Ami-chan Writes

I lean against the outside cabin wall as Julia unlocks the door, still both seething and disgusted.

"You gonna tell me what all of it was about?" she asks, "How in the hell you wound up all the way out there? and not getting a ride with the Wonder Twins back into town?"

"I don't even know where to start right now."

The door opens and I duck inside. I can feel myself getting more agitated. The need to pace. Shit.

"I know the dead came back," she says.

"Yeah. I had a reunion with dear old Dad."

"Oh," her tone goes from practical to concerned in short order, "What did he have to say?"

"Just wanted to tell me all about the wonders of our Family Trouble and it's storied and great history." I wave my hand.

Julia follows me through the galley into what passes for the sitting room. This doesn't feel right either. I don't know where I want to be.

"How I'm supposed to follow in his footsteps, start "curing" people." I make the motion with my hands, "Oh! and then the Rev shows up. I guess he knew while he was alive and Evi too, probably, who knows? But that's why he was after me palling up with him, because they love getting rid of Troubled. Curing means killing, by the way, did I say that?" I throw myself onto the couch and put my head in my hands for a moment, didn't we talk about that already? "Did you see your Mom? I should have asked that."

"No," she sits down nearby, "Blessing of having her cremated, I guess."

"Should have thought of that. Doesn't matter now though." I give a half-laugh.

"Duke...what happened?" she leans over to take my hand, but I pull away, too sweaty.

I stand up again. I can't. I can't.

"Duke," she says, sternly.

I look at her and those eyes they would have never have wavered if they'd been at that barn across from me, unlike Nathan so accusatory, or Audrey so nervous and scared.

"The Rev showed up while we were looking for people. His followers had taken Troubled, it turned out. He threatened to send them after Audrey if I didn't go with him, so I followed him out, well, you know where, bunch of his idiots, they'd gathered a mess of Troubled out there, had to be a dozen. Him, Dad...all eager for me to start curing, because I'm apparently just going to turn around and start stabbing people to death because they hand me a knife and go on about the Great Crocker Legacy." I shake my head, "I didn't, by the way."

"I know."

"Then it turns out somehow they've got Audrey and Nathan, and the bombshell gets dropped that the grave digger who is one of the Rev's chief disciples in this nonsense is the reason all the ghosts have come back, and Dad gets ALL excited, oh, now he's going to be freaking out and in denial because that's what they all do and now he's going to be begging you to save him, "put the knife back in his hand, boys, come on," because the grave digger's wife is there and she's got to be at least 8 months pregnant and now he's freaking out that he's baby's going to be damaged. It's a trouble that makes ghosts. Granted they're annoying as Hell, but it's ghosts. It's not like he's burning holes through people or--or melting holes in the sidewalk, or, I don't know causing radiation or something. It's GHOSTS, but he's standing their begging me to stab him and my father is cheering me on like it's little league. I just--no."

Julia gets up and comes towards me, but I can't.

"Duke Crocker! Stop backing away from me!" she scolds, "Or sit down, God damn it and stop pacing. You'll wear a hole through floor into the hold or worse crack the keel."

"He shoved the knife in my hand and threw himself on it." I tell her, "I just--I couldn't...there's nothing I could do."

"You didn't kill him," she says.

"And is wife is--is thanking me for killing him."

"You didn't kill him, Duke. He committed suicide."

I do manage to make it to the bathroom before the churning that's been building up for a while with the shakes expels what little remains in my stomach after I threw up in the woods managed to hold that in until Nathan and Audrey left.

Julia knocks carefully on the door, "You need anything?"

I swill my mouth out with the water from the tap, "I'm...I'm okay..."

I open the door, but wind up leaning in the door way.

"Are you seriously trying to bullshit me, right now?" She narrows her eyes, "I hate to ask you this, but...after he died...how did it feel? The blood absorbed into you, didn't it? Like when you cut, Dwight?"

I go to nod, but it makes her blur in front of me, "Yes, and it was...the best worst thing ever," I can see her searching my face, "I haven't felt anything like that in a long, long time. I could...the colors were so much. It was like I could feel the auras of people around me, sense bird's wings beating and see their songs...not...not good. If I just had that much more everything would be open to me, all of the mysteries." I realize my hand is shaking when I try to reach for her. She takes hold of it firmly, "It really brought home—like we were talking about. Dad being the way—the way he was. I'm not killing anyone. I'm not. Not just because of this."

"No, I know. Come on," she says, "Out of the bathroom door way. You--you must be hurting, you idiot, coming down off that high. You must have been hurting. I would smack you if I didn't think you'd fall over and take me with you."

She leads me back towards the sitting area and pushes me towards the couch. I flop down. I realize saying I'm not and never was a stupid thing. There might be a time I have to. I lean forward. I can hear her moving around in the bathroom and then the kitchen and something rattling.

"What are you doing?"

"Don't worry about it," she says, coming back over and sitting down next to me. She has a pill bottle balanced between her wrists, a glass of water and a bottle of dark liquid. She drops the dark bottle and then the pills onto the couch, "How shaky are your hands?" she asks.

I look down at them trying to determine but she just laughs. In the end I wind up being fed six of the pills and drinking from the bottle until she tells me to stop, once it gets in my mouth I realize it was NyQuil. Then she kisses me, "That should take some of the edge off, you idiot. You don't need to punish yourself. That wasn't your fault. He was a terrified fanatic. It probably wouldn't have mattered if his Trouble was to make flowers grow..."

"I shouldn't have said never," I tell her.

"What?"

"I might wind up stuck between a rock and a hard place. I might...if I have to, if something happens, do what you have to to keep my idiot self okay, okay?"

"What makes you think I wouldn't anyway?" she asks, "I have to protect my investment. Without you I have no place of business or place to live."

I can feel my limbs becoming heavier, and my eyes don't want to stay open, "Wench."

"Whatever you say, Boss." I feel her shifting over on the couch, "Come on, lay down."

I set her down and unlock the truck. She kisses me on the cheek as she goes to buckle in and I close the door, and go round, and we set off back home. Tiny girlfriend is very drained but there's an aggravated energy about her at the same time as I zip around everyone else's vehicles and down the road she manages a smile and reaches for my hand that's over the gear shift.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“Me? You were the one who actually went through...what? An entire day there?”

“You just got his memories though.”

“I sorta already had them—well, I would have if I'd really gone poking. He just...thought-slash-convinced himself it was a hallucination, drug trip sort of thing. He...” I shake my head, probably shouldn't get into that.

“He what?” I can tell she's turned her head to fix me with that piercing look, “I'll wheedle it out of him later...”

“Spent a few days with this Brent guy doing a lot of drugs after you guys left.”

“Baby...” she murmurs.

“Yeah, well. He did have a lot of fun with you,” I swallow to stop my voice from catching, “The tiny crazy Jennifer, even if he didn't get why you wanted sex with him he wasn't going to turn it down because that would be equally crazy though...” I add a teasing tone to my voice.

“No, Boss...” she says.

“You fell asleep after one go.”

“I said no!” she whines.

“One?”

She covers her face and shakes her head, “I know but we wound up there in the early morning and you know what time it is here! I was running on fumes. I'm embarrassed enough...at least I didn't fall asleep during.” She's bright red and so adorable.

I take the opportunity to lean over and steal a kiss. She nips my lip. I lick her nose as I pull away, returning my attention to the road. We're almost at the docks, “You more than made up for it.”

 “Damn right I did.”

$$$$

“So,” I say, as we park, “What would the tiny wench like to do? How does she desire to be pampered?” I continue, locking the truck back up.

She's still pondering this while we make our short walk up on board the Cape, “Seduce her,” she says, leaning against the wall while I unlock the cabin doors, “Rogue pirate, dastardly gypsy, make this maiden or wench understand her place in your heart.”

It's both a fun and...difficult scenario which gives me a moment of hesitation when she says it. I'm not often nervous about fucking things up—words usually come much easier to me.

“Very well,” I tell her, as I pocket the keys, and she follows into the rooms. I debate for a moment whether or not I should take the band out of my hair and then go through with it.

She's standing at the edge of the kitchen counter looking slightly bemused, “Everything okay?” she asks, after a moment.

“Not entirely,” I tell her, closing our distance a little, “but then who can't help but be nervous in the presence of such a lovely and beautiful young woman.”

She does her best to look stern, “I bet you say that to every woman you meet,” she moves around the other side of the counter away from me.

“I may have said things before but,” I lean slightly so I can keep her in view and keep my eyes on hers, “with you,” I reach to take her hands, “they are true.”

She pulls her hands away, “I bet you say that too.”

 I don't entirely have to fake looking affronted because she knows as well as I do that is the truth even if this is partly a game and partly a play of reassurance.

“I know you've come here several times,” she continues, “With your words and your...your eyes.”

I smile at her, “If I might be allowed perhaps I can find a better way to prove my affection,” I take the whistle necklace from around my neck and loop the cord around into circles in my palm a few times so that it fits in my hand, and then hold my hand out across the top of the counter, “This has been close to my heart for a long time, perhaps you would keep it close to yours?”

She looks down at it and then up at me.

“May I?”

She nods.

I move behind her and drape the whistle and cord over her head and around neck, and make sure it's not caught in her hair. Ordinarily I might leap into kissing, nibbling and sucking on her neck at this time, but this is not a normal situation, instead I just gently adjust the cord so that the whistle rests just above her breasts. She leans back against my shoulder, one hand playing with the whistle, looking down at it.

“I know it's not very fancy,” I tell her, “but it--”

She turns around then and kisses me tenderly on the lips, “It's lovely,” she says, “and heartfelt.”

She presses my nose with her index finger.

I kiss her back equally gentle not pushing for anything as though we are being chaperoned and take her hand in mine when she releases the whistle and lets it rest against her body, “Thank you,” I tell her, “for accepting my token.”

“Your token?” she looks amused. 

“Yes,” I take one of her hands and kiss the top of it gently.

She turns away like a modest lady and covers her nose and mouth with her other hand, “It's not so often I'm given such a thing. It seems...personal though. I'm not sure that I should.”

“Not sure that you should?” I ask, leading her carefully around the kitchen counter and into the state room. I queue up some music on the stereo and invite her to dance. She accepts my invitation with a slight curtsy, “I'm not well-versed in your stately dances,” I warn her.

“Neither am I,” she laughs, “I find them quite staid.”

“Well, then...shall I teach you something devilish?”

“I'm not sure that I should,” she says, again, but she has that minxish look.

I ask politely if I can put a hand on her hip and she allows it, then I take her hand and put it on mine. As the music changes I lead her around the room it's not any specific ballroom type dance that I know of, but it's fun, and there are polite stolen kisses here and there after whispered compliments and then the dip as the current song ends, and lifting her carefully back up to standing. She puts both hands on either side of my face and treats me to a slightly longer kiss, and then she releases me.

“Thank you,” I tell her, and kiss her hand again, “for a wonderful dance,” I kiss her wrist and when she doesn't tell me to stop I take the kiss up her arm, “when you dance with me I'm enchanted even more by you—the fact that you allow me to be in your presence.”

“Now you're just being ridiculous,” she says.

“Me?” I ask her giving a lop-sided grin. 

“I didn't tell you to stop,” she remarks, leaning her head to the side.

I continue the trail of kisses where I had left off from just below her shoulder and along her neck, nibbling gently and then up to play with the lobe of her ear. She shivers slightly and turns to me, nipping at my nose before kissing me on the mouth.

“Hm,” I breath into the kiss and then turn it into an inquiry which she doesn't deny and the kiss changes nationalities but nothing is lost in translation.

