Chapter Text
It has been brought to my attention that this tale has a certain symmetry to it, seeing as it both began, continued, and ended with a pair of handcuffs.
The first pair of handcuffs belonged to me, but the second were standard issue, the Safe Cells model that dangled from the belt of every simpering stooge and glowering gorilla in the employ of the HCPD. The burnished chrome of them caught the glare of the interrogation room bulb, bright contrast against the dark skin of the wrists they had captured. They were unusually graceful wrists, mobile and almost incongruous in their elegance. I knew those wrists, — I’d seen them in handcuffs before — I knew the hands that went with them. Broad, deep-lined palms, short strong fingers that flexed anxiously as I looked on, occasionally flashing a glimpse of the pale scars across the dark knuckles. Yes, only one set of hands in all the galaxy were as perfectly suited to trail a tender caress as they were to throw a punch. And I would have recognized them anywhere.
“Juno Steel.” I stated, in an airy tone, as if I'd said it a million times, as if it were positively banal. In truth, when I had encountered the lady before, I had called him by a different name, a false and trivial name. In all honesty, I had never spoken his true name publicly, but only in broken off moans within the breath-damp privacy of my pillow in some of my very weakest moments of desire. I would be damned a thousand times, however, — indeed I would march straight into the radiation and red sands of the Martian desert — before I would expose that most pitiful fact to him.
At the sound of my voice, he startled violently enough that he might have upended his chair had it not been conveniently bolted to the floor. His hands curled together tight in a display of nerves that caused a pang in my heart — it was a tell I knew he would have concealed given the choice — and he twisted in his seat, “Detective Ransom,” he attempted a light tone to match my own, but he did not quite manage it. His voice — that damn voice that I had by turns tried to cling to in memory and tried to forget — was hoarse, strained, a match for the haunted look in his blue eyes. His lips bent into an unconvincing smirk, “Good to see they've called in Hyperion City's finest for me.”
The shock of seeing him, after all those months of wondering despite myself if we would meet again, had caused me to lose track of the business that had brought me to the precinct in the first place. As a matter of course, I had only as much contact with what passed for lawmen in Hyperion City as was absolutely necessitated by my current work. A youth spent in fear of the unmerciful retribution of a sky that might reduce me to a scorch-mark on the pavement had left me with a hearty distrust of authority, and the HCPD was corrupt and inept enough to deserve every inch of my wariness. But to ensure the allowed continuance of my existence here — moderately comfortable at best and un-enthralling as it was — I cooperated with them. When my cases pointed me to an indefensible criminal, I would sometimes alert them, and when a case left them scratching their empty heads, they would sometimes alert me.
As it happened, both had occurred in the case of Juno Steel. Months ago, I had handed him over to them, only for him to slip deftly between the maladroit fingers of the law within minutes. And now, he was back, and they were offering him to me.
Not him, I reminded myself sternly, they are offering you his case , you fool, and you had best focus on it.
So I did just that, taking hold of myself and folding all my burning questions about the handcuffed lady before me away for later consideration, “You flatter me,” I demurred as I found my legs again and crossed to the table, taking a seat across from Steel, beside a cop who finally looked up from the case file on his comms pad. I addressed him, “You failed to mention that Mr. Steel was involved when we spoke, Officer Falco.”
Puck Falco was one of the few cops I held in any esteem at all. He was jaded, terse, and impolite, but that still left him head and shoulders above most of the crooks in blue. He was only marginally corrupt, but that was the best you could hope to find protecting and serving Hyperion City’s streets. He presently gave me an unimpressed look, “It’s called confidentiality, Ransom.”
I inclined my head and laughed, “Indeed, even criminals have their dignity.”
Falco looked back at his comms, "I'm sending you the case file," his mouth flattened with distaste, “See how much dignity you think he deserves once you see what he did.”
“If you already know who did what , you are hardly in need of an investigator such as myself.” I pointed out, laughing again as if charmed by my own wit, expertly concealing my growing discomfort.
Across the table, Juno Steel chuckled, little more than an exhale, but enough to tug my attention back to him. His expression was stormy, the curve of his mouth bitter with a dark private joke. I realized that he looked deeply weary and his eyes were rimmed with red, and it troubled me disproportionately to think of the force of nature that was Juno Steel brought to tears. Those eyes were studying my face, as if he could tell my flippant humor was an act. Perhaps he could… Now there was a disturbing thought. I was grateful for the beep of my comms, for the reason to divert my gaze that it presented. That gratitude was snuffed out immediately as I skimmed crime scene photos, statements, and evidence inventories.
In case I have not made myself quite clear, although I found myself intrigued by, drawn to, and rather fascinated by Juno Steel, I did not trust him. For one thing, he was a thief. And though I had not stolen so much as a cred's worth in nearly five years, I would perhaps always be a thief at heart, and I knew better than most how little honor there truly was amongst thieves. It was not merely the fact of his trade that I distrusted, however, but past experience.
