Haven: After the AU

 

My shoulders are burning and my head is pounding I'm reluctant to open my eyes, but I have to scrub the “dream” away, when I sit up the room spins. I carefully slip off the bed for the drawer, but the drawer's not there. My breathing is shaky, another one of those layered dreams? Wake up. Wake up. It feels like it's too hot for it to be a dream. My arms are scratchy.

Maybe it's just stuck. I feel around again. Nothing. Nothing. What the fuck is going on? I hit the damn thing and turn around. Scraping my hands across my scalp, hoping that will relieve some of the itch, but it does little to nothing. I can't. Fuck. Did I mix things up? Did I stay with someone? Everything seems...off...in the half-darkness...things out of order.

This can't...

“Baby? Where'd you go? What's going on?” That voice...there's ruffling around on the bed and then a face appears near where mine is. She's crawled to the edge of the bed, looking down where I'm sitting. No, wait. So, this is. This is not the Ursa. This is not. I run my head through my hands, no this still doesn't make sense. This isn't. My head hurts too much, “Baby,” she takes hold of my arm and I pull away, “Baby, talk to me.”

I don't know what to tell her. She'll be so mad with me. If we're here, and it's the Cape then it's...

“I'm still here, and there's nothing here...I can't, I can't think.”

“I'm here. I said I'd help you,” she goes to kiss me but I pull away, standing up and going into the far corner. I shouldn't her expression says that, but I shouldn't be here, “Let me help you!” She sits up on the bed and moves to the edge of it.

“I don't—I shouldn't be here if it's going to be like this,” I tell her. I know she's said that it's clean but I don't feel and I need to make this itching, crawling, fucking head pain ache go away, sitting didn't, standing isn't, “You don't—I'm going to fuck up his body—ruin things, and I--” I can't even hold myself back from picking at the arms even though I know there shouldn't be anything.

“You won't ruin the body. I won't let you!” she sounds closer, “I'm in charge, remember?” She kisses at my arm, but it doesn't do much other than burn, “Remember?”

I give her a look.

“You chose me over heroin, so now you take me in the morning!”

“That's not enough--” she can't understand. There's no way.

“THEN KEEP GOING UNTIL IT IS!” her nose is almost touching mine and I flinch back against the wall and bang my head slightly which makes the pounding worse.

“I can't do this...”

“Yes, you can!” she says, gripping on to my chest, “The body is clean. We just have to get your mind over the need, and you can take that from me.”

“I--”

“You're not getting anything else,” she jabs a finger into my chest, “We made an agreement and you're not backing out on it!” I can feel her pulling at my pants, “Unless you don't want me any more.”

I feel sick like I just got hit hard in the chest, “No, it's not—I do...I jus--” and her hands and then mouth are on my penis. There's such force behind the motions that I'm pushed back against the wall and brace with my hands as she rocks back and forth against my groin. She makes little grunting growling noises as she does and the vibration I can barely hold together as I try to stop myself sliding down the wall as the pleasure washes over me and then I'm overcome and she releases me as I do slide down into a shaky heap on the floor.

She rests her head against my chest, “I want you here,” she says, “I love you. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you in one piece until you stop wanting heroin and can enjoy life again.”

I toy with her hair for a moment. I'm slightly more relaxed but I'm also upset with myself for this whole mess, “I'm sorry,” I manage after a while of us just laying there together in silence.

“No, baby, don't apologize,” she says, “I know it's not easy, breaking that habit, and I'm not angry with you for backsliding a little. You don't have to be perfect as long as you let me help you.”

Before I realize it there are tears sliding down my cheeks and I lean my head back against the wall but stop myself from banging it against it. She sits up and wraps her arms around my neck and kisses each of my cheeks and then gently on my lips.

I cup her chin with my hand and kiss her back, “Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” she says, “Any time you're here and you wake up like that wake me up. I'm your drug, you take what you need from me. I said I'd be here for you, and I'd give you what you needed if it meant screwing you every two hours to keep your endorphins up I would and I meant it.”

I cover my face with my hands and lean forward. I don't deserve this. I don't.

“And I want to make sure you know I wasn't angry with you. I'm just frustrated with the situation—that there's not more that I can do to help you.”

“And that I wasn't listening...”

“That's the situation. That's the sixteen years of heroin that have worn a rut in your mind and you needed it, at the time. That's okay. But you don't need it anymore, baby, and it's going to take time to learn how to live without it controlling you,” She kisses me again, “I'm in charge now, not it. If I seem angry, I'm angry at the heroin trying to keep my gypsy when you're mine now.”

Well, she's just reduced me to a shaking mess of woe, which heaves itself out of my body in sobs. She holds me to her tightly, pulling my hair out of my face and petting it across my head.

I feel like an idiot and an asshole after things I've said. This isn't the same body. I shouldn't need it. It's true. He's been clean since he was twenty or something, wasn't that it? And here I was trying to fuck that up.

Her voice is soothing even though I can't always make out what exactly she's saying to me mostly assurances that it's okay and will be okay and that she's here and we'll get through this together and there's the occasional kiss on my temple and on my hand given my face is buried in my knees for part of the time.

I start to feel calmer though. She's here and she's holding me and even though I ache I know I shouldn't be looking for that it'll just make things worse overall, for everybody. That was the pain of a different life? I don't know, but I'm definitely not there right now. I just...I don't want to wake up back there.

“What was that, baby?” she asks, nuzzling closer to my face.

I lift my head up slowly. I must have said that out loud, “I don't want to wake up back there,” I admit.

She wraps her arms around my neck again, “You're not going to,” she kisses my cheek, “You destroyed that time line. You fixed it. You put this one back. It's done. This is the only one now.”

“You were there though.”

“In the past of it. He had to throw us into the past of it because there is no now of it because of you,” she kisses me on the lips, “You won't wake up back there. You'll only ever be here now. You survived that war, baby. It's done. Come on,” she stands up and holds out her hand to me my pants in her other, “Let's get back into bed.”  

She helps me up and leads me back to the bed. I'm shaky and unstable I didn't quite realize that I hadn't recuperated so much until I try to stand, considering I'd calmed down from certain agitations, but there always seems to be some sort of emotion leaking out from somewhere.

“Come on,” she says, gently pushing me towards the bed, “That's it,” and I'm laying down again and she's straddling me, and there's a hand on my penis once more.

I go to say something, but thoughts go away as she jerks harder and then mounts, sliding me within her and then bouncing a few times down deep and there's groaning and any clear thought is blown away in place of more and grinding and pushing holding my hands against her breasts, encouraging me when I squeeze them. She rides me harder until the peak of bliss is found and then back into sweet oblivion.