This would normally be the part where I would probably just scoop her up and carry her into the bedroom, or we might begin stripping each other right here and not even make it, but this was not the deal that I made. Instead we sort of dance to the couch for more kissing and more words of how I can't believe how lucky I am that she's in my life, and the amazing things she can do, her ass-kicking, saviorness, and how if she's willing, as I once more run kisses along her collar bone. I would like to show her further. She arches an eyebrow at me, then kisses me on the nose again and wriggles out of her t-shirt, wrapping around my shoulders for a moment and pulling me closer before dropping it behind me, and I lift off my own shirts, because it's only fair.

She runs her fingers delicately over my chest, as I'm leaning forward, where she's lounging back on the couch like Cleopatra ready for more offerings. I move closer kissing up her arm, and moving my hands up her sides towards her breasts, still covered by her bra, “May I?” I ask.

She nods.

I slip the straps down off her shoulders, and then trace my fingers around to her back to undo the clasp and free her breasts from their prison and drop the bra onto her shirt with one hand while caressing around one breast with the other and then sliding my hand up and tracing kisses up from her belly button and around before going towards her nipple, looking towards her face. She has her lips pressed together and nods earnestly and I take the nipple gently between my lips and lick the very tip. She moves ever so slightly as I tease, clamping down on how hard I'm getting, how much I just want to tear the rest of her clothes off and have at her. 

I massage her other nipple with my fingers and she breathes in with a little gasp as I continue on the first with my tongue, and then as I bring my free hand up her side I trace kisses across her breast and take the now free nipple with my hand as I move across to caress the other with my tongue, tugging gently with my teeth, listening to those little gasps and then kissing up her neck, watching her expressions as my hands still work, massaging her breasts as I move towards her mouth and take it with mine bracing my weight on my knee that's on the couch by her side so I'm not squashing her. She kisses me hungrily at first and then draws herself back, trying to maintain coy. We're both trying not to give in too much first. It's almost a game of sex chicken now, who will break and throw themselves up on the other and devour them first.

I kiss back down her body skipping over the whistle cradled between those beautiful breasts and down towards her navel and then stop at the button of her pants and look up again, “May I?”

“Yes,” she says, softly.

I slip the button open and ease the pants off her hips rubbing, and massaging her there with my fingers and tickling carefully down her legs as the pants come all the way off and land in a heap somewhat near the rest of our clothes. I slide my hands back up her legs moving to her inner thighs and breaking off back towards her stomach just before where they would prefer to be going leaving her shivering once more and looking down at me a little mournfully. I kiss around her belly button and she wriggles moving my mouth lower on her body so that my lips brush the hemline of her panties. I run my tongue along the edge of that line and she shudders against me. It's becoming more difficult to ignore how much her scent is intoxicating, but I must. I walk my fingers up from partway along her thighs to the top of her underwear and look back at her she nods before I ask and I slowly pull them down inch by inch kissing her legs and her knees and then when her panties come off her legs I take one of her feet and kiss up from heel to toe, and suck slowly down and up her big toe. She lets out a sigh that turns into a moan as I kiss back up her leg but deliberately despite the internal frustration and agony it causes me bypass the top of her mound and come back up her stomach, planting kisses on each breast and come back up to her mouth.

She takes my face in her hands which is slightly disappointing I was hoping that I would be grabbed and mauled, hair tangled and pulled, ferocious kisses, but instead, it's not as though she's not kissing me and there's no desire but it's not the wild abandon I was hoping for. She's managing to keep hold of herself. Well, it's not like I don't have a few more things I know how to do.

I run my right hand lightly across her right breast brushing the nipple as it makes it's way down over the rest of her body, keeping up the kissing as I do so and let it find it's way towards the top of her mound and just run it ever so slowly down around the edge of her until I just touch her clit and then slowly still rub there. She lets out a little whimper and I let go of her there and move another couple of fingers equally slowly further down but don't go inside, leaving my thumb at least close to her clit and there's another whimper, that slight begging noise and I recognize the feeling because it's pounding through my own head and has been for...a while and the pleading whimper is just...

Ever so gently I touch my finger tip around the edge of her opening but still don't go inside, but rub my thumb across her clit again. 

Her hands move swiftly from the side of my face to the back of my head that tantalizing knotting in my hair and my mouth is almost melding with hers. She kisses me deeply and I slip fingers inside her one after another keeping my thumb against her clit as I move them around. It doesn't take much though to get her over that precipice and to the point where she breaks the kiss fingers tightly grasped in my hair and lets go with a moaning gasp, and then relaxes, pressing her forehead against mine a satisfied smile across her face, and then kisses me that kiss that expresses thanks.

She leans back, and I slowly remove my hand from her nethers, and pick up my shirt to wipe it on and sit back on the couch.

“I do believe my family will be most perturbed that I have been ravished by the dastardly gypsy,” she remarks.

“That is not a complete ravishing,” I point out, given I'm still hard, and approaching uncomfortable, “That is really just a ravishing preview.”

“Oh?” she remarks, raising an eyebrow, “You think something else should happen?” she leans forward giving me a good view of her breasts and crawls forward across the couch.

“I'm hopeful something else might happen,” I tell her.

“Are you?” she grins, running a tongue up my chest and then stopping with her mouth just in front of mine but not actually kissing me. I lean towards her but she pulls back almost tipping herself off the couch, “No, no, no,” she teases.

I pull a face at her.

“You expect me to make it easy after what you put me through,” she points out, but she does reach for the button on my pants and undo them, freeing me from the confines of fabric, which is some relief, and I know I breath out. She pulls the pants down lowering her head towards my penis as she does so but not doing anything more than breathing across the head. I can barely think, “You think this should go somewhere?” she purses her lips.

“It would be nice,” I tell her.

She gives me a 'you bet it would' grin and kisses the top of my penis, and after another moment does lick around the outside of the head, but she doesn't do anything more. She pulls back blowing gently over the top, knowing exactly what she's doing because this can't go on any longer.

I sit up fully, taking her head in my hands and lift her up to my face so I can begin kissing her deeply and then move my hands so I can pick her up and shift our position so that she is lying on her back on the couch and I'm on top of her because there is no more time to wait the ravishing must commence.

I move one hand down her body so I can slide my penis inside her, keeping my focus given the spark of connection, but oh I'm there and I hold tight to her shoulders as I drive inside, fervently, having driven myself just as wild as her before and then her own teasing. I don't keep things in very long, but long enough to push her into the couch several times before I go, managing to not bite at her neck as much as I want to, because as horny as I am right now I might bite through skin. 

I have to bring my lady home again though.

I lean back a little and she pulls me back to kiss me, helping me feel a little better already, “You're not allowed to go anywhere,” she says.

“I wasn't quite...” I tell her, “I need—well, you know what I need.”

“I do,” she says, and she wriggles a little.

I give her a smile in return and kiss her again. I one hand behind her head and the other in the small of her back and lift her as we kiss shifting our position so that we're sitting up and she wriggles, oh, she wriggles again and she wraps her legs around me in sitting position , and I work manage to slip my legs down to the ground, and see if I can stand up but my legs are still a bit wobbly the action shifts her position and I worry that she'll get disconnected as I'm not recharged yet.

She kisses me though. It's the style of kissing from before, running her fingers across my scalp and then tugging on my hair, tipping my head back and leaning up to kiss me from above. I can feel things coming to life again half way through the kiss, and she adjusts her position accordingly so that things are more comfortable, which has the added benefit of helping me rise back to the occasion a little more of her writhing her hands through my hair and us fighting for each others' tonsils and I'm good to go and let her know by pushing against her.

She gives an appreciative groan and bounces which gets one in return, pushing on my shoulders to raise herself up and drop down. I push up against her and she drives down and she digs her fingers into my shoulders and tiny cowgirl girlfriend rides me hard and I buck against her, finding the rhythm that drives me deep against her and she moans and rolls her head back and I speed up given the sign that I've connected with the good spot and she bounces her way to the finish pulling me with her across the way. 

$$$$

“That's a good welcome home,” she murmurs into my ear, after a moment of resting her head into my shoulder. Welcome homes are something we do very well, after all, and good mornings, and good nights...

“I am fond of them,” I give her a brief kiss and she shifts to separate us.

“I suppose,” she says, drily, “We should prepare for company. Who knows when exactly people are going to arrive?”

“Nathan and Audrey might want to look at her couch first,” I point out.

“Yes, but Dwight doesn't have anyone to share a couch with and he went through the whole...place with me,” she points out, “He's probably just as antsy to get through everything with them...he spent the time we were there trying to avoid running into Duke and me he doesn't want to run into you and me.”

I have to laugh knowing some of the things that he and she were up to and the both funny and embarrassing memory of groping at his chest and fondling his biceps too, for that matter, “Poor Sasquatch. He did put up with certain things very well though.” 

A slightly wistful smile crosses her face for a moment as she slides completely off me and after leaning over then seems to decide against picking up her clothes and instead sashays off towards the bedroom. I scoop up the clothes and check the couch, flipping the cushion before following her. She's already got a fresh pair of panties on and is shrugging on a clean pair of jeans as I toss the clothes into the pile. I can't help but be slightly disappointed.

She quirks a grin at me and shakes her head because I'm sure she's seen the expression crossing my face many times before, “Horny gypsy,” she chides, “People are coming over, remember?”

“I know. I know.”

“There's later,” she says.

I shake my head, “No, I promised I'd try and get him out later and if we do that I can't promise I'll want to keep my promise.”

She laughs and adjusting the straps on the bra she's put in comes over and reaches for my chin, “Oh, poor you.”

“You'll just have to make it up to me later,” I kiss her nose.

“You know there will be much welcoming back of you on your return,” she points out, “You at least need pants, Boss.”

“Fine, fine,” I go to the dresser and dig out a pair of jeans, “I was figuring on having some things sent over from The Gull.” 

“Oh?” she says, having been heading out of the bedroom door, “Well, I was preparing to fight you over making food, but ordering take out is a great idea considering the schedule. We can get them to stow away some proper beer too, educate Dwight.”

“That was definitely my plan.”

“Do I really have to ask you to get the Shrimp Alfredo?” she says as I grab a shirt and follow her into the main cabin.

“No, that was on my plan too. Mostly appetizer snack type things for everyone, but I don't want to be throttled so the Alfredo is absolutely on the list,” I promise as I hunt down my phone.

“I would never throttle you,” she insists, “but stabbing that's definitely a possibility. We didn't make a mess over here?”

“I just flipped the cushion,” The Gull's number is ringing. I dodge a throw pillow and walk over to pick it back up, “That is no way to—oh, hey, Shell,” I tell her after she does the standard intro.

“Oh, Boss-man, sorry, I was on auto-pilot didn't look at the Caller ID.”

“No problem.”

“I promise nothing is on fire,” she assures.

“Yeah, I can see that. No, it's fine. I'm going to need some things sent over to the Cape. You can start with the alcohol right now, and then there's food which can be sent over in about what?” I look at Julia, “an hour?”

She gives me a look.

“Well, I'll need the Shrimp Alfredo as soon as possible or I might get stabbed, but the rest of what I'm going to tell you can wait about an hour.” I give her the order. 

“I didn't think you ate that long ago. If I'm remembering what he remembers correctly,” that was a mouthful.

She just puts up a hand, and goes back to digging in the cabinet. I help her flip the cushion back so it can be properly cleaned and get playfully elbowed for my efforts, and then make sure that things are moved around from the counters and such, anything that was being worked on over the past few days that we're not ready for the Wonder Twins to see or that might be brought out depending on what happens during conversation.

I'm wiping down the counters and Julia's blending some fruit into smoothies to refrigerate when there's a knock on the door which is the rhythm of someone carefully trying not to drop things rather than Dwight's thumps or his more gently not-a-threat taps.  

True enough I open the door and there's one of the Gull's servers carrying a large wooden box clinking with bottles of beer lined up in, and a plastic carrier bag that wafts the scent of Alfredo into the cabin. I take the crate and set carry it across to the kitchen bar, and quickly do a count to make sure there's an appropriate selection.

Julia goes to the door and takes the Alfredo and brings it over, “Money,” she says, setting it down on the counter.

