Haven: New York Deal

 

The ground under me is at a different angle than it was and all scratchy gravelly not smooth. I was thrown down. My head is spinning. The...fuck happened? There's a whirl of movement, knives and stabbing and being slammed around, angry questions, needle stabbings, no wonder everything's so...and I can't—hurling again, but not much there any more. I lean forward. I feel hands then, gentle, pulling my hair back, echoes of old times.

“It's okay, Boss, easy, easy.”

My stomach is fighting wanting to expel things but there's just a small amount of water and nothing else. That's painful.

But Julia—Julia is here. I manage to wipe at my mouth, leaning back against whatever it is behind me before I fall forward. I am so glad to see her though I reach for her hoping she'll move close which she does, brushing the hair away from my face.

“Boss? Where were you meeting your...friend? We need to find the truck and we think it's still there.”

Her touch is electric through my skin. I want to fuck her so badly right now and not just because I remember how awesome sex is when you're this high.

“I need you to focus for a second, Boss. Truck first, and then sex. We need to find the truck, so we can have sex in the truck,” she's holding my head by my chin and has turned my face towards hers and is looking at me intently.

Suddenly I hear another voice behind her, Audrey's: “Oh, my God. I am pretending I did not hear any of this.”

“Was I...? out loud?”

“Yes,” Julia says, touching her forehead to mine, “But it's okay. Now, the truck? Where were you last with the truck?”

Truck. Truck. Ted. I was with Ted. Stupid bar with the American cheese on the burger. Where was...

“Wow, how high is he?” I hear Audrey ask.

“Higher than I ever saw Cam, but that doesn't mean much considering the circumstances,” I feel Julia's kiss on my cheek, “You texted me about the cheese...” she says, fiddling with my jacket.

“Rally's,” I tell her, “It was Rally's. What are you? Ted thought they were--” she has her hand towards my pants now which is fine and then disappointing because it pulls away with a

“Oh, my God that's sloppy!” and I hear the jingling of keys.

“Sloppy? Julia, I don't think we should be criticizing their mistakes when they work out in our favor.”

“Our favor or not, Audrey, sloppy is still sloppy. If they'd kidnapped Duke properly, the truck would be here and we wouldn't have to track down this 'Rally's'.”

“46 and Pike,” that comes clear and then repeats through my head for a while like I'm in a cavern. I can feel my stomach trying to upend itself again, but manage to just spit.

"Thank you, Boss,” Julia says after a moment, and she kisses my forehead again. She smells so good. I reach to kiss her. She gives me a quick peck, but turns away, “Audrey, can you go grab Stan and Rebecca now that we've got a place to go? Mike, you're driving so get the route.”

“Already on it,” he says.

She picks something up from the ground and I'm presented with a bottle of water in front of my face, “Here, Boss. Rinse your mouth out, and we'll get you loaded up.”

“Boring,” I tell her.

“Taste nastiness for ages,” she says, “It's your mouth.”

I take a mouthful and do as I'm told, “Evil wench.”

“But you love me.”

“I do.”

 

She has my hands suddenly I realize, “No. Later. Duke, come on. We need to get you in the van. We need to get to the truck. Put your arm around my shoulders,” she pauses then, “Mike.”

“I'm here,” and then there's an arm under my armpit and I'm being hauled up and guided to a seat in the van and when I can't manage things Julia takes over and buckles me in.

“Don't go anywhere,” she says and climbs over to sit on my other side.

 

We bounce to a halt and I can make out a dark building in front of us.

“You with us?” Julia asks, hand on my cheek, “We're here.”

I turn to her, slowly, “Here?”

“Your truck,” she says.

I try to find the buckle but miss it. Julia pops it and unhooks things. The zipping noise of the belt is hilarious.

She puts a hand to my cheek, “Come on.”

Gallagher is there to help her, help me out of the van. I see the truck ahead of us and quickly grab hold of it when the side is nearby. I hear Julia jangling keys and she opens the door next to me.

“You're okay?” she asks, “Just stay there for a minute. I'm going to have the guys go shopping for us. There's a lot of supplies we'll need,” she moves away. Rebecca, Stan and Mike surround her. They'll need money for things. There's money in the truck. Should check.

I move myself towards the passenger seat to get to the safe that's there. I'm working at the lock when Julia comes back to me, “What are you doing, Boss?”

“Checking money.”

“Can you even work the lock right now?”

“I...” it doesn't...

