder. “I see that the marshal hasn’t come for me yet.”

“Not yet they haven’t,” I mutter under my breath. 

But Peter just beams at me. “I take it you aren’t planning to turn me in, then?”

“Maybe I’m still making up my mind.” 

Peter’s smile turns indulgent. “Come now. You won’t be stuck on this spaceship forever, Juno. Once we dock on Europa, you’re free to go anywhere you like. To the Outer Rim, back to Mars– or perhaps somewhere else entirely.”

I keep my mouth clamped shut. Nevermind that I was just thinking the same thing. It’s not going to happen. 

It doesn’t help things in the slightest when Peter puts down the tablet and comes crawling toward me on hands and knees in the narrow berth. It paints a picture that I really, really didn’t need in my head.

“We could go together, you and I. We can sell the loot and live a life of thrills and decadence across the galaxy, always running, never looking back. We could have quite a time together, Juno. Who knows what kind of trouble we could cause?”

I almost bite through my lip trying to remind myself that I’m not interested. Because it does sound like an adventure. Like everything I could possibly want. Only I’m not supposed to want something like that with someone like him. 

“I should turn you in.”

“And yet you haven’t.”

No, I haven’t. And I already know I’m not going to.

I turn around and walk away.

It’s been hours.

My comms isn’t good for much right about now, but at least the clock still works. Unfortunately, all it’s showing is how very slow time can move. 

I won’t go back to the berth– not when Peter’s still in there– so instead I walk laps around the ship. Just endless walking, round and round and round.

No wonder I never hear much about space travel. It’s really boring. 

When my legs get tired and my feet hurt, I slump down in the park and checks my comms again.

Six hours down. Just… sixty-two left to go.

Goddammit.

A shape steps between me and the nearest shrubbery. “Have you been enjoying your new exercise routine?” Peter asks.

Not this again. “Go away.” 

Peter just crouches beside me. “You can’t keep avoiding me forever, you know.”

“Doesn’t have to be forever. We’ll be docking in a few days. I can hold out that long.”

“Can you?” He sounds concerned. “The body needs sleep, Juno. And the flight attendants aren’t about to let you nap out here.” 

‘The body needs sleep’? Sounds like a challenge. “Watch me.”

“Then take the berth now. I’ll wait out here if you want; you can lock it from the inside. All I ask is that you talk to me.” 

I’m about to point out that we’re talking right now, but that might just invite more of a conversation. “I don’t owe you anything.”

“You–” He stops himself abruptly. When he continues, his voice is lower. “No, you don’t.” 

It’s about goddamn time he figured that out. “You lied to me, you used me, you drugged me, you kidnapped me, you let me think–” I clamp my mouth shut before I say something I’d regret. He let me think he could love me. “There is absolutely no reason why I should want you in my life.” 

I throw myself off the bench and stumble to my feet. My legs feel like jelly and I stagger, but I keep marching because I can’t take this anymore. I’ve just had too much. It needs to stop now.

“Then what do you want, Juno?” Peter calls after me.

“I should–”

“I’m not asking you what you should do or think or feel. I’m asking you what you want.” 

I don’t turn to face him. I can’t, because he’ll see it in my eyes.

I want to be his. I don’t care if that means being his muscle or his fall guy or his side piece or whatever. I want him, and I hate myself for it.

“I…” I scrub a hand down my face. “I’d really like to lay down right now.” 

“Alright, Juno.” His voice is soft. “I hope you sleep well.” 

I don’t need help finding the berth– not after all the times I’ve rerouted my pacing to avoid it. After all that marching, it feels amazing just to lie down. 

I pull the hatch door shut after me. There’s a lock on the inside, just like he said. I can lock him out and avoid him for the rest of this trip.

I leave the door ajar.  

I don’t know whether I’m disappointed or relieved when I wake up alone.

[ernmark]

Start at the beginning - previously on  Peter Nureyev and the Blue Persephone

Good evening, Travelers.

The Blue Persephone has agreed to save Juno Steel from certain death, but her miracles don’t come cheap. 

Her price: Peter Nureyev must never see his beloved detective again. But our thief has made many bargains in his career, and this isn’t one he intends to keep.

When Peter leaves his credentials with the Blue Persephone’s assistants, he’s comprehensive. Included in the list are his stints as a painter, a stage magician, a Dark Matters agent, an accountant, an expert in the occult, and a few dozen other occupations that he’s played convincingly enough to persuade his latest mark.

The one occupation he doesn’t list is the real one.

He doesn’t need the Blue Persephone to make any more preparations than are absolutely necessary.

He gets to work as soon as he leaves her compound, tracking down the most minute details as only he can. It’s easier now that Juno’s life isn’t hanging in the balance. He can be more thorough. More methodical.

And besides, he has more to work with: a detailed description of the Blue Persephone herself, along with the names and faces of several of her underlings, and at least one of the clubs out of which they operate. It isn’t long before he tracks down specific people, then their haunts and homes. He searches their homes and personal files for stray bits of information, and with each piece he constructs a whole.

The compound was designed to be a labyrinth—impenetrable for those who don’t already know their way around. As a security measure, it comes with a single fatal flaw: too many people work there, and too few of them can memorize the floor plans well enough to get around. And so they keep notes, and those make their way into Peter’s possession.

It takes time—months, in fact—but that doesn’t bother him.

He’s going to see Juno again.

The forest is just as dark as it was before—even darker, now that he doesn’t have the night vision goggles to guide him. But he doesn’t need them.

That’s the trick, he now knows.

He merely staggers through the dark and waits for the spine-chilling sound of popping and clicking.

“Phew,” says the thing with too many voices. He’s grateful for the dark—it means he can’t see all its limbs or eyes or teeth. “What the heck happened to you?”