I go to my pocket, before remembering I just go these pants out of the drawer and didn't actually transfer anything around.

“It's okay,” the guy says, hovering awkwardly in the doorway, “I mean, Boss-man, seriously--”

“Gotta keep things straight,” I tell him, “Plus you didn't break anything, which is priceless.”

“Thanks,” he says.

I get the money out of the bedroom and give him a $20 of his own, and send him on his way. I imagine he'll be fighting to bring the other stuff out later. We'll see who wins.

I start rearranging the fridge so I can load the beer in that doesn't fit into the middle of the door, moving the smoothie mixture to the side of the second shelf. I hear Julia rustling with the carrier bag and breaking into the Alfredo. I wonder if I'll actually get any shrimp. 

As I turn around to grab the crate off the counter so we have space to lay out other things though Julia says something to me that I don't quite catch and when I go to ask her what she said my mouth is filled with noodles sauce and shrimp, “Mrphm?” I ask, trying not to choke. I have to put a hand up so I don't spit linguine all over the floor while trying not to drop a crate on my bare toes. I'm not screwing my foot up again.

She fixes me with the most innocent of looks she can managed, “What?” she jabs some food herself and eats it.

Once I've managed to swallow the mouthful, “Thank you? Are you trying to stave me off by giving me some now? That way you can get all the rest to yourself?” I remember previous fights over the shrimp in the Alfredo.

She shakes her head, swallowing her own forkful and prodding the refilled fork towards me. I eye it curiously but I'm not going to refuse if she's willingly sharing the shrimp and eat the serving which is a lot easier to manage being slightly smaller and not going into my mouth so much by surprise, “I told you I'd been intending to make dinner, right?” she picks up the bowl and follows me towards the front deck as I stash the crate inside one of the others that sits out there and flip them back over.

“Well, yes, but--” forkful. I wind up having to cover my mouth again. Tiny girlfriend winning arguments by rendering opponent speechless.

“Well, I didn't make it so now I feed you.”

I swallow, “I'm capable of feeding myself, you know?” though admittedly half-hearted protest because it's not like it's not fun being fed.

She points to the kitchen table with the fork as she's swallowing another bite of food herself and indicates I'm to sit, and I figure it's best to comply. She sits across from me, rolling another forkful and spearing a shrimp on the end and offering it to me. I eat it, and she sets the bowl of Alfredo down for a moment, “You are,” she nods, “but...I just spent, well, you know how long, over there, and the most I could do for him was buy things and hope he would eat them. I don't know if you realize—exactly how things are what with seeing him from the inside...” she says, “Do I need to show you the pictures?”

I take hold of her hands and squeeze them. I don't know how much good that would do, or if I could...I squeeze her hands again.

“Well, then shut up and let me fuss over you, Boss. You deal with it better than he does and I don't want to spook him.”

“Fine, fine.” I tease, kissing her hands before releasing them so she can go back to the Alfredo, “We're both very, verylucky to have you, you know?”

“Don't start that again,” she says, offering more food towards me.

It's a few more forkfuls before exactly what she said before sinks in, “Pictures?”

“Hm?” she says.

“You said pictures. You took pictures of him?”

She looks slightly embarrassed, “Well, not that he was aware of and once he was awake again I was pretty sure that he wouldn't be happy about posing for anything unlike some of the others.”

“Others?”

“Yeah, I've got a video for you, actually, and I got some picture with--”

And then, of course, comes a knock at the door. I roll my eyes. It's not Dwight's knock but from the sound when Julia gets up and opens the door he is there with the Wonder Twins.  

$$$$

Nathan and Audrey head for the couch, missing the look that passes between Julia and I when they do. Dwight doesn't though, casting a questioning look in our direction, but as far as seating arrangements I don't know that he's going to want to take the chair. I anticipate more hovering; but first we have to fix the beer problem.

I open the fridge and find the appropriate label and offer the beer to him, “Here we go,” he cautiously takes the beer, “much better than that Budweiser bullshit.”

He looks down at the label, “Flying Dog in Heat? What are you trying to say?”

Julia laughs, “He could have given you Horn Dog...”

Dwight pops the cap off and takes a drink.

“Or the Raging Bitch,” I point out.

Dwight shakes his head, but has to admit the beer is good, “I'm not a complete philistine, you know? The Bud was the only decent thing they had within the limited radius I had to work with.”

“Sure,” I tell him, grabbing a handful of beers and bringing them over to the table and setting them in front of Nathan and Audrey.

After some negotiation Dwight agrees to actually sit down and not hover. We pull one of the crates from the deck and put a blanket wrapped pillow on top of it to make it comfier, and Julia half perches on me, half on the arm of the chair and I open her beer, stealing opener's tax, before opening my own.

“So...” Audrey says, “I...well, part of what I don't understand is why I have no idea at all what happened. So, what happened? What did he do to us?”

Julia sighs, and I wrap my arm around her waist, “He picked us up and threw us into a part of the Pearson wish timeline, which made everyone merge with who they were there. Yes, even you, Audrey. You're immune to Troubles, but this wasn't a Trouble, this was manipulation of your entire being. For all intents and purposes, we were literallythrown back in time. Dwight and I landed on our respective graves. Does anyone want to see the pictures?”

“I'm morbidly curious,” Nathan remarks.

She shifts a little to pull her phone out of her pocket and swipes across, eventually stopping and leaning over to show the phone to Nathan. Audrey leans close to look over Nathan's shoulder. Julia swipes a couple of times and then puts the phone face down on her lap.

“Wow,” Nathan says, looking at Dwight, “Ten, man, that sucks.”

“I wouldn't know,” Dwight answers, “Didn't feel it. No idea how it happened. ”

Probably best.

“We went to find Duke's other self,” Julia continues when no one asks anything, “and talk to him about helping us find the Heart of Haven, which he seemed pretty happy to do once I uttered the magic words paying cash, and then he went to take care of something and we introduced ourselves to Vince's other self,” she pauses then, “Well, I introduced myself. Loudly. The explanations were fun.”

“I'll bet,” I murmur, considering what I remember of other Vince. Though I think he's kinda biased.

“He was very excited to hear how things went in our timeline. Brought you a present, Boss,” she turns the phone over again but facing towards me.

I'm graced with Vince's face but his eyes are practically popping out of his skull in frustration, anger, his skin shade rapidly approaching magenta. I can't help but laugh, “I see the excitement,” I tell her, “Looks like it's going to burst right out of his skull.”

“I know about the amount of cash money that Duke “allegedly” operates for here,” Nathan remarks, “I doubt either of you were carrying that on you when this went down.”

“You're right. We weren't. It was my other self's Get the Hell Out of Haven Fund that she never got to use.” I tighten my hold on her as she wraps her arm around me and I nuzzle her ear and kiss her. She paid him back the money that he paid her and then he spent a good—I don't even want to—not even thinking about it right now.

Audrey looks like she wants to say something but then she catches Julia's eye, and I glance at tiny girlfriend's expression myself which is focused and serious and threatening to snap or even attack anyone who questions sometime in the past few minutes Dwight has left his seat and is standing in the middle of the opposite side of the table from Audrey and Nathan, arms folded watching them with a severe frown, as though waiting to pass judgment.

I can see the wheels turning as Audrey formulates a new statement, “Remembering what I do of the Duke from the other side I can see why cash would be a good idea,” she says, “I mean, you guys are dead, he has no idea who...” she glances at Julia, and toys with her lip, “you are, probably, and he's not the sort to volunteer help without getting anything out of it.”

“Exactly,” Julia says, “I know my gypsy,” she puts a hand on the back of my neck and massages it and then nuzzles my nose with her own. I only realize I had been holding my breath because I let it out then.

“It was a dance...” Dwight puts in, “She really had to navigate around...” he's searching for words carefully, “sharp pointy edges,” he decides.

“It's not the first time I've had to navigate around those reefs and shoals,” Julia points out, “They're similar to Duke's, just...” she takes hold of my hand.

I squeeze it, “Just murkier?”

“Something like that.”

“Full of paranoia sharks?”

“Stop,” she kisses my nose, “Anyway,” she continues, “Vince couldn't help us, but he told me my father was still alive and where he was living. So I got to meet my dad, which was nice. Then he, Vince, drove us to HPD so I could talk to the Chief.”

“Chief?” Nathan asks.

“Yes,” Julia says, “I got pictures of him too, if you'd like.”

Nathan nods and Julia turns the phone around once more and shows him, and then sends copies to him.

“Turns out he was holding a sort of Carver heirloom and he gave it to me.”

“Carver heirloom?” Audrey asks.

“Yes,” Julia nods, “It's something I thought must exist, and hoped would be able to help us, but hadn't been able to track down, which is, well, because Chief gave it to me in that time line so it didn't exist here any more,” she shakes her head, “but I have it now, but you have to be the active Carver heir to be able to read it otherwise it just looks like a regular...thing. None of them will even notice it's missing because they can't see it. I couldn't even have seen it before I activated.”

“Can it help us?” Nathan asks.

“I hope so,” Julia says, “but it's going to take a lot of research. There's just so, so much, from there...I ran into and then talked with my mom, which was awkward but kind of nice in the end. Ran into your other self, Nathan. He recognized me, which was super awkward and I had to show him some pictures and swear him to secrecy.”

“What sort of pictures?” Audrey asks, clearly trying to not sound suspicious but it leaks through.

What sort of pictures does she think Julia has?

“Just ones that prove the reality we came from: that Nathan and Duke talk to each other and that cute one you took of Duke and I about to kiss each other.”

“Oh, that one's cute!” she says.

“Yeah,” Julia's back on mission though, “We met back up with Duke's other self after that and went back to his boat with him. We finalized the deal, talked for a bit, and Dwight went out to get Chinese take-out for dinner. Talked for a bit more, and then since it was past midnight as far as our bodies were concerned, we called it a night. Dwight was at the B&B I just sort of crashed out on the boat.”

The snicker escapes, crashed out...she elbows me, but seriously after one time. She's trying to be angry with me, but she's struggling to keep the fierce expression given she's also starting to blush and I just laugh harder.

Out of the corner of my eye I can see Dwight shaking his head and putting one hand to his temple.

“Seriously though,” I tell her, “It was just one...”

“It was really good, okay?” she mutters, “Apparently I'm a lightweight when I'm really stressed and dead on my feet!”

Nathan wipes one hand down his face, leaning forward the other hand still holding his bottle, “You're not talking about beers, are you?” his voice trails off.

Dwight looks pained because I'm pretty sure he knows exactly what happened between my other self and “the Jennifer”. Well, not exactly...but there's a good idea.

“Tell me you're talking about beers,” Nathan says, with an edge of desperation, “Lie if you have to.”

Audrey is staring off a little, running something through in her mind and then, “But...he...”

“They're talking about beers, Parker, let it go.”

“I bought a six-pack while I was getting dinner,” Dwight clarifies.

“Yeah, that Budweiser piss, too,” I point out.

“It's not like you—he actually drank any,” Dwight says.

“Well, no, because he doesn't mix his substances,” I explain, not entirely sure I should have but the sentence is out in the room now.  

“So, he was--” Audrey starts.

“Anyway,” Julia cuts in deliberately over-stepping, “he was kind enough to let me borrow his washer so once my clothes were dry we went to go talk to his contact who was at the Historical Society.”

“You got him to--” Audrey loses her sentence in disbelief.

“She was very good at getting things out of him,” Dwight puts in, “Anticipating things that he would be paranoid about and working around them.”

“I know my gypsies,” Julia points out, “and your tiny weird client is volunteering to pay you extra for intrusions and to borrow things, or add laundry to a load you were doing anyway, why not? Anyway, the laundry was incidental really. I'm just running through order of operations. Historical Society contact—we went there in person. I spent a while swearing at old charts and maps with the contact while he and Dwight ...I have no idea what you two did until you went on the lunch run.”