 “Come on,” she takes my hands and turns me around, “Mike and Stan have gone to get things. You can barely stand. I think there are better places for you to be and better things for you to be doing,” she moves me a little up towards the seat, “like your wench,” she kisses my lips, “but maybe you'd better let your wench do you given you're barely upright,” she's tugging at my shirt I realize and move my arms trying not to make sure and not hit her in the face given my limbs are a little loose. She works at my pants buckle before pushing me towards the seat of the truck which rolls back and jars as it locks into place.

I feel the door slam shut.

“Sorry,” she murmurs and covers my face with light kisses holding either side of it in her hands. Nothing seems to be happening below the belt though even as she wiggles around on my lap before removing her own pants and panties and I feel my eyes slipping away for a moment and she takes hold of my head again, “Oh, no—you were all hot and bothered before I know how badly you want to fuck me and how badly I want to fuck you you're not falling asleep on me.”

“I don't want to.”

“Good,” she says, leaning down and kissing me, taking my hands and threading them under her shirt and over to her breasts. She squeezes my hands a couple of times and then reaches one down to my cock and runs the other into my hair as she begins to kiss me probing deeply into my mouth. I kiss back as she continues to scratch her fingers against my scalp and squeeze and stroke my penis. 

I'd normally be hard well before now but things are at least starting to stir as we break slightly her lips close against mine, “This is what you get,” she teases, “for not being in your hotel room so I could call you for phone sex.”

“Wench,” I mutter at her, trying to catch her lips again. She pulls back for just a moment and then nibbles at my neck, tracing kisses up my jaw before claiming my mouth again and squeezing my penis before jerking on it some more.

“C'mon, Crocker,” she says, breaking the kiss again, “Your wench sat in a van for six hours to get you and she's not doing another six hour trip until she does you,” she pulls my head back with my hair, sending me groaning and pushes up on her knees over me to kiss me deeply as though she's trying to pull my tonsils out with her tongue, before she breaks again and letting out a low throaty growl demands, “Are you going to deny Pirate Queen Julia the right to ravish her gypsy love-slave?” and there it goes, finally, twitching and hardening in her hand and she climbs aboard.

For a moment I'm rolling again, pleasure and high colliding as Julia slides home and wriggles her way into place as she so loves to do and then begins to move up and down using the truck seat as a brace for both her knees and her hands to help keep balance as she keeps her mouth on mine kissing. I kiss back sliding one hand from her breast down a side to cup a butt cheek it sends a shiver through her and then through me and oh, the sparks and shine. I could fall through the sky as she rides slowly at first and then speeding up sliding up and down urging us towards the stars and then everything explodes into fireworks. 

%%%%%

I feel a kiss on my cheek. A hand gently running through my hair. Julia's touch, light and feathery. She kisses my nose as well, and then ever so carefully my lips as I open my eyes to look at her.

“How are you doing, baby?”

I look around, “We found the truck.”

“Yeah,” she kisses my ear and wriggles where she's sitting which is on my lap and oh, I'm inside her. I can't help my head rolling back for a moment because this has to be the best place to find myself. She giggles which sends vibrations through our connection and oh, so awesome. Tiny mistress on my penis. Penis which needs to work a bit more. I move myself against her a little and she makes a slight moan, pursing her lips together, then rubbing her nose against mine and then kissing me, teasing my tongue with her own.

I can feel things...coming together more as I become hard inside her and she lets out a sort of moan sigh into the kiss and then pushes up ever so gently on her knees and slides down again onto me and repeats. Each motion sending sparks down and up my body and lighting up my brain. There are trails all around her as she bounces, and I can move my hips only ever so slightly as she pushes down against me, fire and stars pooling in her eyes. Sharp little gasps, and deeper moans breaking into the frantic speed of the kiss as those sparks build and build inside me and I feel as though we're going to take the entire Eastern sea board with us when the edge tips over.

The waterfall of kisses that we spill out into is equally exciting and much less destructive though and Julia lays against my shoulder and partly on the seat, very reluctantly extracting herself from my crotch.

She pats my chest a couple of times, “Much as I hate to,” she says, “I need to find my pants and then we need to get you in clean clothes. Stan and Mike should be back soon with meds and things that we need to get in you so we can get on the road.”

“Right,” I can feel myself slipping a little in the afterglow relaxation as Julia wriggles back into panties and then flips partly backwards to pull her pants back on.