Peter groans. His voice is raw and rough. “Could you keep it down? I’ve got the worst hangover…”

“The heck you do!” There’s a skittering as the creature moves around him. “You reek. Doctor Magbantay’s gonna be pissed if he gets a load of you.”

It’s actually working.

Hundreds of people work in this compound; too many for the creature to know them all personally. And normally, there’s no need—invaders can usually be identified by their obvious panic when they’re staring down an eldritch abomination. All Peter has to do is act like he belongs, and the creature assumes that he does.

The costume helps, of course. The man he’s impersonating is roughly Peter’s height and build, or close enough that his scrubs fit comfortably. Any discrepancy in voice and behavior is accounted for with a liberal splash of rum.

“Is it that bad?” Peter croaks meekly.

“Yeah. You might want to head home. I don’t know if he’s gonna let you see the patients smelling like that.”

“I’m fine,” Peter protests. “I am. I swear. I just… I’ve got a spare set of clothes in my locker. I can change.”

“After a shower, maybe,” the echoing voice sniffs.

“Yeah. I—sorry. I was in a hurry. Didn’t get a chance to… yeah.”  He starts staggering. “I’m just gonna… go…” He picks a direction and starts staggering. He gets all of ten feet before the creature clears its throats… or throats. Whichever.

“Are you sure you’re sober?”

“Huh?”

“Because you’re going the wrong way.”

“Sorry…” Peter turns, blindly shuffling somewhere to his right. “It’s just my head is killing me…”

“Oh gosh, you’re gonna hit that tree.” A trio of appendages that Peter would rather not define wrap around his shoulders and gently steer him away. “Tell ya what. How about I take you?”

“Couldja do that? That would be… that would be great.”

The door where the eldritch abomination leaves him opens into a long hallway lined with more doors than should feasibly fit inside a building. They’re unmarked, but Peter has memorized the path. He takes the third door on the right. When that one opens into another hall, he takes the eighth on the left. It opens into another hall, more reasonably sized to accommodate hospital rooms.

He ducks into the first one that’s unoccupied and scrubs the rum off his face and hands to get rid of the worst of the smell. The rest is masked by the pervasive scent of antiseptic. When he emerges again, he matches his pace with the rest of the staff in the hospital wing of the compound, walking with the short, quick strides of a person who knows they’ll have to ration their energy for another eight hours of saving lives. He mirrors their body language so precisely that they don’t give him a second glance as he makes his rounds, ducking into each hospital room in turn.

The end of the hall opens into a public area—some kind of indoor park, with artificial sunlight suspended from the ceiling and living plants growing on all sides in wheelchair-friendly chaos.

And there, sitting in the shade of an overgrown ficus and brooding over a book, is Juno Steel.

Awake. Alive. After all this time.

He wants to run to Juno, but he doesn’t dare. Not in the middle of the Blue Persephone’s compound, surrounded by her employees, when he’s deliberately reneging on their agreement. He’s not fool enough to think there won’t be consequences, and he won’t face them until after Juno’s safe.

Instead he maintains the persona of an overworked nurse and strides to Juno, walking up behind him. Juno’s so engrossed in his book that he doesn’t even notice until Peter clears his throat, and he jumps at the interruption.

“Juno.” It’s a struggle to keep his voice professional and neutral.

Juno looks up, startled. He hesitates for a moment, and then replies carefully: “Do you need something?”

Oh good, he’s playing along.

“Doctor Magbantay wanted to see you,” Peter says. “If you’ll come this way.”

Juno gives him an odd look, but rises anyway. He doesn’t say anything, and neither does Peter—the park is too populated to risk being overheard, and the hospital hallway is worse. But he can’t be this close to Juno and not speak to him or touch him. Not after everything he’s been through to get him back.

“Right this way,” Peter says again, opening the door of a doctor’s office that was empty when he first started his search. It still is.

He shuts the door behind them. Finally, privacy.

“So,” Juno says quietly. “You mind telling me why I’m going to be seen by a gynecologist?”

“Oh, is that what he is?” Peter should probably be concerned about the slip-up, but he’s too torn between wanting to laugh and cry to think straight. In the end, it’s all he can do to throw his arms around Juno and kiss him with everything he has.

There’s a moment of shock—of course there is, after all this time apart—and then Juno starts to melt into the kiss, his hands wrapping around Peter’s shoulders.

Then he pushes Peter away with a sudden, violent shove. “What the hell was that supposed to be?”

Peter can’t move. He can’t think. Of all the ways he expected their reunion to go, this never crossed his mind.

“Are you drunk?” Juno demands, wiping his lips on his forearm. “What the hell kind of nurse gets drunk on the job?”

This is a joke. It has to be a joke.

Any moment now Juno will burst out laughing. This will all be revenge for Peter taking so long to rescue him.

But he can’t help but hear the Blue Persephone’s warning in the back of his head.

Whatever was there before, it’s going to be completely reset when I’m done with it, like it’s brand new.

When he wakes up, there’s a not insignificant chance that he won’t know you.

“Juno?” He doesn’t hide the pain in his voice.  

His Detective hesitates, uncertain.

“It’s me, Juno,” he pleads. “It’s Peter. I’m so sorry it took so long, but I’m here. I’ve found you.”

Juno shakes his head, backing away. His hand is already on the door.

“Don’t walk away from me!” Peter lunges for him, desperate to catch him. He has to remember. He has to remember.

He’d be awake. That’s all that matters.

The door opens, and Juno stumbles into the hallway.

You want to guess how many people have said that to me?

“Juno!”

Peter dives out of the door to chase after him, but he gets no further. Juno’s staring at him, wide-eyed and afraid, taking cover behind two burly security guards.

Or would you rather guess how many of them actually wound up meaning it?