Dwight fills in, “Um...we were outside and I didn't smoke...? It was very uneventful.”

Uneventful...I suppose so, though I remember the conversation about rates and affording things and what could be done in exchange for services and Dwight's giving me a look to be quiet as I try and fail not to laugh.

“What's this now?” Audrey says, “It doesn't sound uneventful.”

“I'm curious too, Boss.” Julia leans back and looks at me with an inquiring expression. I am finding out some sides of things that I didn't know and this is something she hasn't heard about but whether Dwight wants Nathan and Audrey to hear that the other me was offering sexual trades after feeling him up already earlier in the day.

“No, it's fine.” I shake my head, “It's one of those funny things where you really had to be there.”

There's another knock on the door and for a moment I'm confused but then I remember that I'd told The Gull to send the other things I'd requested around an hour after the beer and Alfredo and they're probably a little early but they're being left on their own and Shelley wants to keep the Boss-Man happy and prove she's keeping things under control.

“I'll get it,” Julia says, standing up and patting my pocket.

I reach into it and hand her the clip of money before she goes over there.

Nathan drains the last of his beer and gets up to get another one, but comes back with two and puts one I front of Audrey she leans back in the seat and runs her hands through her hair. Dwight is still hovering and only has half a beer drunk. He keeps his arms folded and the beer is in his left which is crossed over his right.

“You don't like it?” I ask him.

“It's good. I'm just...trying to keep focus.”

“I'm just...” Audrey starts, leaning forward again, “...I'm confused how you guys were able to get his cooperation even with the money, you know? Because I remember how he was with Julia when he first came to—to--” she waves a hand in my direction, “and that was...a mess, and there was Julia right in front of him, in person, in his world, two years before.”

I feel a strange shuddering cold, that someone walking over your grave feeling up and down inside the muscle on my arms and down my back. My skin breaks out in goose bumps and I rub down my arms.

“He didn't recognize her,” Dwight says, “It had been fifteen years, after all, and she used a different name. We didn't want to screw with him like that. How shitty would that be?”

“No, I understand that,” Audrey says, “That's why I was...I know how he reacted to just the mention of her name. My face remembers...” she rubs her cheek and around the base of her chin where I—he ...punched her, “He seemed to recognize her right away here so...”

“He knew she would be here because this is your timeline and you'd told him she was alive here. That's his timeline he's not—he's not looking for her,” I actively un-clench my fists, “there. So, even—even if he suspected he's going to write it off because she's dead, and he knows that. He saw her.”

“Julia told him right off the bat that her name was Jennifer,” Dwight adds, “and we'd seen Dave shortly after we...landed and he didn't recognize her either.”

“What about my Dad?” Nathan asks, thankfully pulling the subject in a slightly different direction which eases the chill that was setting in in my chest somewhat, “They talked a while. He handed over that Carver whatever it was. He must have known who she was.”

“I really didn't talk to the Chief,” Dwight says, “I was outside in the main office where they were processing Duke,” he regrets saying it as soon as he said it but too late now.

“What did you do this time?” Nathan says, playfully, but it still jars through, “Sorry...” he follows up with, “I imagine things might be a bit chaotic?”

I give him a dismissive wave, “It's fine.”

“If it's anything like when I was there--” Audrey says.

“You'd really have to ask Julia more about the Chief,” I push over the top of her, “I'm sorry,” I add in her direction, “I just--” but I can feel that almost aching burning around the back of my head and I massage my scalp.  

“What's that about the Chief?” Julia asks, coming over to the table with the appetizers that I'd ordered, there's bowls and plates containing: Thai chicken skewers, southwest egg rolls, cheesy potato skins and shrimp scampi flat bread.

“We were talking about whether or not people recognized you and I'd asked if the Chief did,” Nathan explains. I can't focus on him properly while he's talking. So, I rub the tattoo and focus on Julia instead I need to be the one of us who stays present I don't know that he'll be able to deal so well with everyone being here, especially since he seems to have a really big problem with Audrey.

“Yup,” Julia says, “He told me I was as pretty as the da- yes. He recognized me, and that I was the active Carver heir. Wuornos holds Haven together; he'd known something was wrong since 1983. Let me get plates, hold on,” she goes back towards the kitchen and begins rattling around in there.

Audrey leans towards Dwight, “You guys weren't really talking about beer before were you?”

Dwight sighs, “What's it matter?”

Audrey sits back something clearly eating at her, “Beca--” she starts and then she leans forward again but more towards the room in general than just one of us, “I just—did she really have sex with him? I mean he's not you.”

@@@@

Parker and Wuornos are sitting across from me on the couch and...Dwight, that's his name, police chief he's watching me, standing on the other side of the small table, this—it's the Cape again, isn't it? How is it? I have to scrub my eyes. It's—how is this happening? There was something...sex.

Wuornos is talking to Parker, and Dwight—something is niggling around my head, a memory of a hallucination from years ago: the Dwight and his solid chest? How was that..? No...

Whether or not he is, he moves off away from us.

“--sly,” Wuornos, Nathan; it's Nathan here, because it's not the same one. Right? We spent that time with the poker, and—we really must have. It doesn't, “It's just a different...” he rubs his eyes, “...branch, like Groundhog Day, right?”

Julia sets some plates down. There's food on the table I realize, and she comes over and sits on my lap and wraps her arms around my shoulders, and leans in towards my ear, “It's okay, baby,” she says, softly, “I know which one you are. I won't let them hurt you. Do you want them to leave?”

I shake my head. I'm sort of curious if they'll notice, but at the same time I have no idea really of anything he knows or what's supposed to be going on, but learning about them and being around at least for a little while might be a good test.

“What were we talking about?” Julia asks, she's a little terse.

Parker leans over and grabs a plate and puts several things on it. Nathan follows suit. There are two different answers one is about the dynamics of the universe and whether or not everyone counts as the same person, this is from Nathan and the other is about whether or not we had sex, and this is from Parker, and she does literally mean Julia and me, “I'm just...and I'm sorry,” she says, “because it's rude but that's what got Nathan on the universe thing but isn't it cheating? And how did that even come about?”

Julia makes a grumbly noise. I lean my head against her.

“What's it matter?” Dwight says, “It's not relevant to us getting out of there.”  

“If we don't get off this subject,” Julia says tersely. Tiny mistress is almost vibrating with annoyance, “I'm going to add in the layer of whether or not Lucy and Sarah count as different people or not because in the Lightscape I can clearly see they're all part of the same entity. Just like Duke and his other self are parts of the same entity.”

I take her closest hand in mine and wend it back and forth a little across my lap. She is really here.

“So...” Nathan says, “There was a lunch run and you'd been swearing at maps and charts?” he looks pointedly at Parker after he asks the question of Julia.

“Yes,” Julia answers, lifting up our joined hands and kissing mine, “I did manage identify where the Heart of Haven was just as they got back with the food so we had lunch and then Duke took us to the Lighthouse where I summoned the door and paid him and then we came home.”

I can feel goosebumps working their way across my body, and clamp down to hold things in. She—she was the Jennifer. That...Dwight—the Dwight, I look him up and down again, and he shakes his head at me with a vague smile though as he picks up what appears to be a chicken skewer from the table. She did say and she had kept calling me “baby”. Damn it. I grip Julia's hand more tightly.

“It can't be that simple,” Nathan says, “You were crying when things came back together—well, when you came back through the door, I guess. I've only seen that...” he trails off looking slightly uncomfortable.

Julia shifts in my lap a little and when she speaks every work is very crisp, distinct and bitten off, “I had to leave my gypsy in that hell. He was hurting and I couldn't help him past giving him money to buy heroin so he could make the pain go away.”

I swallow. It's becoming harder to maintain self-control though, will not show upset, will not show upset, and I can feel myself getting a bit twitchy too. Though it's more than a little gratifying how uncomfortable Parker looks. Nathan swallows too and then tries to drain his beer but finds it already empty and gets up to go to the fridge to get another one. I hear it pop open.

“You need one, Duke?” he offers.

He would take one, “Sure.”

I'm given something called Horn Dog. I hold in a laugh. He would be used to this. I pop the cap and mime taking a drink, and rest it on my leg. Julia steals the bottle. I make half-hearted protest.

“So, the guy who threw us all in there,” Parker says, “You said he was on a six month trip?”

Julia nods, passing back the beer, and reaching forward to fill a plate with food, “Yes. I...” she clearly changes her mind on what she was going to say, “...told the Barn to do to him what I accidentally told it to do to Duke the time he was gone for six months and wound up in Boston.”

“Which means we have six months to come up with some sort of game plan,” Dwight seems very comforted by this.

I wonder who this person is that Julia banished even if it was temporarily. They all seem worried about him.

“Hm,” Parker says.

“Can't we just keep doing that?” Nathan says, but he actually seems to be joking, half-heartedly, but still.

“Hey, if you don't want to be able to feel...anything...for the rest of your life, that's your problem, but we held Hot Stove meetings about it during those six months while you were ineffectively addressing your issues, and you've been outvoted.”

“Point taken,” Nathan says, glancing over at me.

“But how exactly will we...” Parker trails off, sounding miserable.

“I think that part of the discussion is for another time,” Dwight says, “Were there any other questions about our trip that involve relevant details?”

I still can't. It makes my head hurt. Tiny mistress Julia was tiny crazy client Jennifer. I lean further into her. She brushes a hand down my neck, and then pulls the band out of my hair and snaps it around her wrist.

“You're not doing so okay any more, are you?” she murmurs.

I shake my head.

“You know,” she says, more loudly, “We did say that we had other things on our schedule that we needed to do this evening.”

We did? Oh they did. There's an odd pulsing from my left wrist and I see her looking at me with a pleading expression. 

“So, if you don't mind...take some of the food with you, if you want,” she adds to the group, “I can give you napkins,” she gets up, but as she does so she kisses me on the cheek, “Don't worry. The plans involve you,” she says, softly, “They do. I'm just getting them out of here,” she kisses me on the lips, briefly and stands up.

I get up too. That would probably be expected and look for some place to set the beer.

Nathan reaches over from where he's inspecting the food on the table and takes it from me, “I got it,” he says, “We'll be gone in a moment. Come on, Parker,” he puts hands on her shoulders.

“But Nathan--” she starts, “I haven't said--”

“No, no, come on—right, Dwight? Before we see something we don't want to see, you know how these two get.”

“This is very true. The things I have almost seen.” Dwight follows them out and closes the door.

I'm not sure really what to do with myself so I start to pick up plates and empty beer bottles from the table and take them into the kitchen. I've cleaned off the plates and am about to throw away the empty bottles when Julia comes back from locking the door looking perplexed at me. She puts her hand on mine so I put the bottles down on the counter and then she has my face in her hands holding me so that I can't look away from her.

“I told you you'd see me again, baby, and things would be better...right?” her voice seems slightly shaky and I can see it, standing there by the Lighthouse and her saying things about...not wanting to leave me, but there was something important...and that, well, she'd see me again but it all seemed like such bull shit. None of this...Cape Rouge, different—different body.

“I'm sorry...I couldn't believe you.” I tell her, but she's shaking her head, and I can see she's losing hold on herself, much like I am, much like I have been since I realized who she was. She's...she's really upset about what happened? It had to have happened then, didn't it?

“It's okay,” she says, “I knew you couldn't let yourself believe me. I told you it was okay, right?” She wraps her arms tightly around me but I can feel my legs giving, and we wind up on the floor and I can feel her tears on my chest. She's crying and I can feel myself shaking, tears falling. I can't...I hold the back of her head, keeping her against me, and she grips my back, and I rest her head on my shoulders, “I'm sorry,” she keeps repeating, “I'm sorry I had to leave you there. I'm so, so sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you what was going on. I'm sorry I couldn't do more for you.”