She sits in my lap again to put her shoes on, “You're doing okay?” she gives me a quick kiss.

“Hmm,” I tell her.

She pats me on the shoulder closest to the door, “We gotta get the clothes on though. We're going to have a pit stop before heading out and they have those pesky no shirt, no shoes, no service rules,” she hands me a bundle of things before climbing down from my lap and out of the truck.

As Julia walks towards the back of the truck I hear her talking to someone but it's not Mike and Stan because this is a woman's voice. Not Audrey either...wait, Julia said Rebecca was here too. She's been here this whole time?

Julia reappears at the door and opens it holding out a plastic bag, “Here, baby, put the dirty things in here.”

I drop the clothes into the bag.

“Shame about the pants,” she remarks, as they fall into the bag. The shirt I knew had dried puke on it, but I didn't realize the pants did too. I guess when I was fighting with Stabbed-Foot and Boots I slid across the floor, “Maybe I should just throw these out,” she says, setting the bag on the hood of the truck, “I don't know that having the clothes you were kidnapped and shot full of heroin knocking around the boat is a good idea.”

I shrug.

“Yeah,” she says, “Tossing those. Turn towards me, okay?” she says, unfolding another pair of pants. I thread my legs into them and bracing on the seat slide out of the truck putting them on the whole way. Julia laughs a little when helping me tuck inside and I zip up. She fastens the button when I fumble with it and kisses me. It's kinda chilly outside the truck but I'll probably be warming soon I can feel itchy sensation creeping across my shoulders and down the back of my neck. I don't realize it's on my scalp until Julia apprehensively moves my hand away from scratching there and kisses my fingers.

I chew my lip.

“Let's get this on you, baby,” she says, having stretched a tank top so that it can be put over my head and my arms can be threaded through. I pull it down over my chest and then lean back against the side of the truck because Julia has turned. There's a gravel crunching sound and a van pulls into the parking lot close to us. Mike Gallagher and Stan the cop climb out. I realize I know Stan from my old time line. He tazered me at least once. Mike opens the side door of the van where there's a ton of bags and supplies piled up.

Julia walks over and begins rifling through the bags, asking them to load the towels, bucket and sleeping bag into the back of the truck please and thank you. She comes back over to me with a bag ripping open cardboard boxes and taking out bottles of medicine.

She unscrews one of the bottles and pours some into a clear plastic cup and hands it to me, “Gotta get this in you so your tummy doesn't get angry on the highway,” I drink it down. Then a second. Another one is pills which she takes with a bottle of water which she then hands to me before going and grabbing a clean over shirt and shaking the open sleeve at me, “Let's get this on you, too. Random strangers don't need to be seeing all the welts and bruises.”

“Yeah...” the way of my wardrobe for years. I stand up instead of leaning against the truck and stick one arm into the shirt sleeve and pass the bottle to my other hand to put the shirt on all the way. She adjusts it as though I'm being made ready for a job interview, “Thank you,” I tell her, giving her a kiss.

“Of course, baby,” she says, “Come on, let's get in the back of the truck and then we'll head to Denny's so people can get food,” she hesitates, “You're not hungry, are you?”

“No,” I stop myself from scratching at my left arm, “But I shouldn't eat.”

She nods, “Good. I don't have to say it,” she kisses me again, and we walk arm in arm towards the tail gate. 

The back of the truck has been partly set up as a...nest. There is a sleep bag laid out flat on the truck bed with a blanket on top, maybe two. Then a few more blankets and towels are in a pile at the back of the bed near a flat of water and a bucket. There are also plastic bags of—I'm not sure what given the only one I've seen the contents of are the things Julia already gave me which she's carrying still.

I take another small drink of water and screw the cap back on. Julia takes it and checks how secure it is before rolling the bottle down the bed towards the cab of the truck and then we climb in and crawl after it.

“Ready to be locked in?” Stan asks. He and Rebecca are standing behind the tail gate.

“Sure,” Julia answers, adjusting the fold on a towel and setting it behind her head.

He lifts up the gate and down the top and I hear everything lock into place and their slightly muffled conversation as they check things are secure. Julia entices me to lay my head in her lap which doesn't take much encouragement. She runs a hand across my head which gives me a shiver and then massages my head softly, gently with the tips of her fingers. It's a relief. My arms and neck might still be itching but my head itself is less so.

“I want you to know what options we have for when things get bad, baby,” she says, “I had them pick up NyQuil for us but I also have a tranq dart with me it's one I keep for Duke in case of a bad silver crash.”