@@@@

A wave of pleasure is running through me from my groin through the rest of my body. For a moment panic, and then as my eyes focus on Julia riding me each thrust another wave but I...

She puts a finger on my lips, “Sshh,” she says, “I know. Don't worry. Come on, baby,” she takes hold of my hands tightly and then pulls them up her body. I place my hands on her breasts and squeeze. She squeezes her internal muscles around my penis and oh, God. I thrust hard against her and she moans loudly, pushing herself down harder, and harder and then in duet of shuddering moans, me rising up to meet her mouths we both meet each other and then kiss and lay back down.

“Good morning, baby,” she says, after she's cuddled against me for a while. She touches my nose, with the tip of one finger, “How are you feeling?”

“Okay.”

“Only okay?” she says.

“I'm just...words...”

She rolls up so she's laying on top of me looking down at my face, “Yes, you've got them,” she teases, “use them, baby.”

I pull a face at her. She kisses me on the nose and then the mouth, gently.

“I'm glad to wake up and you're still here,” I tell her, “It's still a bit like a dream I might wake up from.”

She kisses me again, “No dream, baby. It's real. You're here. You're not going to wake up anywhere else.”

I nod, trying to keep my eyes from welling up again.

“It's okay,” she says, “It's okay.”

When I close my eyes she kisses my eye lids. I hug her and pull us up into a sitting position, wrapping her tightly in my arms to verify to myself that she is here, that I'm here, that this is the place. It's brighter than it was before and around us I can see her trinkets on walls and the dresser and shelves. I remember some of the stories she told of where they'd come from. This Julia got to go places and experience the world. This Julia survived. And I'm crying again. God damn it.

She tightens her arms around me, and after a while runs one hand down the back of my head as I cry into her shoulder, “You're safe here and it's real,” she says, “tiny mistress has you.”

“I know,” I tell her, “I know. Thank you,” as I calm down I tentatively kiss her shoulder where I've been resting my head. It's salty, which is my fault, and I look at her wanting to make sure it's okay.

“Why are you stopping?” she asks.

I carry on, kissing up her neck and moving to her cheek. She turns her head so I meet her lips instead and pushes her tongue into my mouth our hands run over each other and grasp at each others heads and shoulders. We grope at each other and while it's fervent it's also gentle, and builds the arousal. She moves my legs and then shifts herself so that she can take a seat on my penis. She holds onto my hands and leans back to deepen the connection between us and wraps her legs around my back. I shift myself down a little which drives me just that little bit further home she lets out a moan as I do and gripping her legs around me pulls up slightly and drops down on me. I'm fairly sure my eyes roll back in my head, especially when she grips on to me and does it again. When I look back at her she's got that devil-minx smile and I have to kiss it, which sets us both grinding and bouncing against each other like it's a race to see who can drive the other to the max first.

She wins. She's just too good to me and I'm soon afraid I'm going to tear a chunk of her shoulder off with the sudden inability to hold off any longer that has a kiss turning into a groan and then almost falling backwards. She holds on so that she tumbles to the bed with me, but I don't know that she's actually finished. She rolls onto her back next to me on the bed one arm at her side, the other on my chest.

“You're lovely and adorable, you know?” she says.

“What?” that's not the sort of thing I expect to hear from anyone.

She leans slightly up to look at me, “I'm sorry,” she says, looking pensive, “You're probably not used to that, are you?”

I pull a face. Is she reading my mind now?

She brushes one hand down the side of my face, tracing the line of my jaw, “You are though. You're so tentative and cautious and gentle when you start things off at times. I'm never going to say no to kisses from you,” she leans over the line tracing turning into holding my chin and kisses me, “especially when we're naked in bed together. Seriously. We've done what together now.”

I do feel sheepish at that, but still...

She takes my hand, “It's okay,” she says, “There's nothing you can do or say that is going to make me change my mind about anything we do together or have done together in either universe. Especially not the table. Good god that was hot.”

I feel my cheeks heating up red as I try to remember the table. I'd wanted to do the table, and then there was table in the morning...? Yes; and then...bracing against it, and pulling her down hard on to me...oh! That, and then down onto the floor...

It is easier to just...with some random stranger who is paying you...because it's just about money and not emotions; but she knew—she knew it was me and I looked like me and she still...I lean over and kiss her. The thoughts of the table had already spurred some arousal, but remembering the fact that she wanted me as me.

I carefully push her backwards onto the bed her head against the pillows. She looks up at me, mild curiosity on her face and cheeky expectation. One hand traipses it's way down towards my crotch and finishes the work the memory had started and I kiss her some more as she works leaning down over her as I do so that and toying lightly with the opening of her vagina.

“Hmmm,” she says, breaking away from the kiss, “Yes, come on, I want you on top.”

“Tiny mistress wants me on top,” I say as I've said before and then move her hand away from my crotch and spreading her legs more so that I can push my penis inside her and drive her wild. She groans and moans, louder and louder as I thrust against her, pressing herself against me using the wall or my own shoulders as a brace, demanding more from me and harder and faster her voice a verbal whip spurring me on more and more and I comply because I must comply with tiny mistress. Harder and deeper, further and further until she cries out one last time, digging her fingers deeply into my shoulders, pulling me into that explosion of joy along with her.

@@@@

As Julia hands me my pants my stomach feels so strange, and my hands are shaking.

“Are you okay, baby?” she asks.

“I...don't know. I feel weird but it's not like the lack of drugs weird. It's just...my stomach...it aches, and I think I'm dizzy?”

She laughs and leans down touching her forehead against mine, “Considering how I feel right now I'm gonna say that you're hungry,” she rubs our noses together, “We didn't eat very much last night, and there's been a lot of exercise,” she laughs again.

I give a slight laugh myself, “Ah, right...my usual morning routine is more of an appetite suppressant after all. Not usually hungry.” 

“I remember,” she gives me a kiss, “It's why I kept buying you food. I hoped if it was there you would remember to eat.”  
I pick myself up carefully and find the shirts from yesterday given I have no idea where his other clothes are, keeping my head as still as possible because of the dizziness.

“We can heat up a little bit of the leftovers from last night while I make some waffles,” she says, “You liked the chicken, right?”

I nod, which was a bad idea, thankfully her dresser was close.

“Yes,” she says, “definitely chicken. You go sit down, tiny mistress orders.”

“Yes, tiny mistress.”