But what would I have taken. There were a couple of times that I think crazy client lady reminded me of Julia but...that made no sense. How many other times had I seen people who sort of reminded me of her? Julia was dead. This the really, real world and there ain't no coming back; even in Haven and not after that long. Not ever. Especially not for...and now she's here though, and I can feel her and touch her.

I grip hold of her more tightly and she does the same, repeating her apologies and I try to say things, but there are no words at first eventually I choke out that I wouldn't have accepted it, and she says she knows, really she does and then I apologize again for that and she tells me it's okay, and it cycles through again, after I don't know how long we pull apart and she wipes her eyes on her wrist, and I carefully offer her my sleeve, which she accepts. I have no idea where anything else would be and then wipe mine with the other, and she kisses each of my cheeks tenderly, and I feel so strange again sitting here on the floor with Julia facing me both of us red-eyed and sniffly.  

“You believe me now, right?” she asks, softly.

All I can really do is nod.

She reaches a hand up to the side of my face and then moves forward so that she can kiss me. It's a gentle brushing of lips against mine, then she presses our mouths tenderly together, and then kneels up cupping my face in her hands, deepening the kiss and I can remember the feeling and the Jennifer talking about wanting to pretend “for a fee” that I was the boy she had a crush on in high school...but focus on the now, not the then.

Now is Julia with her hands on either side of my face, brushing them back into my hair. I run one hand up her side across to the middle of her back the other moving to the back of her head to hold her closer to me as we kiss each other more and more deeply and I feel her slowly pushing me backwards so that I'm laying on the floor all the while we're still kissing. One of her hands leaves my hair and moves down my chest to my waistband and deftly removes my pants using one hand to work my penis for a moment before momentarily, reluctantly? Breaking the kiss to take off her own clothes before I can follow through with my plan to take off her shirt.

She runs her hands back up my chest underneath my shirt, squeezing my nipples and then running her hands back down my chest. I can feel my penis pushing against her thigh, and she slips it inside her. We connect, both of us moan with that satisfaction, and then she leans down to kiss me again and I lift myself up slightly to close the distance and begins to rock back and forth against my groin. It's a slow building ecstasy, shakier than usual and full of kisses from each of us to the other, promises renewed, and reality accepted once and again until climax is achieved and we curl up together again in the shadow of the kitchen cabinets.  

She leans up after a little while and looks over at me, “There's more comfortable places to cuddle than the floor, and I'm hungry. How about you?”

“I...suppose?”

She gives a little laugh, “Come on,” she climbs off me and picks up her shirt, shrugging it back on and offers me my pants, “I know I assembled a plate before, but I never got to eat anything off it.”

It doesn't take long before we're both dressed and she heads towards the couch so I follow.

She picks up the beer that Nathan had set down for me, “Oh, good, it's not horribly over-warm,” she takes a drink from the bottle and sets it back down and then looks over at me because I haven't crossed the room, but that alien feeling is taking over again. This isn't my boat. I shouldn't be here. The walls are wrong. My head is wrong and spinning, and loud. The couch is wrong. My eyes hurt. Everything is in strange places and odd angles and the colors are off and I the decorations I do recognize seem so out of whack.

“Baby?” I hear her get closer. Something rattling around. Muttering for a moment.

I'm being an idiot. I am. Break everything. Not my place. Not my boat.

“Baby, what's wrong?” Her arms are around my shoulders. I didn't realize I'd curled up.

“I can't...” words won't work and I'm ruining things, “...words.”

“Take it slowly,” there are kisses on my hands, my forehead, “Come on, slowly, over here. It's okay. You're safe,” I can feel more kisses, odd, fluttering touches, “Sit. Sit down. We'll sort it out, okay?”

I'm vaguely aware of a cushioned seat underneath me and her squooshing down next to me, arms still resting on my shoulders, one moves to my knee.

“Baby, look at me, okay?” But my head doesn't want to move at first, “No, look at me,” and it's that tone and I turn my head, “Thank you,” she says and kisses me on the lips, gently, “Did you—are you worried you're in the wrong place?”

I have to nod, because she's not wrong.

“You're supposed to be here, baby. It's okay.”

“I got...” oh, come on words, fuck, “...disoriented.”

“Oh,” she says.

“And then it just all,” all I can really do is wave my hands in swirls.

She kisses me again, “I'm here,” she says, “and you're here, and it's okay, but I can...” she looks around the room, “...having seen the Ursa very recently, that would throw things a bit. You remember what I did last time? With the Sharpie? Would you feel better if I did that again?”

My hand goes to my wrist almost before I think about it, “Yes.”

“I thought you might. I will be right back. Don't go anywhere. Promise?”

I nod.

She kisses me again and wanders off towards—no, that has to be her room; the room we were in last time. She reappears a moment later declaring victory and waving the pen. I slide down the seat, but then she just pats my arm so she can sit on my lap and demands my wrist as offering.

She can draw so smoothly over the flesh. It's odd seeing these hands and forearms so free of bruises, scabs and holes; the color of the skin. I can feel my stomach churning a little.

I'm supposed to be here, right?

“There we are,” she says. There's the clatter of the pen being dropped on the table, and the chain of hearts is back around my wrist, agreeing that I am supposed to be here because they're the same as before, as the last time that Iwas here. I can feel my eyes stinging hot again. She wraps me in a hug, “It's okay, baby,” she says, “It's okay.”

I pull back and she looks at me concerned until I kiss her.

“Ah,” she says, against my mouth, and kisses back.

We break apart after a little while and she leans against my shoulder.

“Feeling better?”

“A bit.”

“Good,” she reaches over and picks up a plate, feeling the contents with her hand. Then she shrugs and takes a bit of something that after I focus on it a bit more I realize is a spring roll of some sort. She gives me a smile and offers it towards me, “You want some?”

I shake my head.

“The plans this evening did involve you, you know?” she says, eating some more, “Once we got back Duke and I talked and we agreed that we'd find a way to get you forward so that there could be hugs and crying and explanations and sex...not necessarily in that order,” she amends, picking up the beer and having another sip and then offering it to me.

I take it and drink a small amount, “You wanted me out?” Given the group gather and conversation it seems like it wasn't that long that they got back and she could spend time catching up with her Duke after being gone for...how long were the Jennifer and the Dwight dealing with me and Dave and all of that? I look back at the make-shift tattoo drawn on my wrist though and remember her insistence that we are both Duke, both her Duke, no matter what, tiny angry mistress.

“Yes,” she says. The tone implies an unspoken 'silly' or 'goofball' or something like that, “both of us felt it was important that you and I be able to talk about the...visit? That seems like a really inappropriate word but...I can't think of anything else right now.” 

“Trip?” That's just amusing to think of.

She shakes her head, “I don't think there's a good word, but in some ways I'm glad it happened, to see you in person.”

I find that hard to believe.

She grips my free hand with one of hers, “No, really. You were my high school crush. I wasn't lying about that. My name wasn't the truth, but if I told you my name was Julia--”

“No, I know. Things wouldn't have gone well,” I ask to shift position and she slides off my lap to sit by my side so I can lean forward, holding the bottle I've not drunk much more of. It tastes better than that stuff that some clients drank, so I tasted here and there. Brent was into wines and those were...different. The hook up with Brent. It was two years ago, and it was one of the few times I broke my rule of mixing substances so after a certain point...though it would have gone that way just with the heroin probably anyway that was a long weekend.

“Exactly, and I figured it was long enough that I would look fairly different and well she—she was dead and you hadn't met me yet.”

“Ah, the great Trouble time whomping,” I shake my head, “and the power of logic. There were a couple of times that I thought, that you reminded me of her—well, of you, but...” she doesn't fill in the blank. It doesn't have to be said.

“Try one of these?” she offers me one of the skewers covered in chicken, “it's a Thai sauce. You prefer Thai, right?”

I take it from her and lick a sample of the sauce, which is good, and take a bite of the chicken. Tiny mistress seems relieved and takes the beer back to have another drink. It's thankfully almost gone but there isn't anything else I remember with a sinking feeling in my stomach and I shouldn't...but I do. I do need it.

“I also wanted—I know I confused you then, apologizing the morning after, but I fell asleep so soon, please don't tease me now you know it's me--”

“Why would I?”

She shakes her head, “Never mind. I just I'd been hoping to go a few times, because I know what it takes to satisfy you, and then I just passed out, and you know, well you know now that I'm good for more than that, but that had been a really long, stressful day. We were zapped from mid-afternoon to early morning.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, it was pretty exhausting and you were very good,” she nudges me.

“Thank you,” I have to shake my head, but then no, I told her things, when I was trying to push her away, “I...had concerns. It had been a while...with a woman anyway.”

“I had a feeling,” she says, with a soft smile, and then a brief kiss, “thank you for letting me be with you, even if I was just a tiny, probably crazy, client to you. It was very comforting to be able to be with you,” she leans her head against my shoulder, “and I'm very glad you came back because I do love you, just like I said earlier, two years ago.”  

I have to just sit and rub my fingers across the hearts she drew because the words make me feel as though I'm slipping out of reality again. That Julia is here saying these things to me, and leaning on me, it's almost as if she's going to start humming contentedly these are things which don't happen.

“So,” she says, “Is there anything you want to ask me about your tiny crazy client?”

“Like what?”

“I don't know. I don't know what you would ask, that's why I asked.”

Right. I shrug, picking at the chicken, “There were things which weirded me the hell out at the time but I...guess...they make sense now that the Jennifer was you.”

She giggles and I look at her. She waves a hand, “I was just remembering how you called Dwight 'your Dwight'.”

“Oh, right,” I shrug, “Well, he wasn't just a brick wall or meat shield...and less questions the better in general. Plus some clients frown on you referring to their Dwights as brick walls and meat shields. You seemed that sort.”

“Uh, yes,” she agrees, “You guess things make sense now? You're not sure though.”

“Well, making sure I ate. The...Dwight saying, I mean...when we went to get lunch he was very adamant that you would want him to buy me food, showering me...sort of, I just...” after being with this and then being presented with me she would still.  

 “I told you, last time you were here: I love you no matter what you've done, and I want you to be happy. But there wasn't much I could do, there, and I knew it would be a few years before Pearson made his wish and you could get out of there. Seeing you hurt....it hurt me too, Duke.”

I grip her hand more tightly but I can't get out any words.

“I threatened Vince for you,” she says.

“What?”

“Told him he better save you for a last fucking resort and let you shoot up in peace because if you died that timeline would never end. Hopefully that made him easier to deal with.”

She...to Vince, but then she deals with Vince all the time here, “Well...I mostly dealt with other Guard people? So...I guess.”

“I also told Nathan to stop being a complete dick to you and not try to clean you up.”

“Yeah, that's...not...that worked so well the first time it was the...” I don't finish it.

“He mentioned that; I told him it didn't work because you were still hurting,” Then she continues nervously, “He...recognized me. I told him that if he still gave a fuck about you, to make sure you lived and I promised him that you'd get to a better place where you could be with me and heal. He gave me his word. He still cared about you.”

“I...was gonna say I didn't see Wuornos listening to random tiny crazy lady...but I...” I run my hands over the back of my head and stopping at the back of my neck.

“I showed him pictures of your other self and his other self being mostly friendly. He wanted you to be happy, too.”

I shake my head. .

“...and then I ran into my mother and told her very firmly why she shouldn't completely disapprove of you, and called Dwight in to back me up.”

I look at her, lifting my head without moving my hands because I can feel the crick there and it's not going away, but I just have to watch her say these things and take it in, tiny fierce mistress saying these things for me and I just...

“She liked hearing what you were going to do to Pearson for his shitty wish.”

“Well, she loves you,” I feel it catching in my throat already, and I can barely get it out, “Yo—her funeral was one of the few times we got along...” my eyes are stinging with tears as she wraps me tightly in a hug, but she's here now. She's here, “I love you,” I say into her neck and then kiss her there, breathing her in. She's not dead.