When I had met him previously, he had come to me as an activist against animal testing, a sheltered young heiress with deep pockets by the name of Fauna Lovejoy. I had suspected it was an alias, but his moral outrage had convinced me. He had been so incensed by his cause that he had been luminous with it. How could I doubt it, when I had watched that passion make him act recklessly on what should have been a stealthy reconnaissance mission, taking unnecessary risks left and right, liberating scores of frightened and modified captive lab animals, wielding a blaster with breath-taking prowess that belied more than a bored heiress’ hobby? Well, I should have doubted it. I had been a fool, such an utter fool, blind to the glaringly obvious cracks in his facade.
In my defense, the vast majority of the cases that landed in my lap in my detective work could barely be called mysteries at all, the truth so easy to tease out that I often found myself bored half to death and almost wishing that a client would refuse to pay and give me an excuse to take what I was owed instead. Juno — or Fauna, rather — had made my job interesting for the first time in so very long, and if I was being quite honest, my suspicion had only heightened my curiosity. Was it that blazing moral passion that had intoxicated me, or the possibility that it was all a ruse? Regardless, by day’s end, I had been duped, hoodwinked, double-crossed, and deserted. Though months had passed since the Stingkitty labs debacle, neither my trust nor my ego had recovered.
So, no, I did not trust Juno Steel, but neither did I believe him capable of murdering his family in cold blood. Perhaps it was a weakness in me, but I couldn’t believe that all of Fauna’s moral outrage had been an act. Frankly, I did not believe that Juno Steel had the talent for acting to fake that so well. And more importantly, the file Falco had shown me corroborated my instinct on the matter.
“Well?” Falco prompted gruffly, after some minutes had passed.
“I'm afraid I am missing something.” I confessed, lowering my comms and pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose as I looked at the officer beside me.
“What?” Falco's bushy grey eyebrows furrowed.
“I am here responding to a call regarding a double murder,” I said, raising my eyebrows, “But all of the evidence you have shared with me points rather conclusively to a murder-suicide.”
“Finally!” The word burst out of Juno Steel like a volcano I had once seen erupt in the Cerberus Province, raw force and fiery relief, but joyless all the same.
“Shut up, thief,” Falco spat, before answering my question, "It's gotta be murder, Ransom. He's a known criminal, and even if he wasn't , what kind of man stands there and does nothing while—”
“You might want to take your own advice, Officer Falco,” I said curtly, “And shut up.”
“ Excuse me? ”
“You called me to get my perspective on this case,” I said wearily. I could feel the weight of Steel's intent gaze but I refused to give in and meet it, “And that is what I am trying to give you. The blaster that killed both of the deceased was registered to Sarah Steel and in her hand, and I fail to see how that is cause to have Juno here cuffed and questioned as though the blood was on his hands,” Falco's nose wrinkled in annoyance and he opened his mouth to argue, but I went on, “Now, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to be left alone with my client.”
“Your client?” Falco sneered, “He ain't the one footing the bill, Ransom, we—”
“I could,” Juno Steel interrupted, at the same instant I said, “Call it pro bono.” I glanced at him just long enough to see a flicker of pleased surprise.
“Fine, fine,” Falco grumbled, getting up and walking to the door, “Ten minutes.” He barked before leaving the room.
He took with him my excuse for avoiding looking directly at Steel, and so I looked. He was as dashing as I remembered, if rather worse for wear at the present moment. And he had not killed those people, I could tell as much merely from the look on his face. I knew the face of a killer; I saw one in the mirror each morning as I lined my eyes and styled my hair, wishing for an excuse to wear it differently, for a case that might require me to wear a new alias. I was so tired of being Detective Ransom and it was growing more and more difficult to keep that frustration tucked away. I shoved it away all the same.
The look on Juno's face was not that of a killer, but that of a victim, that of a sole survivor who hadn't yet begun to wrap his head around what he had lost. I knew that look, too. I had seen it on my own features too, once all those years ago. Inexplicably, however, it ached more to see Juno’s loss than to remember my own.
“Listen, I didn't do it,” he said at once, rushed and unironic, as if he'd suffocate if he held the words in his throat a moment longer, “I-I would never,” his eyes welled with tears as he shook his head, “Ben, my brother, I—”
“I believe you, Juno.” I assured him, and without my permission my tone slipped out of professionalism and into something softer.
He heaved a sigh through his nose as he shut his eyes and bowed his head slightly, “Thank you,” he said, peered at me with eyes swimming in emotion, “Peter, thank you.”
