Chapter Text
When the feeling hits him in the middle of the first family meeting—dizzy, too hot, and a bone-aching tiredness that drags him through the floor and back to the surface of Mars—Juno assumes it’s just nerves, the sort of panic that arises from the perfectly normal experience of leaving everything you know behind to become a criminal. Or perhaps it’s guilt, brought on by Nureyev avoiding his eyes, or exhilaration, hearing that honey-smooth voice again, or fear, twisting in his chest with the scent of blood and the ground far below.
Regardless of the cause, he swallows the feeling with another sip of strong coffee, hoping to burn the light-headedness out of him through force of will alone, and focuses on Buddy Aurinko and nothing else. Not Nureyev’s too-casual posture, not Rita’s concerned glances, not the heat rising on the back of his neck—just Buddy, and, when the meeting ends, the notes she gives him for the mission.
Which works for about two hours, until his head is swimming with tiny text and Jet announces that there’s going to be a bit of turbulence as they go through the asteroid belt, and then he’s done for on the first sharp turn, clutching his trash can to his chest.
“Mistah Steel?” Juno uncurls himself from the floor and makes an attempt to fix his hair, even though his hands are shaking before he gives up—Rita has seen him in much worse straits than this.
“Yeah, Rita?” His voice cracks like his resolve, and suddenly all he wants, all he’s ever wanted, is to curl up and watch dumb streams with his head on Rita’s lap, her hands gently carding through his hair. He hasn’t wanted that in years—or, at least, he hadn’t let himself want it, not since Diamond, not since he knew all too well how it could blow up in his face. But the ache in his chest feels so much older than the five hours he’s been plastered to the carpet and he moans softly when the ship pitches towards the left again.
“Oh, Mistah Steel.” Rita lets herself in and immediately kneels next to him, palming his forehead and frowning before he can focus on what’s in her hands. “I was talkin’ to Captain A about our ice cream date tonight, and she was sayin’ that the Ruby 7 has been actin’ all strange, you know, and I made the joke that the car was feelin’ sick, and I was thinkin’ about how you used to get carsick, you know, back in Hyperion City, even when I wasn’t drivin’ too fast, and Mistah Jet is drivin’ pretty fast, or I guess, well, I guess he’s flyin’ pretty fast, and I hadn’t seen ya since the family meetin’ and you were lookin’ kinda green even then, and you didn’ come to lunch even though it was really yummy, so. I wanted to check on you, boss.”
He groans again when she mentions food, and he knows the little wrinkle in her forehead is an apology. “I’m just—just a little motion sick, is all,” Juno manages, though he doesn’t let go of his death grip on the trash bin. “‘s nothing worse than a hangover.”
“Even so, boss,” Rita says, clearly not believing him, “I brought you some pretzels, and water, and those ginger lollipops you like when you don’t feel good, and mintmallows, and—oh, and Vampires vs Werewolves vs Ghosts 34: The Legend of the Mummy Who Was Also A Ghost and Also A Vampire and Also A Mother!” She beams at him before plopping down on the floor with her spoils, and Juno immediately crawls closer, letting her hand settle to rub gentle circles against his sore stomach. It feels nice, like the ginger candy melting on his tongue and the familiar chatter of his best friend as the stream goes on, and she doesn’t falter when he bolts upwards to expel the few crackers he had choked down.
Twice.
He’s half-asleep against her thigh, watching as the mummy-ghost-vampire transforms into a werewolf (and really, he should have seen that coming) when Jet knocks on the door. “Juno. Dinner begins in five minutes. Buddy asked me to remind you that family meals are mandatory. Do not be late.” He looks up at Rita as the big guy’s footsteps continue down the hall, and she gives him a soft smile.
“You’ll be fine, boss. Besides, it’ll be good for ya to walk around a bit, get your sea legs. Or space legs? Cause, you know, we’re on a ship, but it’s a spaceship… Anyway! C’mon, up you get.” Juno slowly pulls himself to his feet, holding onto the bed frame and then Rita’s arm and hoping he doesn’t look too pale. Buddy raises her eyebrows when he stumbles into his seat, but Jet just passes him a large bowl of syn-rice and Vespa scowls in his general direction, though he’s beginning to think that has nothing to do with the flush on his cheeks and is just how she greets everyone who isn’t Buddy.
Nureyev doesn’t look his way once, not even when Buddy casually asks if his picked-over meal was to his liking, to which he gives a shaky nod. At least the rice was easy on his stomach.
“Alright. Rita, you’re with me, darling. Juno, Pete, I trust that everything is in order for tomorrow night?” He gives some sort of affirmative answer, swallowing compulsively as his stomach rolls again. “Excellent work. You’re all dismissed for the evening, then.”
Juno moves to stand, to get himself back to his room and then curl up with the treats Rita had left for him, but he’s stopped by a green-haired medic with slightly-softer eyes than he had seen an hour prior. “Follow me, Steel. Medical exam.” The last thing he wants right now is to be alone with Vespa Ilkay and her knife, but she doesn’t seem to be giving him much of a choice. Besides, he could use some time on her not-so-grumpy side, if she had one.
Once they reach the medical bay, she immediately pushes him into a chair and, before he can protest, sticks an IV into his hand. “Hey! What are you—?” And then the engines start up again, Jet guiding them off the asteroid to get them closer to wherever Buddy is taking Rita, and the complaint behind his lips is replaced with bile and embarrassment. To her credit, Vespa is just as quick with a basin as she is with a knife, shoving the plastic under his chin as he gags on regurgitated Rangian stir-fry.
“Next time you don’t like my cooking, Steel, just tell me,” she deadpans, and it takes him a few seconds to spot the edges of her mouth curling upwards. “I’m taking some blood. Look that way, unless you want to barf again.”
“Why do you need—ow!—why do you need blood? I’m just carsick, or whatever the refurbished-intergalactic-cruise-ship version of that is,” he huffs, resisting the urge to fold his arms until Vespa sticks a bandage over the pinprick.
“Intake medical exam. Wash your mouth out.” A cup of water appears in his hand and he obeys, sucking on one of Rita’s mintmallows afterwards. “How many times have you thrown up today? And don’t give me that look, moron; I’m a doctor, I know how to tell when someone is hiding it.”
“About two hours after we left Mars,” he admits glumly, picking at the IV tape. Vespa bats his hand away. “Not sure how many times, but that’s when it started.”
“Any allergies?” She continues, hooking up the IV to a saline drip.
Knives in my stomach, he wants to retort, but doesn’t. “Not that I know of.”
“Current medications?”
“Uh, alcohol?” She glares at him. “No, no regular medications.”
“Sit up.” He expects another question, but instead she sticks something to the back of his neck, catching a few stray hairs.
“Hey! What the hell—oh.” The churning in his gut, the heat that had drowned his thoughts, the fuzziness at the edges of his vision—it’s all gone, replaced by a pleasant coolness, as if he has been transported to some tropical locale in one of Rita’s streams.
“It’s an artificial gravity patch, wears off in about 24 hours. It should only take you a few days to adjust, but come back if you need more. And take it off when you’re not on the ship, or you’ll feel even worse.”
Juno raises his hand to the patch, feeling the small square. It’s bigger and thinner than the THEIA Soul, rougher than the cool metal, but it still itches in a way he can’t quite forget. “Can it—um, can it go somewhere else?” He manages to ask.
“It’s most effective on the spine, close to the head, but you can move it down if you need to.” She hands him a stack and he gives a noncommittal grunt before clumsily stretching his arm back behind him, moving the patch between his shoulder blades. “I’d like to continue your assessment now, if you’re done puking.”