“I love you too, baby,” she says. I have to admit to myself it's sounding less odd. She runs her mouth along my neck the movement making me turn my head so that our lips meet and she kisses me again. It feels almost electric for the few moments until we part, “Come on,” she says, when we do, sounding only slightly regretful because she quickly puts on a slightly wicked smile, “we should finish up and put the food away so I can get you into my bed.”

“Are you--?”

“If you're about to ask me if I'm sure...” she says.

I pull another piece of chicken off the skewer and chew on it instead.

“Besides I'm pretty sure I need to tire you out to make sure you sleep,” her smile gets more wicked, and she pokes me on the nose, “Given there are no alternatives here, right? That was our deal.”

“Yes, tiny mistress.”

“Right.”

I finish the skewer, and half a piece of flat bread that she splits with me and then food things are boxed up and slotted into the fridge and plates are left in the sink given she bats my hand to stop my from washing them, and then takes me by that hand and leads me to her room swaying from side to side slightly as she does to give me a good view of her behind.

She wriggles out of her shirt once we're in the room and throws it at me. I reflexively dodge.

She laughs, coming towards me, “I'm sorry, baby. I meant that to be sexy,” she wraps me in another hug and stands up on tip toe lifting her arms to around my neck to pull me down for a kiss.

“It would have been,” I tell her, when she releases my mouth, “I—I'm just jumpy.”

“That's not your fault,” she holds my chin when she says it, looking me straight in the eyes, “Now,” she takes hold of my shirt at the shoulders and goes to pull it down, looking at me, “what are we doing?”

My brain doesn't want to process things really. She's standing in front of me with no shirt on those beautiful breasts so close to me. I'm not sure how long it is when she taps my lips with her finger.

“I know you're still here,” she says, “I can see you.”

I shake my head, “What do you mean?”

“The Lightscape. Do you remember 'the Jennifer' talking about how she could see things other people couldn't?”

“Vaguely.”

“You look different from your other self in it. When you were coming forward the first time I could tell because when your other self started getting all spacy and I looked at him in there I could see the way he looks changing. You were staring just now so I checked out of habit,” she has a strange expression then.

“That...” I feel slightly embarrassed, “that was admiring your boobs.”

“Oh,” she giggles then.

“But you can see that?” I wave a hand at myself.

She nods, “Yeah...I knew something had changed. I could tell it had something to do with the Pearson Trouble but I wasn't exactly sure I just and then when I called you 'Boss' the reaction, I don't...but it didn't...feel...good, so that's when I started calling you 'baby',” she flushes that cute pink color then, “it's really the first time I've ever used a nickname like that, but you're the only one who gets it,” she cups my cheek, “You're baby. No one else.”

I take her hand and kiss it, “Thank you.”

She looks at me, slightly curious.

“No, it's nice,” I twist my lip trying to find the right way to explain it, “to know for sure, you know? That I'm not being mistaken for someone else and just...taken because I'm here and he's not.”

“That would never happen,” she says, kissing me on the lips again, “I told you before. I love you both. You're both different people even though you're both, Duke. It's a complicated mess in that way, but still. You come from the same point even though there was that split and I will beat that into whoever I have to if they start acting like you're some—some consolation prize or something.”

I have to kiss her right now. I pick her up. It's much easier than I remember, but then this body is stronger, I'm sure, it has to be, and kiss her I'm not sure I can quite kiss her as deeply as I want to. There's not enough, but I try. She must tell how much I want to do more because we're both scrabbling at clothes and soon enough I'm inside her even before we're actually at the bed and I've laid her down on it, and am thrusting against her.  She moans digging her hands into my shoulders driving me on faster and faster.

“Nearly, baby, nearly,” she pants into my shoulder, pulling me closer to kiss me deeply which brings things to climax soon after and then down the other side.

I'm going to move off her and lay down but she starts kissing me again and carefully rolls me over so that I'm on my back and continues the kissing and drags her fingers down my chest. She kisses down my chest until she reaches my nipple and sucks there for a moment before kissing across to the other nipple and toying playfully with that one as well teasing me into recharging.

As I rise again she begins to ride me back and forth and she makes the occasional side to side motion which is crazy awesome.

It takes me a little while to be able to focus and buck against her to help spur things along once I've gotten to rhythm though she picks up the pace, driving things almost to madness and I take hold of her hips to keep myself stable and to have any hope of keeping along with her until things crescendo and the wave subsides once more and she leans down on my chest and I attempt to pull things back together in my brain but everything is a strange combination of fog and fervor.  

“How are you doing?” she murmurs, pulling herself up, off the connection and pulling her face level with mine.

All I can manage is a contented noise and I ruffle her hair with my hand.

“That's good then,” she looks very pleased with herself. She kisses me and runs her hand down my cheek, “Let's get properly up on the bed.”

Wasn't that my line before? Still we shift until we're lying next to each other, heads on the pillows and I wrap my arms around her and rest my head against her chest which is a very comfortable position, she runs her hand through my hair a few times and kisses me on the forehead. I look up at her.

“Have I worn out my gypsy?” she asks, sounding incredulous and also full of tease.

I pull a face at her and reach up to kiss her again. She grins into my mouth and nips my lips a little before giving in to the kiss, sucking at me and probing my mouth with her tongue. I return that our tongues playing with each others and sitting up to hold her and pull her close to me in that position, and then we're grasping at each other and gripping at each other and it's not quite that fever of desperation that is back but we're touching and it's somewhere between the first time now and the tenderness of the kitchen, slow and steady and gentle, but stoking a fire that builds and builds until the entire boat could be burning down and neither of us would care, and then I'm truly gone, and all is peace.

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...

We wind up sitting on the floor by the side of the couch, kissing, and I just—how is this happening?

“It drove me crazy wanting to touch when you scratched your hair like that,” she says, curling a strand back behind my ear again, “I'd forgotten that because you haven't done it in a long time.”

Well, on the upside that means I've been clean for “such a long time” but fuck. How many times have I been itchy twitchy around her and not even realized it?

“...Boss?” she asks.

Oh, shit, how to...? But she must, she has to know, right? Given what she said. I breath it out so that I can get the words, “I think...I hope I've told you...dumb shit I've done given what you...” I'm toying with my sleeves, but she was the one who pulled them up earlier to show me, and she didn't have to pull them up so far if it was just the tattoo, “earlier.”

“Oh, it's a heroin thing? That explains why you stopped,” she says, as nonchalant as if when I was talking to her about my plans for rearranging the kitchen. She knows—well, of course, that whole thing before but...okay, how long has she had to get over things even? And has things out with older me...? Oh, this is so fucking weird. She didn't run when she found out. She didn't start hating me. That's good, right? Not only that she still...and she knows all my other history too.

“I'm sorry I was so snippy back then,” she says, startling me.

“Snippy?” caught off guard.

“Testy, impatient, temperamental, spoke sharply?” she says, not going to clarify I knew that part of it but just was too lost to verify what she was meaning about when, “You were so...” she waves a hand slightly, “I now know it was the heroin and you were high, but you just seemed so confident and I'd just turned 16 and I was so afraid you saw me as an annoying, clingy little child...”

Shit. No. Stupid-ass drugs. So, nothing cements more that quitting is the right decision. If I can stop crying out of it and crawling back, “You're more adult than some of the...people I deal with at...work, and I...just,” I allow a slight laugh, “considering some of the—I probably deserve some ass-chewing, but...no, never annoying that I can think of.”

Suddenly her head is burried partly in my chest and partly between my chest and arm and she's holding on to me tightly, shaking. I shift so I can wrap my arm around her and hold her close.

“The bitches at school tried to make me think you didn't care. I was snippy with you because I was afraid they were right. So...I'm sorry,” she says, turning so that she's resting her head on my chest.

“Well, I've not been exactly the best at coming across with proof otherwise when I've actually been trying. I mean my best attempt at flirting with you recently sent you running for the hills...but I kinda figured my ass was just too wasted and disgusted you. But, no, the bitches are...were...are? Wrong.”

“I thought you were expressing affection in a little sister way, or you were too drunk to realize it was me.”

“No, I knew it was you...and I figured I could actually say things—but I fucked up. I was too wasted.”

“Mom would have cut your balls off with Grandma Carr's antique pinking shears if anything had happened, anyway,” I find myself protecting my balls instinctively, “But it's okay, because the shame helped give you the strength to get clean...and I know how much I mean to you because I helped you get clean.”

“Yeah...I've been trying to,” I feel still somewhat ashamed of myself but I also can't help but snort derisive, “but it...”

She laughs softly and runs a hand lightly down my chest, “Don't worry, Boss. I'm very fond of your package. And if you're going to say it's hard, but it was going to come out as a dirty joke. I'm going to have to tell you that I am completely on board with that.”

I laugh at that, “Well, not quite what I was going to say but that's good to hear. I was going to say...it's good to hear it works, and I mean I can see it worked; and thank you for not actually running for the hills despite all my shit.”

“Wouldn't run for the hills, anyway,” she says, still idly tracing across me, “I would steal your boat and head out to sea,” I'm treated to a wicked smile, “Maybe keep you on board as my gypsy love slave.”

All this is hiding behind Julia who helps me scrape ragged paint strips off the wooden parts of the Cape and carries pallets and tools and equipment without complaint. Damn, “Wickedest wench on the high seas.”

“Damn straight. Pirate-Queen Julia off to seek her fortune,” she says, there's silence for a while, stretching out like the band that was at one point holding my hair, “...wanna seek my fortune?”

This peaks my attention, of course, “X marks the spot?” I hope she's meaning what I think she's meaning.

“The spot is usually your bed,” oh she is meaning, hot damn, “...although the couch is right here.”

“Couch?” I pat the surface behind us, “Hm?” I kneel up slowly, and offer her a hand to help her up. She takes it, but she also puts the other behind my head so she can toy with my neck and kisses me as we get to our feet. Julia kissing me lights everything on fire faster than it's ever sparked before, I think, not that I'm really thinking very clearly. Everything is clothes go now, and hands move to lift and Julia on couch, and don't screw this up.

She has her hand on my penis though, pulling a little as I lay her on the couch and then crouch down after, a playful not quite smirk, as she guides me inside and wriggles down a little, wrapping her legs around my back. I follow her 'instructions' and thrust myself further inside, reveling in that little moan of pleasure and the way her eyes squeeze together as she gives a devilish smile and then lifts her hands back up to my hair, to run them back towards my neck. One hand by each of her shoulders I speed up our rhythm and then bend my face down to trace kisses from her belly button up her stomach between her breasts, around the nape of her neck, at which point she wriggles against me making a contended murmuring noise, and then as I go to continue my path she whips her head around and snatches my mouth with hers plunging her tongue as though she's digging for gold and grinds her hips against me.
 

She laughs, delighted and wicked, and kisses me passionately and straddles me rolling me all the way onto my back so that she can mount me. She wriggles slightly, squeezing my penis with her muscles—damn—and then she begins to ride slowly, and then gaining speed I don't have to urge her forward with my hands on her hips, she's riding with steady rhythm up and down and then up and ramming down explosion in my brain. Nothing so deep and broad—since--

I push up and then raise my upper body so that I can kiss her but she pushes me back down before we connect, and my back is laying on the couch again and she wags a finger playfully at me.

“No, no. Ah'm not done takin' ya through ya paces...” and off we go again slowly as I rise back to the challenge within her and then pace quickening and slowing and quickening and slowing slightly and then speeding up and that almost jump again and down and faster and faster, somewhere in there my hands managed to find her breasts and play and squeeze and she shimmies from side to side in amongst the ride but I can't fully keep track of all the motion just the ache of pleasure emanating until things burst free and she lowers herself against my body, disconnecting to climb up my chest enough to meet our lips together.

BANG BANG BANG

Cop knock is not one you forgot. I bolt upright which sends my head spinning.