“Okay,” I say, knotting my hands together.

“I'm not going to make you take anything. I just want you to know that we have them so when things get bad if you want to use them you just say so, but I'm not going to make that decision for you because you're going through this not me I'm just helping,” she leans over and kisses my cheek.

“Okay,” I tell her, “Thank you.”

“Of course, baby.”

The truck is slowing down now and we make a pointed turn. I hear, “Sorry, folks,” from the front and then we're stopping in a parking lot. We carefully shuffle towards the front of the tail gate and Stan and Rebecca let us out.

“Go to the bathroom, okay, baby?” Julia says, once we're standing on the ground, “Then wait for me by the door and we'll come back to the truck.”

“Okay,” I nod and walk slowly into the place with Julia following closely and make my way towards the bathroom while she and the other two go to where you wait to be seated. There's not much in my system but I do what I can and then rinse my mouth out again. I'm sticky and sweaty and wash my face, neck, chest and arms at least down as best I can with what's available and then slowly and with hand trailing along the wall leave the rest room and go back to where Julia said. She's already there.

“I was about to come looking for you,” she says.

“I'm sorry,” I tell her, “I washed,” I wave a hand about.

She kisses me, “Smart idea. Come on. Let's go back to the truck. The others are bringing me my food,” and she links her arm through mine and walks with me.

We nestle ourselves back into the corner and I lay down with my head in her lap again and kick off my shoes. My head is starting to feel dizzy and I keep my eyes shut as she rubs her fingers across my scalp.

“How are you feeling, baby?” she asks.

“Dizzy,” I tell her, “Warm.”

“I have a washcloth and water to wipe you down with if you get too overheated,” she tells me, “but we can take the over shirt off now we're in the privacy of the truck,” she pats my shoulder and I sit up carefully, keeping my head as still as possible and she helps me pull the shirt off and then tosses it away to another part of the truck. Then she puts a hand to my forehead and I find myself looking at the damage to the arms. She takes hold of my right hand the one that's tracing lines and holes I haven't had to see in a while, “I'm proud of you,” she says, which confuses me and I tell her so, “You didn't want it. I can see you fought having the drug and I'm proud of you for that too,” she wraps her arms around me and kisses my shoulder from behind, “You're very strong, baby.”

I can feel myself crying, though there's really not enough in me to do so. I'm so dry. She lays me down and curls up with me, brushing her hand across my forehead for a moment.

“You want some water?” she asks.

I shake my head.

She gets a minxish look on her head, after glancing towards the back of the truck which she had actually managed to get closed when we climbed in, “I could...” she touches my nose with one finger, “...release some tension,” she lowers her gaze towards my crotch, “I wouldn't want to try that after we start on the road, after all. I might bite things off if we went over a bump on the highway.”

Normally that would be so tempting, and I know all those times of I'm your drug. Take hits of me, when I've been jonesing in a morning or whenever but that was so very different I realize now the thinking I needed it because I was used to it to what my body is starting to feel right now. That was...I can't say nothing because it was very real, but...still...this is physically here and now, and I'm so grateful that she got to me so soon because how long would I have lasted before I gave in—it was—is so very, very good.

“Baby?” Breaks in, not just tinged with concern, and her face is right there in front of mine one hand in my hair still, “Hey,” she says, when I look over at her, and gently runs the hand across my cheek, “You're safe. I'm here. What can I do?”

I reach for her face. I have to. For a brief moment I can't believe she's there. She holds my hand to her cheek, “Stay.”

“Of course, baby,” she says, “Always,” and she shifts closer to me across the bed of the truck and wraps me in her arms tightly and holds me, “Is this okay?” she says, “I'm not hurting you?”

“No,” I tell her.

“Okay,” she says, softly, “Okay.”

After I'm not sure how long she shifts us around carefully, and coaxes me into a different position so that we're back where we were with her in the corner and me in her lap. I hear truck doors opening and closing and then what I now know is Rebecca's voice.

“How are we doing?”

“We're doing,” Julia answers.

“Have your food,” she says, “and thank you for the meal.”

“Yeah,” Stan echoes.

“No problem,” Julia says, as Rebecca leans through to the where we are and hands Julia something that smells mostly of beef and bacon, “Thanks.”

“Anything you need before we get going?” Rebecca asks.

“I'm good,” Julia says, “Baby?” she strokes my cheek.

