[ if there's one thing that juno wouldn't blame peter for it's not trusting him. not after how after all they'd been through, everything that'd been said and done and heard and shared... he'd left. juno steel tries not to break promises, and that's one that couldn't have been avoided. he wasn't good enough to keep it, good enough to promise nureyev a lifetime of hopping from star to star, planet to planet...
he squeezes his eyes shut and leans his head back as peter turns to him, half-listening, half squeezing the crumpled material of his shirt in his hands, too soaked with blood for now to warrant putting back on just yet without making him feel sick again. instead, he drops it between his knees, shaking his head. ]
Fine. Like I said... most of it's not mine.
[ like he has to make himself sure of it too, though there's probably a laser graze he's missed, something he scraped in a bad fall torn open, but peter nureyev is like a healing balm, just looking at him.
one that makes him ache just as badly. he opens his mouth like he wants to apologize, but closes it. no. no, fuck, no. dahliad moves with a regal slowness to her steps, pressing herself in close to juno and nureyev's jacket. she looks like she might settle, but instead she stretches her long neck up and grabs a piece of juno's hair in her beak, tugging sharply down. ]
Ow--fuck!
[ a wince as his hand flies up and grabs hold of his hair, dahliad's voice ringing out softly: ]
Hairline fracture on your fourth rib. Another on your clavicle. I've yet to scan for further internal injuries. And you need a bath.
[ juno hesitates before glancing up. stupid weird robot program thing. man, fuck technology sometimes. he swallows a little. ]
no subject
he squeezes his eyes shut and leans his head back as peter turns to him, half-listening, half squeezing the crumpled material of his shirt in his hands, too soaked with blood for now to warrant putting back on just yet without making him feel sick again. instead, he drops it between his knees, shaking his head. ]
Fine. Like I said... most of it's not mine.
[ like he has to make himself sure of it too, though there's probably a laser graze he's missed, something he scraped in a bad fall torn open, but peter nureyev is like a healing balm, just looking at him.
one that makes him ache just as badly. he opens his mouth like he wants to apologize, but closes it. no. no, fuck, no. dahliad moves with a regal slowness to her steps, pressing herself in close to juno and nureyev's jacket. she looks like she might settle, but instead she stretches her long neck up and grabs a piece of juno's hair in her beak, tugging sharply down. ]
Ow--fuck!
[ a wince as his hand flies up and grabs hold of his hair, dahliad's voice ringing out softly: ]
Hairline fracture on your fourth rib. Another on your clavicle. I've yet to scan for further internal injuries. And you need a bath.
[ juno hesitates before glancing up. stupid weird robot program thing. man, fuck technology sometimes. he swallows a little. ]
Could do with a lay down.