“It's okay,” Julia's voice.

“Police,” it comes out a hiss.

“Duke, it's fine,” Julia slips to the side and stands up, saying “hold on, hold on” in the direction of the door, “You're okay,” she whispers, “Just lay back.”

She goes to the door. I can't lay back I have to stumble my way to the bathroom again. Who put it so far away? It's like wading through mud but I make it in; but then after I'm done I can't face coming all the way back I stay sitting in the bathroom doorway because my legs might splinter if I try to walk more and I might need it again anyway.

I can hear voices outside. Julia talking with a man, the tone familiar from yesterday. Back and forth, a word here and there, “fever, flu, guys down with it, call,” crackling noises.

Fire on a beach, and people dancing. We celebrate the end of my servitude, but the sand is slipping and I'm falling through, and it screams and screams.

“Thank you!” Julia calls, dragging me back to the real world.

The door closes. She's carrying a heavy plastic bag and sets it down with a clatter on the table. I can feel everything heating up and melting again, and my legs are twitching.

“Why are you over there?” she asks.

I wave a hand towards the bathroom.

“Of course. We've got some liquid medicine now that should help...let's get you back over here.”

We manage to get me back over to the corner and the pillows I'm not sure how helpful I am, that feeling of sinking, heaviness, as though I'm going through into the hold is back, and oh, the aching—maybe my bones will just melt. There's that damp—she's wiping me down again, and water—water to drink. She fazes in and out between a dark night full of smoke, and chittering cicadas and stagnant water.

“Don't go anywhere, okay?”

In my brain I laugh, but nothing comes out. I hear her walking away, again. Bedroom? Bathroom? Then I'm being covered with a sheet. Bedroom, then. Bottle shaking, liquid. Liquid medicine.

“Here,” she says, “This should help with your stomach.”

It's sickly sweet. My mouth might stick together, then a little more water, and then something chalky and water again just a small amount.

I hear her slide down next to me, and she pulls my head against her shoulder and strokes my hair.

“You're gonna be okay,” she says, “The officer says his guys got through this in a five days or so.”

What officers got through this?

“Hell of a stomach flu, he said,” she continues.

“Hmm.”

“I'm going to have to go soon,” she says, “but I have something to give you now. Should help you sleep. I'll leave the bucket, water, some crackers...I'm sorry, I wish I could do more; but we both know what would happen if I tried to stay over. You're following me, right?”

I nod, carefully, “S'okay. You need...safe.”

“You need safe too,” she says, “but sleep is good for sickness, and this should knock you out enough you don't go wandering off the boat and drown.”

She gets up to start setting things out, but we need to settle before things go—before I get too gone again, “Julia--”

She turns, “What?”

I'm not sure where things got left yesterday, “Pay...you...”

I can't see her face, but her tread sounds angry. She comes over and crouches down by me, “I'm not doing this because I want your money, Duke. If I wanted it I'd just take it and you wouldn't be able to stop me. I let you pay me for working on the boat because you want to and because I want to leave Haven some day, but not for this. I'm doing this because you're my friend and I care about you. I'm not taking it and you can't make me.”

I don't...

She has her hand going through my hair again, “Come on. It's fine. You need to rest and feel better and I'll be back in the morning.” She stands up and I hear and then see her bringing over the things she said, then a bottle shaking and a small glass being filled with dark green liquid, “Drink up,” she says, “Now you're not allowed to die on me because I can't very well steal the Cape and go be a pirate queen if she's not fixed all the way, can I?”

A second glass of green and my head's spinning in a different way, and Julia slides me and the pillows down to deck level instead of propped up. She says something about my side, my eyes don't want to stay open. There are echoing thuds, and then silence.

&&&&

I float between myself and roof, myself and hold, the waves above and the swamp below. It's screams, echoing with Gavin's as his ankle snaps, with Jody's as she begs him to come on, to forget them, that we have to save ourselves, to get back to the car, that nothing and no one is any use to anyone dead, but my father has only been of use to us since he died, that's what my mother is telling the pinched up woman, the home is much better now, and she wants me back, took her so long to track down where I was and she's been beside herself and she's just so happy she found me, the lies pour out of her like sand and bury everyone in the room. The pinched lady's face slides off leaving just muscle beneath and that sickening scream-shriek once more. My mother picking up the piece of skin and starting to chew on it, offering it around like it's candy. She giggles and rolls across the table like a cat wanting a belly rub, behind me Jody is screaming, “For the love of Christ, Gavin, get UP!” and I run back to grab him and haul him to his feet while she cusses him every name under the sun. The ground is uneven and he's dead weight, hauling him is tricky, Jody grabs and pulls and we fall backwards, tumbling.

It's dark in the cabin. I'm all tangled up in a sheet and my pants and it takes a while with heavy limbs to unknot everything and get the pants on again; but the hazy snippets of dream...nightmare, it makes sense. Moving around makes the dizziness more, and my stomach is aching. I drink the water and nibble a few crackers, hoping that will help. I can't pull myself up to see what time it is...it must be night though but that's not saying much as I peer around. I remember Julia leaving but no idea when that was.

Everything is shaky and sore and horrible and I know, I know what I can do to fix it. I know.

I know.

But I can't. I can't.

Even though I know where it is. I can't go and get it. I won't. I won't.

All this hurt would be over. It gnaws through me how easy it would be. How easy to stop it...but I won't...I won't. I sip at the water some more with my shaking hands and try to see where that green liquid is in the blurry darkness. That will stop this crawling need too, won't it? Sleep and darkness instead of floating warmth but still it's closer and safer and I won't hate myself more. I can get through this. I will get through this. It's lying to me. I don't need it.

I don't care if it's right there.

Should have thrown it out to sea.

Probably fall off the dock trying to get there anyway. Said I would stay on the boat. Where is the green stuff? Avoiding the bucket, I knock a cup that I realize is the one that I was drinking the green stuff out of and lower myself down, there it is, the green. I eat a few more crackers before I pour more of the liquid out and drink it. Two cups, that's what I had before. Then I put it back and lean back down in the bed, feeling the odd tingly warmth and dizziness that I recognize from before.

It's more of the same dream wise. My parents collide with New Orleans, with Jody and Gavin, and now with the party as well as the job, and occasionally there are other bits and pieces: sex under the bleachers, the officer at the house, things the...whatever it was did, happening in town instead, at one point Mitch, the foster dude tries to garrote me with a guitar string before his face is lashed off by the fast movement of that thing's crazy long tongue.

“Duke? Boss? Hey—you're okay. Duke?” Julia. It's Julia. My eyes hurt as I try to open them and then I feel that cool cloth against my face and it becomes easier to do so, “Hey,” she says, “There you are. You think you can sit up? Drink something? You're overheating again—I'm sure you need fluids.”

I feel her arms under my arm pits and I carefully take hold to push up from the floor, and then lean against her. She moves pillows and then I lean back. Things behind her are sliding about again. I can see light from the bathroom door and it seems to be crawling towards her but it can't be. It can't. Nothing is coming for us.

“You okay?” she looks behind her, following my line of sight, “We're safe, Boss. It's alright,” she puts a hand on my hand. She feels so cold it burns me, “I'm sorry.”

“I-it's me,” I manage, after she gives me a drink, “Cold. Hot. I can't...”

“This thing's really got you good,” she says, putting a hand to my forehead, “You want to try some soup again? Officer Wuornos suggested peanut butter sandwiches. I think we have peanut butter. That'll be faster.”

I shrug, cursing the ache in my shoulders.

“Peanut butter it is,” she says, decisively, “You just gotta promise to stay on this plane of existence, okay?”

“Okay,” I say, “I'll try...” I can already feel my head drifting, focus not there, “talk, sing, something.”

“Oh, I don't sing...” she stammers, “You—you sing.”

“Too dry.”

“No...that's not...I mean you're the singer. You sing really...I—let's just talk about something—something else.”

My hand is stretching, “Yeah...talking...”

She comes back over, “Or maybe not needed. The sandwich is ready and you're still here.” She hands me a piece but I can't keep a grip on it and it falls onto the sheet. She picks it up and offers it towards me so I can take a bite. I feel my jaw cracking as I chew, but I manage to swallow it down, and then there's more water.

I'm shivery again. I pull my legs up carefully.

“Come on, Boss,” Julia says, “You need to eat more than two bites.” She offers me more water first, and then there's more sandwich, after I eat another section of sandwich she gives me more of the sickness medicine and something else to drink, slightly sweet.

It's another day of being in and out of places and times, hot and cold, aching and sore. Julia talks to me here and there but I can't keep track of our conversations. At one point clarity is forced by Julia because I was apparently scratching myself all over my chest and neck and she was freaking out.

Then at some point I'm jolted by her hand on me, “--oss? I really don't think you have anything to pick up.”

I stop. I'm half out from the covers and I'm not sure what she's talking about. I had. Shit. Was I saying something?

“Boss?” she says.

My head is pounding. What was I doing? Fuck—was I trying to go get something? My body is full of that burning ache. I probably was. Stupid asshole.

“I don't know,” I mutter.

“Come on,” she says, “Let's get you back in bed. If you're trying to go wandering maybe you can eat something?”

She gives me soup then, and more of the sweet drink, pain killers, stomach medicine. It has, at least, been a day without stomach problems of any sort that I'm aware of anyway. Please say she hasn't had to clean up a bunch of shit.

She leaves me with more of the same, two shots of the green stuff and promise to stay safe until tomorrow and not go walkabout, but full of the green I shouldn't be getting up. I really hope but they should have collected the trash by now. Please say they did.

&&&&

When I wake up it's just coming light. I'm sore, but I'm not burning hot or shivery, for once in a long while. I untangle myself from the sheet, and manage to stumble myself to the bathroom and turn the shower on. I have to sit to wash because I can't hold myself up long enough to stand on the slippery wet surface but it means I hopefully won't feel or smell like ass—as much.

I drag myself out of the shower and dry off as best I can, and get everything turned off and slowly get dressed in pants and a tank top, pick up a packet of crackers and a bottle of water, and cradling it against my chest with one arm make my way outside onto the deck which is easy enough because there are many things to brace against. I'm tired by the time I get there though. The sort of tired that would normally have taken an entire day working on the boat to achieve. I sit down on the box near the door and lean my head back against the wall. I'm not too shaky to hold things though. It's progress. Though it takes several attempts to get the cap off the water bottle so I can drink.

I sit for a while soaking in the fresh air and the rising sun and slowly chewing on crackers and just listening, trying to focus on the sounds and not my aching body. I can do this. I don't need it. I don't need the drug. I don't. I don't. I don't.

“Good to see you up and about, son.” I didn't hear him walking up to the deck. He's not on the boat itself, but he's standing on the edge of the gangplank hand on the rail. That police officer, again.

“Thank you?”

“May I?” he waves a hand towards the deck.

I nod. He steps aboard and sits on a box nearby, “How are you feeling?”

I pull my right hand away from where I was starting to scratch my neck, “Well, better than the past couple of days...” I muster, occupying my hand away from picking at myself by taking a drink.

“I imagine so,” he says.

“You brought Julia things and...told her it was stomach flu.”

“I did,” he nods.

“Why would you--?”

He gets an odd look, “She didn't know. You kept her away from that. I didn't think it appropriate to thrust it on her. She wants to help you. She can still do that.”

“Hell of a stomach flu,” I snort, and it makes my whole chest hurt.

“You're doing good. Your Daddy never got shot of what had him in it's grip—wasn't that strong.”

I can feel it welling up inside of me and threatening to burst out. I'm not...I have to put a hand to my face to hide. I feel the weight shift as he moves to sit next to me on the box.

“You're doing good.” I hear again.

I lean my head back against the wall, “If you say so.”

“I do say so.”

I shake my head. Fuck. Dizzy, how do I keep doing that? “I told myself I wasn't going to be like them, you know? I stopped...starting fights at least, and being...” I can't put all the words together, “but then I just...I went and got on this stuff.”