“Fine,” I answer, “Let's just go.”

“You heard the man,” Rebecca says, turning back to face forward.

Julia leans over and kisses my cheek, “I'm going to eat, okay, baby?”

“Hmm,” I close my eyes, feeling the jolt as the truck shifts into gear and begins to move. I'm fine. I'm fine. There is nothing crawling on my skin and my stomach is fine.

“Alright. You just let me know if you need anything.”

“Hmm.” I nestle down, putting one hand under my head hoping that will stop the means to scratch at least from one side. Julia's lap is one of the comfier places to rest no matter how warm I'm feeling. I focus on breathing slow and the rhythm of the truck and the tires, trying to push away the itching of my skin and the heat. It's just a warm summer day on the deck of the boat and all's well, that's all. Stop telling me that's bullshit, brain. 

%%%%%

“I can't believe you!” Nate yells, gripping my left arm tightly where it's not in my sweater yet, “You had me apologizing to you! I said I was sorry for accusing you of doing drugs and all this time—all this time, right?” he flings my arm back at me from where he's been staring at the holes.

I pull my shirt on the rest of the way. He caught me in the middle of getting dressed—mostly because I zoned out in the middle of it and he came to check on me. Whose stupid idea was this fishing trip, anyway?

“You're not going to say anything?” he demands.

“What would I say?”

He gives a strangled exasperated noise, “You could apologize to me.”

I push up from the bed and turn around to face him, “You just invaded my room and started yelling at me--”

“I was worried about you!” then he jabs a finger towards me, “Don't turn this around on me! It doesn't take twenty minutes to get dressed,” he paces towards the door is he wringing his hands? I lean against the wall it's too much effort to stand. He turns back and looks like he's going to say or snap something else then he just unclenches his fist and slams out of the room.

I sit down on the floor. Of course he doesn't get it. How would he get it?

The door slams back open again.

Nate, “I shouldn't be surprised you're still. Right. There,” he mutters coming towards me.

“What?”

“You're coming with me,” he grabs my left arm and tries to pull me up.

“The hell I am,” I yank back he loses my arm but still has my sweater. Someone else is with him. I hear the movement. Where the hell did they come from so soon? They haven't said anything though and I can't see round Nate. 

We have a brief skirmish and then he manages to get hold and does hoist me up but I shove my fist hard into his stomach as he does and he stumbles backward coughing and I see his Dad behind him, hands rested on his gun belt but away from the actual gun. He's staring at me with almost no expression on his face and that hesitation gives Nate time to straighten up and he starts to come towards me.

 His father grabs his shoulder, “Hold on there, son.”

Nate wheels to look at him, “But--” is all he gets out before Garland moves between us.

“Son,” he says, “you need help. I think on some level you can see that,” his head is tilted slightly to one side, “Nathan might be going about it a little unevenly but he's just concerned about you, as am I.”

I hear the words. I do. I can put them together but they don't make sense; besides, “How are you going to help me? Just leave me alone. Get off my damn boat,” I direct that mostly towards Nate because Garland's expression is making my skin want to—no, no it's not. That's not—but I do still want them gone. I just want to go to sleep.

Nate looks like he's about to protest at his Dad until Garland shakes his head, “I'm afraid I can't do that.”

“What?”

“I'm afraid of what you might do,” his voice has this tone that makes my toes curl up, “You're going to have to come with me.”

“No.”

He moves closer to me and I back up a little but trip over my feet slipping into the wall.

“Please, son,” Garland says, “Don't make this difficult on all of us. Just come along and let us help you sort things out,” his hand is on my arm before I realize it because I've been keeping too much focus on his face. He has cuffs clipped on me quickly and is pushing me towards the state room. Nate follows with us keeping by one side, hemming me in so that I have little room to move. I can't breathe. I'm not being taken to the police station for bullshit but right now I have to wait. I have to wait. My head is starting to pound though and there's weird noise around us.

We come out onto the deck. There's a cool breeze and I feel myself wanting to waft with it, hair blowing across my face and the wind catching through my sweater.

“Keep moving,” Nate says, “Come on, Duke. Please,” he nudges me with one arm. It is horribly painful but if I push it enough I should be able to dislocate my left thumb. I shift my hand a bit trying to get hold of my thumb without him noticing so that I can get out. I have to lean against his car and Nathan gets the job of patting me down for weapons and such like. He knows where I keep things, mostly, and makes a comment and about stashing things in other places.