She kisses me, “Good,” she says, “There's not much you can do to help with waffles anyway.”  

I'm not very far up the corridor towards the main cabin when she appears behind me given I was taking things slow. She links arms with me teasing me good-naturedly about being a dizzy gypsy and then I'm sitting down in the booth like dining table facing towards the kitchen and she's rummaging around and setting the microwave going, and presenting me with a glass of fruit smoothie while munching on a spring roll.

“You do like waffles, right? Before I make them...I was sort of assuming.”

“Yeah. They're good.”

“Okay,” she nods, “and bacon?” She goes into the kitchen to retrieve things from the beeping microwave and comes back with a few chicken skewers and some more spring rolls on a plate.

“Yes.”

She takes one of the spring rolls in a paper towel blowing it and muttering about it being hot and goes back towards the kitchen area, “Good. Good.”

“Are you sure there's nothing I can do?”

“Stay over there and eat chicken,” she says, “That's what you can do.”

“Okay, tiny mistress,” I tentatively touch a piece to see how hot it is, and then pull a piece off and eat it. They are good. The spice seems like it's a bit hotter this morning than it was last night. I drink some of the smoothie: orange, mango and maybe some pineapple I'm not quite sure.

Julia blows me a kiss.  

There's quiet for a little while as she goes in and out of the fridge and cabinets assembling ingredients and tools and I pick apart a skewer and finish it and wait a little while before starting on another one not sure what I could start a conversation about to break the silence.

“I was wanting to ask you,” Julia says, sounding slightly nervous, “on your own body you have—well you and your other self have different tattoos. Maybe you've noticed?”

“Some...” I admit, “I don't have the one here,” I point to my chest. She looks a little uncomfortable at that, “and then my arm—I'd had plans to get one there,” I point to the skull, “but then it was bandaged up...and I couldn't at the time.”

She puts down the tub of whatever it was she was adding to the bowl she just put the flour into and wiping her hands off comes round to where I am, “Was it a cut, or a gunshot wound, or...the...reason you got on heroin in the first place?”

Hm...but then I remember how she said she remembered some of the things my other self had done to get drugs when he was on heroin, all those not quite parallels. Such as them having the Cape Rouge instead of Simon. Simon was dead long before though—so he wasn't active, right? Surely he wouldn't have been sent to New Orleans after...oh, man but Jody and Gavin—they stumbled across it accidentally. He probably took that job too. I lean forward one hand to my temple shaking my head and giving a slight laugh.

“Baby?” she asks.

“No, I was just trying to sort out how he might have run across the same thing if it was the reason he got hooked and that's why you were asking...because there was no Simon to send him after it; but,” I give a slight cough, “if you've heard about the 'skinflayer' which I'm guessing you have, that was it, yes, it got—she got part of my leg with her tongue too before I...ended things.”  

As Julia wraps me in a tight hug I realize she's gone slightly pale, “Baby,” she murmurs with a slight shake in her voice. She keeps hold of me and I put one hand on her arm and pat it. I'm not entirely sure what...why...she's so upset. It reminds me a bit of the one Guard...after Simon only with more intensity. She lets go and smooths my hair a bit but she's shaky, and I want to hug her and I suppose that's part of why she did it, because I was recounting something horrid and I wonder what he told her about the skinflayer what he experienced with it.

“I saw a lot of shit out in the world. I'm okay with most of it, but there is nothing okay about...that...and you...faced it...oh god, baby...” she hugs me again and takes a deep breath, “You survived. You're okay,” she pets my hair, and lets go of me, “You're okay. You're alive,” she takes several more deep breaths and I look at her, worried, “I'm okay. Sorry, I just...heroin is a completely justified response to that, in my opinion and I'll kick anyone who disagrees.”

I'm not really sure what to say to that, “Thank...you?”

She gives the briefest of smiles, “Not used to anyone defending you, I'm betting?”

“Especially not about that.” I shake my head.

She goes back to prepping the waffle batter in the kitchen, briefly mixing up the flour after sprinkling some salt in and then separating eggs, after the eggs are separated and butter is set in the microwave she continues, “I'm not a sheltered little waif who did the tourist thing for fourteen years. I killed my first man before I was legally old enough to drink, shot him dead in the forehead with a hunting rifle. I hunted prehistoric boars in the Black Forest, and they were delicious. But that...no. That nearly gives me nightmares, and I didn't even get more than a vague description.”

I get up and move towards the edge of the kitchen area and lean against the counter but make sure I'm out of the way, sarcastically toasting with my smoothie glass, “Well, things we have in common, killing before drinking legal drinking age anyway. She had killed a lot, a lot of people that's the one solace on Madame Skinflayer,” I set the glass down.

Julia pours something from one bowl into the main bowl and slowly mixes things together and then looks over at me and then offers me the bowl, “Hold this?” I take the bowl, “Thank you, baby,” she kisses me, and then sprays down the waffle iron and is checking the temperature, and then looks towards the stove, “Actually can you handle the bacon?”

“Sure.”

We work as quickly and quietly focusing until there's about an inch high pile of bacon and a stack of about a dozen waffles which she takes to the table, and then goes back for plates and silverware and a glass bottle of dark amber syrup.

The waffles...I can't even describe. There's a crisp, but they're still light, and the syrup makes them...

I close my eyes with each bite trying to make them last longer, but it really doesn't matter because there are more. They put any cafe waffles to shame for sure. I realize Julia is watching me with a bright smile on her face.

“These are amazing,” I say around a bite.

She just laughs.

I've eaten half a waffle and am chewing a piece of bacon when she asks, “...will you tell me about the piece on your back?”

He has no reason to have it, does he? She's right there. I'm sure my expression is grim I try to give a smile around it. It's better to talk these things out I'm realizing and she at least will listen, “Hm...I don't suppose he would have that...okay.”

“You don't have to,” she puts in, “It just seemed like—like something that shouldn't be forgotten with the rest of the wish timeline.”

“No,” I assure her, “It's okay. I appreciate that. I...started it...” I guess it works out I couldn't do the thing on the arm, “Well, tattoo plans changed after the other you died, and...” I wind up waving my hand, for a moment it looks like she's going to say something but then she doesn't so I plunge on, “...so memorial piece. If you—well, obviously you saw it. It was an inlet I saw when I was in the Caribbean and I had her...she's a falcon, if you saw the bird.”

“Then I'm glad I took a picture of it.”

She... “I am too. Thank you,” and all those other people...before...let's not get into that depressing.

“If...if you don't mind,” she says, “What had your tattoo plans been before?”