My heart faltered in my chest at the unguarded look in his eyes, at the sound of my given name on his tongue. I often regretted keeping my first name when I'd chosen this alias upon arrival on Mars. I'd been younger then, though, alone and directionless and twisted inwards, and I hadn't had the strength to throw myself away completely. I should have. I cleared my throat and looked down at my comms, at the crime scene diagram, at the figure of Juno's late brother sprawled on the floor. He inexplicably was clad in some sort of leotard, and the pastel green of it was gruesome against the blackened viscera the blaster had made of his guts. The hand curled lifelessly on the stained carpet was so familiar, as identical to Juno’s hand as the dead man’s face was to Juno’s face. The only difference was the lack of scars. “Oh, there's no need to thank me," I deflected with another forced laugh "I am simply doing my job.”
Juno Steel snorted, “Like-like hell you are,” he said, “Your job's catching the bad guys, not defending them.”
I looked back at him, “No, Juno,” I said, with a slight shake of my head, “I do not trade in moral judgment. My job is to uncover the truth, regardless of who it serves.” And yes, I knew what a damned hypocrite I was, but Juno didn't. His eyes scanned my face for a few seconds before he shrugged slightly, allowing that distinction. Silence fell between us, but we couldn't afford it. Reaching for something to say, I commented, “I did not know you have roots on Mars.”
“ Had, ” Juno Steel corrected, grief visibly weighing on the slope of his broad shoulders, “I had roots on Mars. They're… gone now.”
“Because of…” I glanced at the name on my comms, “Sarah Steel?" Juno's features hardened, but he nodded, “Your… sister? Mother? Sister-in-law?”
Juno's nostrils flared, hate in his eyes, for this Sarah or himself I could not tell, “Mother.” he bit out.
“Gracious, me…” I muttered to myself, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. Mere hours ago, Juno had witnessed his mother slay his brother and herself and my heart ached for him. I might not trust him or consider him a friend, but that was not a scenario I would wish upon anyone, “Juno,” I said, “My condolences.”
Juno Steel bristled at the kindness, and when a tear escaped his eye, he rubbed it roughly on his shoulder, “I don't need your pity, Ransom,” he grumbled, “Just prove I didn't do it.”
“Oh, don't worry about that,” I waved it off, “They have no evidence at all. They can't legally keep you here longer than six hours without reasonable suspicion, which I'm sure they were counting on me to provide.”
“I've been here since…” Juno shook his head, “1600? 1700?”
I sucked my teeth, tutting, “It's well past 0100.” I watched the thief's brow crumple, as he tried to reckon with the lost hours. Raw pain flashed in his eyes and it dawned on me that he was likely wrestling with how many hours had passed since the fatal blasts were fired.
“Time's up.” Falco announced from the doorway, and I watched the shutters close over Juno Steel's emotions. It hurt oddly in my chest to see the mask of nonchalance pulled back into place.
“Indeed it is,” I sat up straight, pinning Falco with a withering look over the rim of my glasses, “I understand you've held my client in custody overnight without reasonable suspicion.”
“He's a known criminal!” Falco sputtered again.
“Well, you'll have to prove his other crimes, then , ” I said, “In the meantime, I suggest you unlock those handcuffs, because in this case I must assure you he was a victim , and I needn't tell you what dreadful form it is to mistake a grieving victim for a suspect.”
Falco glared at me and it dawned on me that he was embarrassed , and then he was shuffling over and stooping behind Juno to free his wrists. Deep down in my gut, something animal and selfish felt unbidden disappointment at seeing the cuffs come off — they suited him well, which was only fitting for a thief, especially one so pretty. I stamped the thought down as Juno stretched his arms over his head, twisting his hands and popping his knuckles. It was unlike me to be so distracted , but Juno Steel had that effect on me.
He stood up eagerly, and held out an expectant hand to Falco who frowned sourly before retrieving a simleather holster belt with two blasters from a bin and returning them to their owner. Juno nodded to him with a sardonic smile as he slung the belt on beneath his jacket, “We're leaving now.” He announced as he threaded the buckle.
Falco rolled his eyes, “Thanks for nothing, Ransom.” He said.
“Good night, officer.” I offered him my most charming parting smile as I got to my feet and hurried after Juno.
“C'mon, Peter,” he urged, and hearing my name again in his lowered voice left me no choice but to do as he bid, “Before they change their minds 'bout letting me walk outta here.”
We emerged onto the sidewalk, and the neon and sour smell of Hyperion’s streets engulfed us. The dome was dark and a mist of smoggy rain was falling, turning the street into a mirror and blurring the edges of the cars and the overflowing trashcans, the addicts arguing on the corner, and the highscrapers that loomed all around us. Juno turned to the left and took two steps before coming to an abrupt halt, his breath hitching audibly. He bowed his head and his fists clenched at his sides, “Come,” I said, without a moment’s hesitation, gently leading him by the elbow, “We can go to my office.”