“Do you really want to check?” I mutter, “I'm sure your Dad has gloves,” hoping that distracts him from what I'm doing as I know there'll be a loud crack once I do actually snap my thumb out of joint. Hopefully I'm still high enough it won't hurt me too bad.

Or fuck. Fuck. Fuck. My knees buckle, but that's a distraction too as they move to catch me and figure out exactly what's happened I yank my hand out of the cuff cursing in my head how much it hurts and pushing against Nathan who was the closest and is grabbing at me to pull me back up to my feet and get me in the actual car.

I swing at him with my right hand not to hit him with the hand though which he'll be expecting but clock him with the hand cuff given it's still dangling off my wrist, heavy and weighted, and the connection knocks him enough that he stops trying to grab at me and I bolt if I can lose them in the docks for a while maybe they'll give up. Plus I need to get my thumb right otherwise even if I find something to get the rest of the hand cuff off with...though it's still going to fucking hurt.

This is not how today was supposed to...

...where else can I go? I do not want to go to the fucking Guard house. And my thumb goes back into place as I'm biting into a huge chunk of hair and muttering and kicking out with one foot, and red pulsing shapes and yellows too behind my clenched eye lids. I spit out the hair and mutter some other choice words in my head trying to make myself listen. They could easily have tracked me down already, and not shown themselves and I slipped halfway out of standing position again. Why are they so damned intent on keeping hold of me? I told them to leave me the fuck alone.

I don't think I hear anyone. I can work my way back between the two buildings. I keep closer to the right given my left hand is throbbing, and hold the ring of the handcuffs in my right hand so it doesn't clank against things. I feel like I might be stumbling a bit given aside from my hand throbbing my head is too: things swirl when I look around the corner checking for my potential kidnappers and trip against the edge of the building and fall instinctively putting my hand out to catch me—the left one already sore and swelling from what I did and bad lights and shock waves. I roll onto my side and try to pull up but I can't manage—too dizzy to get purchase. This is shit. 

Something is coming towards me. I have to—I can't get myself out of the way there's just no movement left in me. So, I'm being drug along, trying to get away now that I'm being held, kicking out and it pulling at them but it just hurts and I can't get anywhere no matter what. It's just making my hand and shoulders hurt worse and worse.

And there's a cave coming up that I don't want to be in. It's like there are three different voices coming at me as I feel myself being shoved into the tiny cave. The angle feels all—like I'm being folded into a pretzel and then sat on and everything's rolling. It's heavy against my back, and an argument, but other people too. The cave shouldn't be moving, but it shouldn't be fighting me and Nate shouldn't be here either.

“I'm not moving,” I make out in all of it, and just fuck it I'm too tired. I'll come up with something later when my skin's not covered in ants. They can crawl their way all through him too. I'm going to listen to the siren lady on the radio. She has a pretty voice that almost makes it possible for me to ignore that Nate's ass is squashing me painfully into the...floor? Especially since I can't push away from him because there's nothing to purchase on as the cave is strangely smooth and I feel like it's trying to absorb me. The voice though it promises safety, sanctuary and security so I return to it instead.

%%%%%

Is someone talking to me? I don't want to move. It's going to hurt. I don't.

“Cam!”

It's loud. I have to—where is—what?

“Shh, baby. It's okay. I've got you,” I know the voice. I think, “You're safe,” I can, the trapped-ness is fading, the—it wasn't a cave? Was it a car? There was—wait there's—my wrist, “You're with me.”

It's—I should stop, “Julia?” is it—I'm back—am I? My hands are free but my body still doesn't want to turn around right, “Julia...” thank all the gods I never let myself believe in I over write the impulse to fall backwards given my body feels so heavy still and wrap myself around her tightly, breathing in her scent, focusing. That was some fucked up memory. That was all. This is where we are.

“Shh, baby. It's okay. You're safe,” she whispers, as we ease apart slowly, “Do you remember what happened?”

I sit back. This is Duke's truck. We're coming back from New York. I—there was—no, don't scratch. I shove my hands into my armpits. It's okay, right?

“I'll take that as yes,” she kisses me, “We're about halfway home,” to Haven, right, from New York, where they, don't scratch, don't scratch, “do you want the NyQuil or the tranq dart?” she asks me.

I shake my head. No, definitely not. No. Drugs to fight drugs seems...and...

“Okay,” she says, looking concerned, “Just remember that we have them. You don't have to punish yourself, baby. You didn't ask for it and you didn't want it.”