“I hadn't fully planned things out,” I admit, dissecting the remaining waffle piece, “It was going to be on the shoulder before things in New Orleans happened. I...was trying to come up with something to remind myself I didn't have to follow Simon...” not that that worked out so it's probably good in a way I couldn't get that tattoo would have been sanding it off.

“...and then Uncle Vince chained you to Haven anyway,” she mutters.

“Well, I did turn the only other active Crocker into paste,” and he warned me the bastard but he couldn't stay alive. He couldn't.

“He deserved it,” she says, venomously, “I still don't like that he made you do all those jobs.”

I'm fairly sure she means Vince. I twist my mouth to the side, “Well, at least he didn't want to just purge Troubled...” I can't finish that line of thought I stab bits of waffle onto my fork instead, because either Vince or Simon people were going to die and the fact that with Vince they were only people who might cause more death is...some shitty consolation prize, “...yeah, still sucked.”

“I made sure he was miserable until you took care of Pearson.”

“How?” I ask before I put the fork full of waffle in my mouth.

“Told him it was all his fault for activating Simon and not seeing that he was a monster that needed to die,” she continues calmly eating the piece of bacon she'd been working on.

“Ah,” I say, not sure what else to say for a moment, “But here or there he gets activated by Vince, right? So...” what difference does it make doesn't get said but I'm sure she knows.

“Pearson's wish wouldn't have changed much if Vince had cleaned up his own fucking mess. So...I pointed out that it was his fault and that Haven's only hope was you, and the only thing he could do to help you was to fuck off, and left him to stew in his guilt.”

The various meetings after Nicole's that were at the park or at the cafes instead of the Guard office come to mind, and with Gallagher or anyone else other than Vince, “Maybe that's why I barely saw him after I came back. I thought I'd really pissed him off.”

She smiles, “By proxy, maybe? I told him I was married to your other self. He turned purple and his eyes bulged out. It was great.”

“Wow,” is all I can say for a moment.  

“I kind of want you to be there when I tell Uncle Vince everything that happened yesterday, just to see him squirm at being confronted with how shitty things were and how his other self acted and that you're right there, living proof of it all. But only if you're comfortable being in the same room as him.”

“He's not the same Vince,” I tell her and remind myself, “He didn't do those things. I'm...I want to see what he says and does.”

She looks very excited and happy, “Breakfast, shower and then debriefing here?” there's some anticipation there.

“Debriefing?”

“Well, I guess reporting, but not in the sense of reporting to him? I mean, I am reporting to him but only because his responsibility is to maintain the archive.”

“Oh. I...thought it was a...” I let the sentence trail off because I was wrong and I feel dumb.

“A what, baby?”

“Euphemism,” am I blushing?

She gets a wicked look though, “So...breakfast, table sex, shower, and then sitting Uncle Vince down at the table to tell him what happened without telling him what happened on the table?”

I drop the fork I'm holding.

“Is that a yes? Or do we need to clear the table right this second because you need to fuck me on it right now?” she asks far more sweetly than the phrasing suggests.

“I...” am not able to finish my sentence because the idea of table sex is incredibly hot. I remember thinking about it earlier, but...

She tilts her head at me full of questions and I lean over the table to kiss her gently because tiny mistress loving and wanting me, and volunteering—suggesting that is just brilliant and then that tentative kiss just lights everything on fire and I want things to go further right now and it seems like she does too because she breaks apart briefly enough to scrape everything she can grab down on to the bench next to her off the table top. I grab the few remaining things and shove them down on the bench as she climbs up on to the table and spins around so that she can grab hold of me again, pulling my face towards hers to start another kiss just as hot as the other one had become.

She pulls me closer by the top of my pants unfastening them as she does so and deepening the kiss which I hadn't imagined was possible. I'm afraid I might rip her pants as I tear them off and plant myself inside her. She pulls herself tighter against me using my shoulders and wraps her legs tightly around my my back and then leans back stretching with the full length of her arms and I thrust against her, and run my hands down her back as she lowers herself down to the table, and I lean down following her kissing down her chest and moving my hands up to her shoulders as I stop kissing her chest and go back to her mouth.

Our kiss intensifies once more and I thrust into her. She grips the sides of the table and pushes down against me which sends an shock through my body from crotch to brain and me thrusting harder, driving against her intent to send her over the edge before I go myself this time. She pushes back ramming down and down managing to time against my thrusts for maximum depth and moaning with each hit. The sound is intoxicating.

“Yes,” she tells me, “Right there, baby. Keep going. Keep—there, yes-yes,” and her hands are twitching against my shoulders and with a few more sharp thrusts I'm gone myself and carefully rest on top of her while she kisses my forehead, “See,” she murmurs, “really fucking hot.”

She rubs her hand through my hair for a moment and then pats me on the butt. I pull out and stand up carefully, lifting my pants to fasten them.

She sits up on the table, “Shower, yes..?”

I nod.

“You go ahead in,” she says, “I'll be in in a minute or two. I showed you where it is last time, didn't I? You remember.”

“Yeah.”

The bathroom is right near Julia's bedroom but she pads off in the opposite direction, which I suppose is his room or maybe actually their room, considering this is their boat.

I feel wonky going into the bathroom, I realize it's the last thing I remember from before I was in the cabin with them last night. The shower is on the wrong wall and there's another moment of disorientation like I had in the kitchen and I brace myself against the sink cabinet for a moment before turning on the shower to let it heat up and then I strip off the clothes and look for soap. I wonder if he uses shampoo or has aloe mix for his hair. This is...this is so strange, as I open the cabinet and rummage around looking at these arms which are not my arms. They're darker, blemish and scab free and I can't see the bones. This body might be healthier but it's not mine. How do I even know I'm really here? The warm water, the steam. This could be a methadone dream—doped up in some cell somewhere for killing Pearson and Simon.

That...doesn't seem likely—but being here...this room isn't right. Why am I on Simon's boat? The Guard got rid of it. Hung it over my head like...but she said it was hers, said she fixed it up, but really they must have fixed it up. She and him; because this is their boat, and I shouldn't be on it.

“Baby, what's wrong?” I hear her voice, but I don't know how to answer her. I hear the water stop running and feel her hands on my shoulder and in my hair as she shifts me closer to her and then I'm sat down on something. I slowly register it must be the closed toilet and my head rests against her breasts and one hand runs through my hair, “Feeling disorientated again?”

I nod slightly but that's just the tip of it, “Am I real?”

