#allisonmclaughlin88

“There’s a kid who’s here looking for you,” one of his nymphs tells him. 

“No,” Apollo says, almost before she’s finished speaking. 

She raises an eyebrow. “It’s Ares.” 

I think the oddest thing about this prompt is that in a lot of ways, that’s exactly what the Penumbra Podcast is-- it’s the hotel, or the railcar, or whatever it chooses to be next, telling us its stories. 

But here’s my best shot:

OMFG YOUR LIFE REVOLVES AROUND DOCTOR WHO, QUEER AS FOLK AND SENSE8 TOO???? THIS IS RARE (I DON’T KNOW HOW TRUE THAT IS), LET’S BE BEST FRIENDS

Ares can’t often leave the battlefield. But his mother misses him, so sometimes she goes to him instead.

This is a mistake. Or maybe it isn’t. Peter doesn’t know anymore.

The crisp, clean lines that normally separate his trains of thought are getting jumbled and blurred. He has a thousand plans and they’re all piling on top of each other, confusing and upsetting and completely incomprehensible.

It’s anxiety-- he knows that-- but he doesn’t get anxious. He hasn’t, not since he was still a fledgling thief under Mag’s wing. These days, his mind is perfectly honed for its job, just like every other tool at his disposal. 

At least, it usually is. But nothing works the way it should when Juno’s involved.

All the more reason to call this off. He doesn’t need the kind of chaos that Juno Steel will bring. 

He doesn’t need it, but he wants it all the same.

Not that he should, of course-- not after the way Juno left--

But of course he left. After everything that happened, he’d need to go back to someplace he felt safe so he could regroup and recover. Of course he wouldn’t be up to leaving right away--

But couldn’t he have at least said something? Did he have to leave in the middle of the night like that? Couldn’t he even have left a note?

Of course not, because he’s Juno Steel, Private Eye, who wears his overbearing misanthropy like a second trench coat, and Peter doesn’t need any more of that in his life.

But he wants it--

And this isn’t getting him anywhere.

It’s been weeks since Juno left, and Peter hasn’t even decided if he’s forgiven Juno yet. Maybe his mind will clear once he has a chance to talk to Juno-- unless, of course, it gets even worse--

He puts the breaks on that particular train of thought before it can turn into another jumbled mess inside his head. 

He needs to focus on the task at hand. He needs to focus on his plan-- or, more precisely, he needs to decide on what his plan will actually entail.

He’s going to give Juno flowers, that much he’s decided on. Dahlias and roses, for his Dahlia Rose. 

The question is how?

He knows Juno will be visiting his brother’s grave today. He could leave them there for him-- but likely as not, Juno won’t even touch the bouquet if he thinks it’s meant for his brother. 

He could approach the cemetery under the guise of bringing the flowers to another grave, and give them to Juno instead-- though the implications of that are troubling.

Maybe before then, at Juno’s apartment. Maybe he’ll knock on the door, wait for Juno to answer, and then--

Or he could leave the bouquet in front of the door and hope that Juno doesn’t trample it on his way out. Perhaps knock on the door and then leave, just so Juno knows to pay attention?

But what if Juno answers quickly? What if he opens the door before Peter has a chance to disappear? What if he recognizes the flowers for what they are and gives chase?

Peter never did mind being chased by Juno Steel. He wouldn’t mind being caught, either.

And then what exactly is he hoping to get out of this? Does he really think Juno will throw his arms around him? Kiss him? Apologize for the way he ended things? Forgive Peter for the way he handled them in the first place?

And if Juno did that, what would Peter even do?

And what would he do if he didn’t?

Before he can disentangle his thoughts, the decision is made for him. Juno is leaving his apartment, his hat pulled low over his brow and his collar flipped up against the cold, his shoulders hunched up to his ears. No matter what Peter might have planned, Juno wants to be alone.

So Peter gives him that.

He follows at a safe distance, just close enough to keep Juno in view, but no further. There are moments when Juno steps out of his field of view, but that’s no matter; Peter knows where he’s going.

The cemetery lays just outside of the dome of Hyperion City, protected from the elements by a shoddy prototype shield that flickers and sparks when the wind blows. The oldest tombstones have been blasted to nothing by millenia of sand. Benzaiten Steel’s grave is several miles out, close to the outer ring of new graves, though it’s old enough that the marker has lost its glossy finish, but it still stands.

Juno crouches over the grave just long enough to set a fist-sized rock on the tombstone, and then he speaks. Peter supposes he could try reading Juno’s lips from this distance, but he doesn’t try. Some things deserve privacy.

He doesn’t watch Juno so much as he watches the space around him, looking for other mourners or signs of ambush, and quietly plotting ways of distracting anyone who might try to interrupt this moment. 

It’s only once Juno prepares to leave that Peter realizes how quiet the inside of his head has been since Juno left his apartment. The anxiety from before has settled into a steady, familiar calm. 

It’s half past six; in half an hour Juno will be expected at his secretary’s apartment, just in time for that surprise party she’s throwing him. Juno’s social circle is small, but still, Peter would rather avoid having an audience for their reunion. And so the choices present themselves:

He could stop Juno on the way to the party, perhaps offer him a ride. But Juno’s head is bowed, his shoulders are hunched once again, and he’s walking with an agitated gait that suggests he’d dealing with anxieties of his own. No, this isn’t the time to spring another surprise on him.

Perhaps he’ll calm down after the party. It wouldn’t take much for Peter to break into Juno’s apartment, perhaps wait for him there. He could deliver a different kind of present entirely... unless Juno isn’t alone when he comes  home that night. 

Peter’s stomach lurches. It’s been weeks. It’s only been weeks. Juno couldn’t possibly have moved on this quickly, could he? He wouldn’t do that. 

The anxiety from before is rising up, threatening to throw him back into chaos, and more options present themselves.

He could break in and leave the flowers in Juno’s apartment-- but that would feel more like a threat than like affection--

He could stop by the party, and damn anyone who might see-- but what if Juno’s startled enough to call him by his name?

He could stop Juno from going to the party at all and whisk him off onto another grand adventure, hopefully with less torture and mutilation this time, and good God why would Juno want to go anywhere with him after everything that’s happened?

He should-- 

He should--

Like a misaligned wheel sliding into its track, Peter’s mind settles on a plan. 

It doesn’t take long to put it together-- just a courier’s jumpsuit, a clipboard, and a sheet of paper swiped from some mailing list.

While Juno takes the side entrance to the apartment building, Peter approaches from the front, politely asking the doorman for the proper apartment number. He moves slowly, hanging back until he can hear voices, though there’s only one he’s listening for. His chest aches as Juno’s tone shifts from hostile to weary relief. Peter would give anything to hear Juno speak to him that way, but he doesn’t know how.

And that’s the problem. 

He isn’t ready for this. The hurt is too fresh and the ache is too strong. He doesn’t know the proper way to approach Juno, and that means no matter how he tries, he’ll always be going in unprepared, and he’ll always be blindsided by his detective.

There’s only one way this can go.

Juno’s voice filters through the door: “Mind if I, uh, powder my nose before we go?”

Peter takes a breath. He knows what he’s giving up. He knows he has to do it anyway.