I look back down at my hands. Didn't I, though? It was good. I remember how good it feels. The things I was remembering just now too...

“How's your hand feeling?”

“My hand?” I look at it. My thumb isn't dislocated or swollen. I didn't actually pop it did I?

“You were having a nightmare, I'm guessing, because you started flailing around and punched the water bottles.”

I was trying to punch Nathan, in the—and get away—oh no, “Did I hit tiny mistress?” I reach for her. No, no. I fought them so hard. She doesn't look like I...

“It's okay, baby,” she says, taking my hand, “I think you hurt yourself worse than you hurt me,” I know she's trying to be comforting but I can't.

“Where?”

“Clipped the side of my head with your forearm,” she says, as though it's fine, but it's not, “It's okay--”

“No, no, no,” I check her. It doesn't look like I did anything but it might show later. I hit her. I can't—that's not okay, why would she say it I?

She takes my hands and kisses them forcing me to look in her eyes, “It startled me more than anything. It's okay, baby.”

“No, no,” I shake my head. How could it be?

“Cam,” she persists, “you were drugged and hallucinating. It's not your fault.”

I can't accept that. It won't stick in my brain but then she's kissing me, and when we break apart my brain is still reeling at the thought I hurt her, “No,” I tell her, trying to check her again, sure that I just didn't see something, I must be repeating it. It's not right. I've got to make sure and she takes my mouth again, briefly, can she really not be hurt? Not be upset or angry with me? She releases me. I know I'm angry with me. Even if I didn't hurt her I could have hurt her. I—and she's kissing me again and the kiss continues and it sinks in that she's not upset that she's actually okay with me, that clearly there's love still there. She doesn't hate me. I kiss her back, pressing towards her. She releases my hands and I wrap my arms around her and she knots her hands in my hair and us absorbing ourselves in each other is an awesome moment of energy and not only are we together but nothing is aching.

As we break apart she says again, “I'm okay.”

I don't argue with her this time.

“Oh my God,” I'm reminded now that there are two cops in the front of the truck because there's Rebecca's voice saying this, “that was adorable! How could anyone call Cam a monster?”

Really? “With their mouths,” I mutter, and then hide my face in Julia's shoulder because I might say something more snippy or just no.

But tiny mistress is on my defense, stroking my hair, “Most people don't get to see this side of him,” she says, “Baby?” she asks, “Do you need to use the bathroom?”

Is there any water left in me? I shake my head and she kisses the top of it.

“I do,” she says, and I feel a gut punch inside, and try not to move, “What will make you feel safe until I get back? Stan and Rebecca out of the truck?” I'm hesitant about nodding because it's not entirely about them doing something to me but what if I start to—or something else, “...while the doors are locked and I have the keys?”

That does sound the best. She knows me too well. I almost laugh but manage to just nod. She kisses the top of my head. 

 “Okay. Tiny mistress will lock you in and be quick in the bathroom,” she says, “While I'm gone I want you to try to drink the other half of the bottle of Pedialyte, okay?” When did I drink the first half?

“If tiny mistress says.”

“Dehydrated gypsies make tiny mistress worried,” she says quietly, rubbing my scalp.

I look up at her. I don't want her to be worried. I reach for her cheek but my hand doesn't quite make it because I'm hesitant, “I'm sorry.”

She leans down and kisses my fingers, “I know you're thirsty, baby,” she's not wrong, “Not drinking will just make it worse and the Pedialyte will help more than just water. Try not to scratch and there's a wash cloth and some water for you to wipe yourself down with if you're feeling too hot before I get back to cool you off. Okay?”

She's seriously thought of everything amazing Julia, “Okay,” I tell her softly, because I don't deserve this my brain is telling me, and I kiss her, “I love you, tiny mistress.”

“I love you, my beloved gypsy,” she says, kissing me again and I wonder if I'm blushing, “Hand me my shoes?” I might not look it as warm as I am. I look around for her shoes, and then hand them over so she can put them on, “Alright,” she says to the cops in the front seat, “You heard the man out of the truck and I get the keys.”

She climbs out over the seats instead of going out of the back, and then I see her holding up the keys at the front window. She blows me a kiss and I catch it and then she's gone towards the building.

Pedialyte. Okay. It's easy enough to find in the bags nearby and I nest myself in the corner that Julia had been sitting in before. It takes a while to get into a comfortable position because I'm aching across my shoulders. I get the bottle open and drink some. It's really sweet but I'll get it done because she's right it'll be good for me. 