She hugs me tightly, “Oh, God, yes, baby. Yes. Yes, you're real. You're just as real as me.”

“I don't...this isn't—this isn't me.”

“Okay,” she says, “Okay,” she lifts my face up to hers and kisses me, “Here's the plan. We'll go ahead with that shower, get cleaned up and dressed and then I'm going to show you what happened with the Pearson timeline and why you deserve to be here every bit as much as your other self does. Okay?”

“Okay,” I tell her.

She goes and turns the shower back on and sticks her hand under the water. Then she pulls me to my feet and leads me over to the thing.

“Come on,” she says, “Get inside. I'm pretty sure you know how to bathe,” she smacks me on my ass and I step into the shower and shove my head underneath the water. I can feel it hot on my scalp and rub it out of my eyes. I feel her hands on my shoulders, fingers digging in slightly massaging, “I'm going to have to get your kinks out later,” she says, “You're all full of knots.”

“Hm,” I wash, though she washes me too and I return the favor, and then she works at my hair, which is...for a while my fears and wonders at unreality are forgotten as I lose myself in her instead which is a much better feeling overall, and she definitely doesn't seem to mind.

@@@@

There are clothes laid on her bed for me when we go back into her room. A pair of jeans, tank top and a soft flannel over-shirt. I sit for a moment on the bed after putting on the jeans and tank. The flannel must be fairly new to be so soft. I can't remember the last time I'd bothered to buy new clothes.

“You okay, baby?” she asks. She's got on panties and a bra now but she's going through other clothes of her own.

I nod, and pull on the shirt then release the hair trapped under the collar. It throws me off for a moment, given it's too short. I remember that from last time too now and not wanting to ask why he would have cut it. It didn't seem a thing that would have been done because I wouldn't have, but who knows? We're not entirely the same after all and it's not my body and it's...

No, she said she was going to explain the timeline and things.

She takes one of my hands from where I have it clenched into my knee and pulls at it, “Come on, come back through here,” in her other hand she has a notebook of some sort. She leads me over to the couch. I sit in the corner and she puts the book down on the table and then gets her phone, but then stops and sets it down on the table, “No, that can wait for right now.”

“Hm?” I ask.

“Calling Uncle Vince. It won't take that long to get here from wherever he is, so...”

“Breakfast is still...”

“That can wait for right now too,” she says, and sits down next to me, pulling a pen out of the binding and flipping to a blank page in the notebook, “This, you, more important.”

I can't help but give her a questioning look, I'm sure.

She shakes her head at me and kisses me on the nose, “Okay,” she says and draws a line down the length of the sheet of paper, “This is the timeline we're in, see? Here's 1983,” she draws a dot close to me, “and here's the moment Pearson made his wish,” another dot towards the opposite end of the line, “Now, when he did that, imagine that a railroad switch flipped and another timeline came into being, splitting off that moment,” she draws a diagonal line coming off the 1983 dot and then makes it a line that goes parallel with the original straight line until it comes level with the wish dot, “and it had to go all the way to the moment the wish was made, so everyone got...rewound, and lived through all this,” now she draws a line from the wish dot looping back to 1983 and then following the parallel line until it's even with the wish dot.

I lean my head against her shoulder.

“So, then there was about four hours where the wish timeline was the “real” timeline,” she extends the parallel line a bit, extends the “everyone” line a bit, “and then you killed Andrew Pearson and absorbed his Trouble which ended the active effect of that Trouble—the wish timeline. Since the wish timeline didn't exist anymore everyone else snapped back and the rewind got...rewound,” she reverses the “everyone” line all the way until it reaches the wish dot again and then continues it forward to where the parallel line got extended to, “so for everyone else the wish timeline never happened; but you, baby—you took in that Trouble, you couldn't be rewound. You got snapped back to the moment just after the wish was made,” she draws a short line going from the end of the parallel line to the wish dot, “and since the wish timeline was gone and this one was the “real” one the part of you that lived that timeline got bundled up and...well, your other self is red on the Lightscape, and you're blue. It looked like the Pearson Trouble was wrapped in thick blue, and it took you a while to untangle yourself from it.” She sets the pen down and turns.

I lift my head off her shoulder and look at the tangles of lines. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to follow when she first started drawing things, but it actually makes sense as much as it is a mess of lines and is making my eyes burn again.

“You're real, baby. You're every bit as real as your other self, and you do deserve to exist, to be here, to be happy, see?” She stabs at it with her finger, “You're both “my” Duke because you are the same Duke even though you're different people and there's no way...” she looks close to tears herself when I look up at her, but she has an almost vicious expression. I'm reminded of is tiny Jennifer going to have to choke a Vince but much more seriously, much more her threatening last night to beat anyone who acted like I was a consolation prize, “There's no way I couldn't love you just as much as I love your other self.”

I feel my own tears coming though.

“Because you are “my” Duke and you went through all of that and came out a broken and hurting mess, but you're alive and you're here now, with me, and I'll take care of you. I'll clean you up and put you back together, and that hell you suffered through? It's over now, baby. It's over, and you survived, and you don't have to be that person anymore.” She hugs me, tightly. She's crying too.

We sit holding each other for I'm not sure how long, but until we're calmer. She breaks away from me but only a little and wipes her eyes with her hand.

I kiss her cautiously and she gives a slight laugh.

“You're so cute when you get nervous,” she says.

I shake my head and get up to go find something to blow my nose with.

“You are,” she says, following me towards the kitchen area, picking up some of the breakfast things on the way, “We've done so many things and then you get shy, like I might not want to or want you to, like I've said before I do, and after what I just told you...and showed you. I'd hoped you'd feel better about that.”

“I do,” I tell her, cleaning myself up, and actually blowing my nose on a piece of paper towel, “that was mostly just snot.”

“Oh,” she says and laughs again, “So, you do feel better about things?”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly?” she sets down the plates in the sink, “What don't you feel right about?”

I wave a hand, “That's...just adjusting to differences,” I indicate the body, “at least I'm the same height. It'd be weird not being able to reach things all of a sudden, but little things...and every once in a while here,” I can't help but look around the room. At least it's not painted the same.

She purses her lips, “Did you—did you spend much time on the Cape that was...Simon's?”

“Not so much. A couple of...trips. Most of those were on land though. His Cape wasn't nearly so well taken care of.”

“Not surprised some how,” she kisses me on the cheek, “Help me clean up?”

“Of course.”

“I better call Uncle Vince.”