We walked in silence. My office was a mess since my last secretary had quit, and I hadn’t gotten around to hiring a replacement yet. It hardly seemed worth the hassle, when I did everything alone anyway. Well, I doubted Juno would care about the mess either way. I spent much of the walk wondering if it was strange that I still had not let go of Juno Steel’s arm. I can only guess at what was happening within the lady’s head, but he was rather absorbed in his thoughts. When we had worked together before, he had been full of snarky quips and the occasional flirtatious leading question, but for all I knew, that had been a part of his role as Fauna Lovejoy. For some reason, it hurt to consider that I might not really know what Juno Steel was like at all.
I withdrew my keycard from my waistcoat pocket and it was only as I swiped it and the lock chirped its affirmative green that I realized I had walked not to my office building, but to my home. I must have been quite absorbed in my thoughts as well. I opened my mouth to apologize to Juno, but if he noticed the mistake, he did not appear to care. We walked up the stairs to my apartment, I unlocked the door and ushered him within.
As I locked the door, Juno seemed to wake up behind me, “Oh,” he said. He was looking around the slightly cluttered living room area, and when I flicked on the lamp the light caught in the tiny rain droplets that clung to his dark curls, like so many stars. I swallowed the thought and then his eyes met mine, one eyebrow arching, “I love what you’ve done with the place.” He remarked dryly.
The place was, of course, exactly as it had been the last time he’d been there. Same glass coffee table, carpeted with paper files. Same Rhean tapestry on the wall. Same infrequently used monitor across from the same dark red couch and chair. Juno’s fingertips trailed across the top of the chairback, as if stroking a fond memory. I bit my tongue against the echo of how our one kiss — in that very chair — had tasted; like possibility, like the rest of my life, like the Brahmese pewterfruit brandy I’d poured for him. It was a weakness, the only piece of Brahma I still allowed myself in my life on Mars, but on Juno Steel’s lying tongue it had actually tasted like home for the first time.
All these months, and I still hadn’t managed to wash that taste out.
“It is nothing grand,” I said, when I was sure my voice would not give me away, “But it is home.” Was it?
Juno’s hand fell away from the chair, disappearing into the pocket of the long coat he wore, “Yeah…” he said, eyes drifting sightlessly across the wall tapestry’s shimmering threads.
“I still find it hard to believe you are from Mars.” I said around a laugh that I hoped might put at least one of us more at ease, selfishly not wanting him to disappear into his head again.
“From Hyperion City,” Juno Steel corrected, with a challenge flashing in his eyes, “I grew up in Oldtown.”
“You hide it well.” I praised honestly. I never would have guessed that the moralistic and spoiled Fauna Lovejoy had been raised in Hyperion City’s dodgiest district. Looking now at what I believed to be the real Juno Steel, though, the sharp edge to his smile, defiant... the way he shouldered fresh grief and horror as though he was used to it being his lot in life, it made sense, “I see it now, though.” I admitted.
Juno shrugged, “You can take the lady out of the sewers,” he said, his tone wry, glancing past the imitation Earthsilk drapes up skywards, “But even out among all those stars, you can't quite scrub the sewer out of the lady.”
Something behind my ribs melted in sympathy. I understood more than he could ever know. How often had I felt much the same thing, that no matter how long I dwelt here, no matter how well I learned to play the part of the disarmingly genial private investigator Peter Ransom, at my core I would never be much more than the desperate and cagey underfed orphan Mag had found scrounging on the streets of Brahma? Juno looked back at me over his shoulder, and his eyes shrewdly read my face, “I have a feeling you know what I mean.” he stated.
“Yes, well,” I said, “We are all a product of our past in some fashion. I understand your meaning, even if I do not hail from Oldtown myself.”
Juno turned to me and shook his head, “No way you’re from Mars, Peter,” he observed with quiet confidence as he closed the distance between us in a couple of strides. My breath quickened as he looked me up and down, lifting his chin to look up at my face, “You couldn’t be.” he breathed, and the note of awe in his voice almost undid me, unraveled me down to the last precious secret I had.
I was stronger than that, though. I had been taken in by his pretty face once before and I did not permit myself to make the same mistakes twice. I took a step back, placing some necessary distance between myself and the alluring thief, “You must be utterly spent after the dreadful day you’ve had, Juno,” I said, words nearly tripping over themselves, “I’m afraid I haven’t a second bed but you’re welcome to rest here,” I gestured at the couch and hurried to my bedroom, “I’ll find you something to wear.”
“Thanks, Peter.” he called after me, and I sighed. Perhaps if I was lucky, he would slip away in the night.
Perhaps if I was luckier, he would stay.