I'll tell her I want the NyQuil when she comes back given she says it'll knock me out enough I shouldn't be in danger of hitting her again and I can't trust if I rest I won't slip back there or something worse like New Orleans? Or some time with Simon? Or some weird nightmare of nonsense my brain comes up with that's completely off the wall and made up?

Fuck. I'm scratching my leg. I stick my hand in the arm pit of the hand holding the Pedialyte and drink some more. I will not scratch. I will not scratch. I also will not hid my head against the “wall” of the truck in frustration of the scratching issue because ouch. Drink more. Try not to think about it. The last time. It won't be that bad, will it?

The door unlocking startles me and I realize Julia is climbing back into the front seat. The Pedialyte is still in my hand and there's still some left. I finish it off quickly. I told her that I'd drink it after all. She leans over and kisses me deeply and damn I want her so badly but despite her having slipped down into the main part of the back she pulls away, and simply takes the bottle from me and throws it towards my shoes. She's sitting far away, and the expression she had she was being deliberate. She may be okay with me hitting her but she doesn't want to push things further with...

“It's going to be a little longer,” she kicks off her shoes, “They didn't want to leave the truck unguarded, so they're taking the pit stop in shifts.”

She doesn't...

“Baby, what's wrong?”

She kissed me but then...I can't form the words. I brush my lips and point towards hers.

“Words, baby. I need you to use your words,” she tells me.

I'm trying to get it out to explain it properly, “You don't want to have--?”

She leans forward cutting me off, sucking on one of my fingers, “Of course I want you,” she says after letting go, “But I know you're hurting and I don't want you to feel bad that you can't because it's not your fault, and it's not—it's my problem that I've been wanting you so bad since we got you out of there. It's not your responsibility to do something about it.”

Tiny mistress needs satisfying. That seems like my responsibility to me. I have a feeling I can do something about it. She's not wrong that I'm hurting but it's not terrible yet and when we were kissing before most of the ache melted away.

I kiss her deeply hoping that it will let her know that I mean to fix these things that I love her deeply and that is the reason. I'm not able to suppress a whimper as I lean forward and push her gently backwards so that she's laying down on her back I'm bracing with one arm and with the other I pull at her pants so that I can worship her with my fingers. She lifts her lower body up so I have easier access and thus I'm able to slide my hand within her beneath her panties and two of them slip into that precious place while my thumb takes it home on that button I love to massage because of how wild it drives her always and it seems to she bucks herself against my fingers. She knots her hands into my hair using them as anchors to pull my head down to keep our mouths locked together kissing and gasping against me almost violently, desperate. She really needed this, and I'm glad to provide. I keep the rhythm going and then when her hands loosen their hold on my hair I'm surprised to see that there aren't large tufts tangled round her fingers. Still she might need more. Tiny mistress is known for her appetite.

“Tiny Mistress feel better?” Only once she nods do I take my hand out and pull her pants up as much as I can.

“Thank you, Cam,” she says, “I wasn't—it wouldn't have been fair to ask you for anything when you're suffering so much.”

“I almost hurt Tiny Mistress Julia I...no but that makes up for it.” I tell her.

“Cam...” she starts.

I can't. I can't risk it, “I want the NyQuil. I don't want to hit Tiny Mistress again.”

She finishes putting on her pants and hugs me so tightly I might lose my breath. I nuzzle into her shoulder and hug her back. She kisses my hair before finding the medicine, “You're going to go to sleep very soon after you take it,” she says, “You'll want to get comfortable first and then you can take it and drift off.”

I move out of the way so that she can reclaim the pile and I can settle myself back in her lap, because where else could possibly be comfier. In a moment she's stroking my cheek and I'm soon swallowing the sticky green nastiness, but it'll do it's job I'm sure. Maybe I pull a face because she says:

“Do you want any water to wash that down?”

I shake my head worried that the water will dilute the effect somehow.

“Okay,” she says, and I hear rustling in the bags, “Cam?” she continues, “I want to give you more stomach medicine, too. Okay?”

I turn my head back and wait for things to be poured in. I feel a bit like a baby bird but it seems the easiest thing than the up and down and up and down that will just send me spinning in the head again. I close my eyes. Breathe in and out slowly, I remind myself. There are no bugs. Her hand is in my hair again stroking gently. That rhythm will be good to focus on, gentle and consistent...