I nod and go back over to the kitchen table, picking up the leftover waffles and bacon. She makes one call which apparently doesn't turn out and then I hear, “Hi, Uncle Dave!” after a moment the conversation continues with, “Yes, actually. Dwight and I sort of spent a day in the Pearson wish timeline and I know Uncle Vince is going to want to hear everything, but I've got Duke's other self here with me so if he--”

I feel my chest tightening a little but this is not the same Vince. This is not the same Vince.

“Yes, Uncle Vince,” Julia's voice continues, “but you have to come to the Cape right away. Okay, see you soon,” she puts her phone down, “Still doing, okay?”

I nod, pointing to the food I brought over, “I don't know where the storage things are.”

“You wash the dishes then. I'll do that.”

I gather the rest of the things from the table and set them down so she can put them away and set to with the dishes, warm sudsy water, and stacking things on the drainage board. She dries and puts away once she's done with the leftovers, occasionally bumping hips with me or stealing kisses. Then she rinses the sponge and takes it to wipe down the table once the water has drained out of the sink.

Between the shower and the dishes the band of hearts around my wrist has started to bleed off I realize when I go to look at it. She notices too when she comes back with the sponge, and goes for the sharpie again, after scrubbing it off the rest of the way we sit back down on the couch and she puts it back on.

“We'll have to sort something out more permanent,” she says, kissing me and ruffling my hair up and then smoothing it back down, “That way you'll always know that you're okay when you're here even if I'm not around.”

That's not entirely up to me though.

“Don't worry,” she says, “I'm sure he'll be fine with it. He wants you to be here and feel comfortable here just as much as I do.”

“Okay.”

She would know more than I would. It's not like I can talk to him. Maybe I can...write a note?

I wonder how long before Vince gets here, and now I wonder what I was thinking. I know he's not the same Vince. I know it, but it's nagging at me now which is probably because normally I deal with Vince with a certain substance pumping through my veins. I sit on my hands.

“You doing okay?” she asks, running a hand down my arm.

I nod.

She slides closer to me, “You don't have to push yourself. Remember what I said? If you're getting agitated...I'm your drug. Let tiny mistress Julia relax you, like I did early this morning. Remember?” she has her hands on my fly before I even realize what's going on, “If you don't want me to, tell me no right now.”

I'm definitely not going to say no, but I can't bring my mouth to actually open either, so I just look at her pleadingly. She unzips my fly and reaches in for my penis, massaging it with her hand as she pulls it free of my pants and then leans over to take it in her mouth and I groan almost immediately from the sensation of her mouth and feel myself hardening as she sucks up and down the shaft, head bobbing faster and faster. I lean my head back and grip the back of the couch as she continues deeper and deeper until I'm gone.  

@@@@

After I'm readjusted Julia closes up the notebook she drew the timeline on and puts it away somewhere and we clean things up. She checks her phone and I sit myself in the right hand corner of the couch so my back is to the wall and I have a good view of the door.

“He should be here soon,” she says, and then there's a realization that crosses her face, “Oh, right he's never been here,” she gives me a quick kiss on the cheek, “I'll be right back. I need to fetch him from the dock. He knows the rules and wouldn't come up.”

A little while later the door opens and she leads Vince inside. He's less severely dressed than the Vince I've dealt with. His hair is not as tidily cut and he's not wearing glasses. He's carrying a notebook with a chocolate cover under one arm.

“O-oh,” he says, looking around the cabin, “So this is—it's very...cozy, and that's...” he nods in my direction.

“Yes,” Julia says, “Baby, this is Uncle Vince. He knows about you already. I told him about the Pearson wish timeline and what happened the last time you were here.”

Vince looks slightly uncomfortable as he looks around for a place to sit which is sort of amusing. Is that me? Or is that he's Julia's older relative and he's picturing sex things? He finally sits down in the chair Julia and I were cuddled in last night, “Duke...Crocker...I presume? I, ah, understand that my...counterpart--”

Julia cuts him off, “Other self,” she corrects.

“Other self,” Vince repeats, “was...somewhat more involved in your life than has been the case here.”

I can't help but feel snarky at that, “Understatement,” and there's some satisfaction at the alarmed look that crosses Vince's face. He looks to Julia who is sitting herself down next to me it's as if he's questioning her on whether or not he should say something which is so weird; then I remember tiny mistress talking about how she's considered the authority on Duke Crocker, “I'm guessing the Guard runs different altogether here...”

“I think it will be best if we start by going over what happened as it happened,” Julia says, “and then go into whatever explanations you're comfortable with, okay baby?”

“Sure.”

“We all got tossed into the past, into the Pearson wish timeline shortly after the Troubles started. Duke, Audrey, and Nathan got merged with their other selves, while Dwight and I wound up on our graves,” she pulls out her phone and looks through for something, “I have pictures if you want,” she offers the phone to Vince. I put up my hand and shake my head when she glances at me with a questioning look on her face. I know what her grave looks like. I've seen it enough, “If I don't outlive you, Uncle Vince, I fully expect the Carver Maze to be on my gravestone. I lived my whole life under a lie, I don't want to die under it like she did.”

“Of—of course,” Vince says, shakily.

“Audrey was still in Boston,” Julia continues, “Nathan was still in denial, so naturally our first stop was finding you or Uncle Dave. We found Dave, but he didn't recognize either of us so I asked him to point me in the direction of Duke and then we went to...secure the funds with which to hire him.”

Vince frowns at that, but then nods as though he's worked through whatever was troubling him.

“When we did find Duke, though,” she squeezes my hand then, “he was on his way to talk to your other self when he got a...job...that had to be done right away.”

“Oh dear. Was it,” he winces, “necessary?”

“That...was Nicole Meadows,” I explain, “Your other self deemed it so. She was...triggering illness in...people, each time more people and more deadly.”

“Meadows. I can see where...but killing her? There wasn't an alternative—no one to talk to her?” He looks very uncomfortable and guilty.

“Apparently not,” Julia says. She's browsing through things on her phone again and then leans over to show something to Vince. He squints at it for a few moments and goes pale, almost as though he wants to throw up and shoves the phone back towards Julia very quickly. He looks like he wants to say something but then he doesn't. He just shakes his head and looks down at his notebook.

“I took care of what I was supposed to,” I shrug, “That was the deal.”

“Deal?” Vince leans forward, angrily, “What deal?”  

An uncomfortable noise escapes my mouth before I can stop it, “Working with the Guard—for the Guard? I don't know which was is the right one, but being the last slash only active Crocker and...”

It's weird to me how horrified Vince looks given him sitting across a table making demands was how I got into the situation in the first place, “You...were asked to...but what did you get out of it?”

I remember the plastic wrapping and the comments about the sledgehammer, and breakfast, the safe house. I realize after a moment that I'm drumming my fingers across the table top.

“That falls under questions you can ask later,” Julia says, sharply and then leans over and nuzzles my neck and kisses me.

“Simon's body could show back up at any time,” I mutter under my breath and laugh sarcastically.

“I'm sorry,” Vince says, “Please. Continue.”

“Once Duke had left to...do that...Dwight and I went in and I introduced myself to your other self. Loudly. And pointily. Had to explain the timeline physics and show him some pictures before he'd accept everything, and then I asked him about the Carver diary, which he also knew nothing about. But my father was still alive, so he sent one of the Guard to drive me there and...” her voice drops, “...I got to talk to him. His glaucoma was pretty bad, but he could still see me a little,” she squeezes my hand before turning her phone on again where it's sitting on the table surface and flipping back through the pictures, when it first turns on I could swear I catch a picture of a page full of hand-written list that looks very much like the journal I had to keep. The pictures scroll through quickly until it's one of her with an older man who has a hand on her shoulder and looks super proud of her. Clearly her father.

“That's awesome,” I tell her.

“Yeah,” she says, her voice shaking, “Only time I got to see my father and I got to tell him everything worked out okay. He told me that he could die in peace and that he was proud of me,” she's crying quietly now, and I lean over to kiss her and hug her. She leans against me.

Vince looks decidedly uncomfortable again, “You know why--” he starts.

“I know,” she says, sharply, cutting him off, “That doesn't mean I have to like that it was necessary,” she takes a deep breath, wiping her eyes on her sleeve, “When I got back, Dwight told me the Chief had called and had a shouting match with your other self because he knew the apparent suicide wasn't a suicide because Nathan picked Duke up and brought him in and he was crashing in the holding cell and he wanted your other self to come pick him up to make sure no one put two and two together, but your other self didn't want to do it, so I yelled at him. A lot,” when she continues her recounting she sounds extremely tired, “I pointed out that the Barn was gone and Lucy had only been Lucy and that if Duke didn't kill Pearson after the wish was made, Sarah would never come back and everything would stay horrible and the Troubles would never end and that he had to make sure Duke didn't die and to not try to get him off the heroin because it was pretty much the only thing keeping him from just laying down and not getting back up,” Vince's guilty look turns on me then but he looks away again soon after and focuses back on Julia. I lean my head against her shoulder, “Then I told him to take us to the police station so we could talk to the Chief while he picked up Haven's only hope and brought him back to his boat. Chief recognized me. He felt something right from the moment we arrived and, it turns out, he had the Carver diary.”

“Garland had it?” Vince asks, “But why didn't he ever tell me?”

“He didn't know what it was,” Julia explains. She kisses my hair and murmurs to me asking if I'm still doing okay. I nod, and she continues addressing Vince, “Remember what the box says? 'Give to the one who sees'. Wuornos just holds the for Carver; it's not for anyone else to know what's inside. So, that's why I couldn't find it. From just past the Troubles returning to yesterday afternoon, it literally didn't exist to be found. But I have it now, and yes, it can help us, and we'll discuss it later.”

She messes with the phone again and pushes it towards Vince.

“Oh,” he says, “Garland.”

“Yes,” she says, then she whispers to me, “You know the Garland here gave me permission to be your other self's friend in high school,” she turns back to Vince holding her hand out for the phone, “The Garland asked me if in this timeline, Duke was treating me right. I told him he was treating me so well you'd stopped grumbling about him.”

Vince looks embarrassed again. It's amazing how satisfying that is though I remind myself this is not the same Vince.

“Then I threatened Nathan a little, and he recognized me, and I got him to agree to watch out for Duke, too,” she sighs, “...and then my mother saw me.”

“Oh, dear.” Vince remarks.

“I explained to her I didn't want to be a doctor, that in this timeline she'd died, and I was married. She was...initially unhappy with my choice, but I set her straight on a few things and she came around. So, all in all, probably the best talk I've had with her since I graduated, but apparently when your dead daughter is visiting from a happier timeline, you're more willing to let go of things and approve, however implicitly, of her choice in men.”

I shake my head, trying not to focus on the fact that she approved of this timeline's Duke.

Julia kisses my head, “The fact that you turned Simon into paste helped a lot, and so did hearing what you would do to Andrew Pearson. Dwight told her that he would have been proud of and grateful to you if I'd been his dead daughter.” Dwight has a dead daughter?

“If only she could have known about that earlier,” I mutter, “but Simon fled town though.”

“That's what you got out of the deal?” Vince's outrage surprises me, “I—my other self—knew what happened and never told her? Julia, my dear, whatever you told him, however harsh it was, he deserved it.”

“The Guard took care of Simon's body,” I explain, “But he might show up at any point. That was some of the “discussion” we had when—Simon disappeared after a big fight we had and that's the last time I saw him. That's what you have to tell everyone. They were coming to do I don't know what anyway. Moore and Alan and—I don't remember.”

“Whatever it was it would have been too little, too late,” Vince remarks, “I can't say that I would have done any better in his shoes but I can say that I'm grateful Julia took it upon herself to champion y-your other self. I was wrong, and now that I know what could have happened I'm very glad it did not.”

Julia has a very satisfied and smug smile on her face as she hugs me.

I can only muster a “Hm” in response.

“So, after all that we went looking for Duke because I know the stages of death crashing and I suspected your other self might not have been able to get him back to his boat, and I was right, so we found him and brought him back and cleaned him up because you'd really done a number on your left arm, baby.”

I pull a face, looking at my arm, remembering half way through doing so that it's completely not the right left arm, “I remember the...bandages.”

I get kissed, “I hoped you'd leave them on long enough for things to heal a bit.”

I try to remember how long they stayed on. I remember Brent asking about them.

“After he woke up we finalized paying him for his help and he made a few calls, one of which being to Uncle Dave's other self and I strongly suspect he called your other self afterwards because the next day he was at the Historical Society with copies of things I'm pretty sure were in the archive and I know he likes his creature comforts, but he seemed a bit too invested in helping us find the Heart of Haven.”

“I presume you found it because you're here,” Vince remarks.

“Yeah,” Julia says, “It's the lighthouse.”

Vince's expression goes through a series of phases the biggest one being the look of being the biggest idiot in history, “The lighthouse! OF COURSE! Why didn't I think of that?”

“Julia seemed to have a similar reaction if I recall,” I say.

“Yeah,” Julia nods, “In retrospect it was really obvious.”

“And you were able to “summon the Door”?” Vince says.

“Just like calling an elevator.”

“Huh.” I expect him to say “well fancy that” but he doesn't.

“So when Dwight and I got back it pulled everyone else forward too. We arrived at the moment we'd left and I sent the bastard on a six-month trip to Boston. So, we'll see, but it looks like we've got some breathing space.”

“Boston?” I ask.

“Remember your other self got lost for six months?” she says, “When he finally got spit back out into the world it was in Boston because...I didn't know what I was doing or how to tell the machine to just spit him back out here.”

“Ah, right...” they were talking about that last night too. Nate said something about doing it repeatedly.

“Uncle Vince, I'll bring the Carver diary with me to work and we can go over it then, but that's what happened. You can ask questions now, but Duke's not obligated to answer them, got it? And if you upset him too badly, you'll have to leave,” she nuzzles my ear, “You can ask questions, too, baby. If there's anything you want to know...”

“Well, it sounds like there's no such arrangement here, from what Julia's said, and the way you've acted—there's no “Here, Crocker, this person needs to die for the safety of the universe.”

Vince looks nervously at Julia and I shake my head but then here she's in charge when it comes to things about “me”, but it's just so weird seeing Vince looking to someone else, “No. After Simon turned out the...way he did...I thought it would be better if your other self never...became active. Unfortunately, that didn't happen, but she's been quite informative about the downside of the Crocker Trouble and has made it very clear that such a drastic measure is only to be taken when all other options have failed.”

“Hmmm,” I say.

“Duke, I know you haven't had the best experience with my other self and I know that your other self and I haven't exactly gotten along, but I'm old enough to know when I've been wrong and...well, Haven owes you a great debt for killing Andrew Pearson. If there's anything I can do...”

I stare at him.

Julia giggles quietly.

Vince continues a little awkwardly, “Well...just think about it. The offer is open specifically to you. Your other self is more than capable of making his own demands,” he adds grumpily.

I have to laugh at that one but I can't think of anything to ask for. I can only imagine what Duke might come up with himself. He'd be trying to get Vince dressed like Carmen Miranda singing in front of people at the bar.  That makes me laugh more. Vince looks slightly worried.

“It's okay,” I say, “but no I...I can't think of anything.”

He nods, “As I said, think about it.”

I nod in return.

“If there's nothing else,” he says, “I must get back so we can sort out the paper. I'll see you at work, Julia, tomorrow, perhaps? Depending on how things are,” he stands up and Julia does too. I follow suit. Julia moves so that she can hug Vince before he leaves. Then Vince puts his hand out offering to shake mine and I carefully accept.

He nods at me, “I'll see myself out,” he says and disappears.

I flop back down on the couch and exhale slowly.

Julia leans down and kisses me giving me a good view of her breasts down the neckline of her shirt, “You did really well, baby,” she says.

“Hm,” I tell her.

“No, you did. How do you feel?”  

“Weird,” I tell her, “A little tired. Confused?”

“Well, that was a lot, and Vince...” She kisses me again.

“Excited,” I add.

She laughs, “That definitely seems like you're feeling better about where you are.”

“Things have been helping a bit with that,” I nod, “I just...it was strange seeing him like that. Tiny mistress all in charge of Vince.”   

“Only when it comes to you and your other self,” she corrects, “Tiny mistress is in charge of everyone when it comes to the subject of her gypsies.”

I hug her. My head nestles into her breasts. One of her hands wraps around my shoulders the other wends it's way into the hair at the back of my head and scratches away there an easy rhythm. If I was a cat I would probably be purring, as it is other things are getting excited that aren't just my mood. I kiss her chest through her shirt and rub my head from side to side. She giggles and pushes me back slightly and then kisses me. I kiss her back and then lift her up so she can sit in my lap which is a little awkward with my position on the couch and we kiss more, running hands through each others hair, over each others bodies, and then clothes are off once more and positions shifted slightly more so that I can slip myself inside her and once more that glorious ride.  

@@@@

“Baby?” Julia asks, as I finally track down where the flannel shirt got tossed and put it back on.

“Yeah?”

“I'd been going to suggest more breakfast but there's a text message from Nathan,” she holds up the phone, “he was wondering if we were up for getting lunch with him either here or maybe at The Gull?”

“Huh.”

“Is that a good 'huh' or a bad one?” she crosses the cabin towards me.

“It's a slightly perplexed one. I wasn't—lunch invites weren't something I expected. Are you sure it's for me?”

“Yes, baby,” she tugs on my lapels, and holds up the phone.

If Duke still here today you two want to get lunch? I would say Gull but not sure he'd be up for that. Feel free to say no. I understand.

“If that's not you he's talking about then I don't know who that is.”

I suppose.

“You okay?”

I nod, “It's just adjusting still, but it would be good to try and go out, right? I just...”

“The Gull isn't far,” she says, “It's right across there,” she points out of the front of the boat, where the empty Second Chance would be if this were the world I was born into, “and it's safe. Technically you own it. We can eat upstairs out of the way, or take a section of the patio for ourselves and ask to be given privacy, it's not unheard of if Things Are Going On. Don't have to go into town though and deal with hundreds of people to eat some place there, and see some place different than these walls.”

“That would be...nice.”

“Well, then,” she presses a button on the phone and puts it to her ear, “Nathan, hey—if you're still able to do lunch we'd love to. The Gull is fine,” I look around wondering where shoes or socks might be. They're probably back in his bedroom, “We'll maybe do the patio like we're having a Trouble Meet or something upstairs have a little bit of privacy. See how things are when we get over there,” there's another pause, “Well, it'll take us not even five minutes to get over there so just let me know when you can be there,” another pause, “Okay, cool. We'll see you then,” she turns to me, “About fifteen minutes.”

“Alright,” I nod, “So...socks and shoes?”

“I'll get them,” she says, “Sure you're okay with The Gull?”

I nod again, “One step at a time, right?”

“Right. Now, if we can't get around there without encountering anyone there are people who're gonna be calling you Boss-man and such, but they wear name tags so that'll help. I'll field any stupid questions though. If Shelley says anything call her Shell.”

“Alright...”

“There are ways to get to tables with minimum person encounter. Just ordering and things.” I can see she's getting hesitant. I am a little too but I need to learn how to be around some people at least and be out of the boat, what if we switch somewhere out and about or something?

“It is just Nathan, right?”

“Yes,” she says, “No Audrey. I'll go get the shoes and such.”