“That's what you did,” he says, lighting a cigarette, “but now you're fixing it and everything will be better. You got away from the people you know, right? The people you were getting the stuff from?”

“That bridge is pretty burned. I did...after I got the new boat...safe place they don't know.”

“Good,” he pats my knee, “Sorry. But that was very smart.”

I snort, “That was just me not wanting someone to track me down and shoot me while I was incapacitated.”

“Which is smart.”

“I thought I could wean off and cut down though—that was stupid.”

“Again, you're fixing things, son. I know you probably feel like crap that got run over by a steam roller right now and that's not gonna be helping your mood.”

“Yeah...” I'm getting twitchy again.

“But you'll get through this and it'll be the best thing you've ever done in your life. Just hold to that, and that you're not alone. You haven't kicked Julia overboard, have you?”

“No,” I shake my head, “I'm surprised she hasn't run away...”

“I doubt very much she would do that,” he says, “She's a good girl and a good friend.”

“Hm,” I nod. It's true. It's just so confusing.

“Speaking of which, she's coming up the way, and I should get to my actual job. It was just good to see you up and about when I drove by this morning.” He stands up, taking a drag on the cigarette until it's almost down to the filter.

“You know those things are addictive,” I tell him.

“So I hear,” he answers, “but it's that or the nerves, and certain consequences...” he shakes his head, “Lesser evils.”

Julia appears part way up the gangplank, “Good to see you, Boss,” she says, “Permission to come aboard?”

“Granted,” I wave with the hand holding the bottle.

“I was just heading out,” the cop says, “Good to see you again, Miss Carr,” he puts a hand on her shoulder as she steps on to the deck and he walks back on to the gangplank and pats a couple of times before disappearing back down to the dock.

“You're looking pretty good,” she says, “compared to the past few days.”

I lean forward a little resting my elbows on my knees, “Yeah. Thanks—for sticking around. I can't...” I spread my hands apart and look up at her, “I don't...”

“You're welcome,” she says, crouching down by me and looking into my face, “You haven't had a lot of this, huh?”

I have to scoff, “You know how town is about a Crocker...anyone else I've known has been employers or clients,” my voice is getting less scratchy, “Co-workers here and there. It's...” I shrug, “We mostly don't stick around each other...like after New—anyway, thank you. That was the point.”

“And you already said it. You've eaten?” she nods towards the crackers.

“Yes.” I look at the packet, “I'm not sure...how many were in here, but I've eaten...some...” don't scratch. Don't scratch. Do not scratch. I run my hands through my hair instead.

“I can make you something else...or we can wait a little while—not push it?”

“I think that's best...”

She nods, “Okay, then. Well, I'll go get the stomach medicine and the painkillers, and maybe you can direct me on work to do. I think the lower parts of the panels still need to be screwed in?”

I nod, “Yeah...I only got two? Maybe three screws in before...well, you know.”

“Alright then. I'll bring the drill and things out with me too. You stay put.”

I lean back against the wall again and do some more slow breathing in and out, in and out, push it away. I have to stay focused. Here. She needs instructions. Not that hard to screw in boards though. Also don't really want to be drifting back to New Orleans or childhood.

“Ready to work, Boss.” Julia sets the drill and tackle box I keep the assorted screws and nails in down on the floor and brings the bottles of medicine over for me to take dosages, “Alright, Boss, where do I start?”

“It helps if you have the drill plugged in. Unless we have a ghost downstairs drilling holes in things the bit should still be the screwdriver.”

“It is.”

“Good,” I shift myself off the box so that I'm sitting on the deck itself facing sideways to where I was and can get a better angle for what she's doing.

“Need a pillow?” she asks.

“No. I'm good.”

She gives me a suspicious eye, “You didn't hear the pain noises you just made.”

“That was getting down to the floor. My legs are...stiff. Well, most of me is sort of stiff and sore still. That has nothing to do with a pillow.”

“Fine. It's your back, Boss.”

“I'm not ninety I'm just...sick, and you have work to do.” I wave my hand towards the wall by her.

“Yes, Boss.”

“You remember which screws we were using?”

She opens the tackle box and looks through it for a moment and then pulls out a screw, when she holds it up I can't differentiate it very well from the background so I wave for her to hand it over.

“Good,” I say. I can't entirely trust that I had things lined up correctly the other day, “The screws should be in the center of each panel if...I put them in wonky the other day you'll have to draw those out and re align them. You...also need to make sure,” I can feel my head starting to go a bit again and close my eyes for a moment, “that the screws go in flush.”

“I remember.”

“Okay, sorry.” I massage either side of my head and then lean back again, “Have to then.”

The sound of the drill running the screws into the wood is not the greatest for my head, but it needs to be done, and it for a little while it keeps me more aware of the world because my it feels like it's vibrating through my jaw and into my sinuses, and all the way down my optic nerve. I can remember how I used to feel so calm and wonderful, how nothing could touch me, all the darkness washed away and now this just aching, spike-filled, agonizing...NO. Just no. My ears feel like when you listen to a shell for the ocean.

“Doing okay, Boss?”

When I look over at her I realize I'm partly curled up and one hand is wrapped around the back of my neck gripping tightly. There is a kink there but I don't know that I was conscious of it, really.

“I've been better. Just—ta—how are we doing?”

“Only a couple more,” she says.

“Okay.” I look at it assessing the way everything is lining up.

She starts on the drilling again, “What do you need me to do after this?”

“I think it'll be best if you put screws along the middle of the panels, too. Save against buckling. Then we can talk about the galley.”

“Whatever you say, Boss.”

As soon as we fall silent I find the drill vibration pushing me. I wonder if my brain is just trying to find a way away from the aches and pains that don't seem to be being touched any by the painkillers that I took, “Talk to me, please?” I ask her, “Helps keep my mind of things...unless—unless you're going to drill through your hand if you do.”

“I won't hurt myself,” she pauses for a moment, though, drill turned off, “I just...do you have a particular music...area you play from when you're um...guitaring?” she starts drilling screws in again.

“Guitaring?” I laugh, slightly.

“I...guitar playing, singing...it kinda mushed together,” I can make out the cute pinkish hue her cheeks are turning.

“But, no, not really,” I try to think of something specific, “mostly rock, I guess. You walked up on Eddie Cochrane the other day. I think I played some R.E.M, Bon Jovi, Pearl Jam...Cranberries, before you got here. Mitch was obsessed with The Beatles so that's mostly what I learned starting out that wasn't the boring scales, strumming and things. Other things too, but that's...what I...anyway...”

There's a quirky smile tugging at her, but she just puts a handful of screws in her pocket and stands up to work on the middle portion asking, “Mitch?”

“Oh, right. When I was in foster care. He taught me to play.”

“Do you want to talk about him?”

I shift my position slightly. It's a better topic than others might be, “It's fine.”

“So,” she says, starting on the screws, “was he a foster...brother?”

“No. Foster...'father',” I make the air quotes, because Mitch.

“Were there any other foster kids with you?”

I shake my head. Dizziness causes me to shift position again, “No. No others. Mitch and Magda apparently only wanted one at a time.”

She works her way through an entire board before asking me something else, “How—how old were you?” she turns to me, “How long were you there?”

“It was right after my Dad died. I was...almost eight. They had me...just over two years.”

She gets through a board and a half this time before she asks me the next questions, “Were you happy?”

I have to think about that for a little while. It was such a confusing time from Simon and Carolina and the tiny apartment to the big open house and M&M, even more so than now, and my muddled brain doesn't help the recall. I wind up shrugging, “It was weird. I never really got used to it, They seemed kind of...off to me, like pod people, way too happy and sunny and...I don't know,” I snort, sarcastic, “maybe they were just normal.”

She shakes her head, “The supposed normal's not really that great—I mean everyone's just trying to be what they think everyone else is, you know?”

“I suppose so.”

She's on the last couple of screws, “So, after I finish this and then what's next on the agenda, Boss?”

“The galley needs to be finished up. Shelves, sanding and finishing on the cabinets and the table. If you're up for it.”

“Of course. Though I could do with something to eat first. How about you?”

I nod, carefully, “I can try and eat.”

She screws the last one in, disconnects the drill and closes up the tackle box. She walks over and opens the door taking the tools through with her. I pull myself up braced against the crate—it's like I'm pulling myself up the side of a rock face. I lean in the opposite direction to hold myself against the door frame leading into the cabins as my legs are wobbling, stiff and there's that moment where they feel like they might snap from how sore they are. I do not need heroin. I do not need heroin. I will be fine. I can keep going. I'm sure I fail any attempt to not show pain—there's just no means.

Julia comes back to the door and grabs hold of me as I start to slip, “Duke—woah!” She wedges herself against the door and pushes me to the side slightly so we can readjust our position, “Don't push yourself you've been half dead for two days.”

All I can retort to that is to grumble noise as I brace against her to hobble into the room and slide back down into the invalid spot against the wall on top of the pillows. Everything is adjusted so that the pillows are more behind my back and then she feels my forehead with the back of her hand, “So,” I say, “Am I dying?”

“I doubt it—but you're a little warm. Nowhere near as bad as yesterday though,” she stands back up, “I'll get soup on and once you've eaten some you can have some more painkillers that should help with the feverishness too in case it's not just from sitting outside so long.”

I nod. She sets to opening the cabinets and looking through the cans, things swooshing around and clinking together slightly. I will not drift off. I will not remember that light and floating warm feeling. I do not need it no matter how much I want it, “Talk more?” I ask her.

“Where's the best place you've traveled so far?” she asks, selecting two cans and pulling them down. She goes and looks for bowls and then gets out a saucepan.

“You want me to pick a favorite something?” I ask her, “That's not really something I'm good at with things.”

“So pick one of your favorites?” she shakes her head at me as she's pouring soup out and scraping the cans.

“When I was in Bermuda I went scuba diving. I took a tour where you go over shipwrecks. That was pretty amazing. The old boats, imagining their stories, the water there is so clear, the creatures down there. I found some decent night life...”

“Better than New Orleans? You talked about how amazing the party was there...” Oh, yes that party, that's a wonderful thing to think about now, because that first time...if it was the other things that I'd already taken, or just because it was the first time with the heroin. It was so much better than any other.

“New Orleans was about...fifty, fifty. There were some great things, and there were some really fuc—shitty things too. I just haven't talked about them.” I shake my head.

“If you need to talk about it you can, but if you don't want to I won't push,” she says, stirring the pot.

The messy side of New Orleans is the last thing she needs to hear about. That thing with it's screeching and it's tongue ripping the skin off people and the broken ankles and Jody hitting it with the car as the job went horribly wrong but we survived which brought celebration. I shake my head, “Not worth dredging up again...”

“Alright,” she nods, “Anything else good happen in Bermuda?”

We eat and chat. I tell her about one of the other people on the scuba tour who while trying to take pictures got buzzed by a barracuda and had the most unfortunately hilarious freak out.

As she starts working on the kitchen I track backwards to when I severed ties with the...drug group, which I leave out, of course, but I tell her about the open air market in Montserrat and the night clubs, the mountains and the volcano and the view from the observatory. I remember then that the volcano erupted a week or two ago...which is horrifying to think about. I wonder if it's still going on. Julia volunteers to check the news. A television on the boat would be worthless, but I should get a new radio soon, music would have been a good distraction to have during this. Hindsight.

At least today I can pay Julia for her time because there has been some work done.

I wake up to Julia crouched by me gently calling my name and with her hand on my shoulder. She has an apologetic look on her face, “I have to head out. You were asleep, so I finished sanding the shelves and the doors and edges, and then sanded and wiped down the table and benches. I wasn't sure which stain you had in mind though given there are two in the hold so I left that.” I didn't realize I'd nodded off.

“Oh, right...lighter one, but...but tomorrow...hopefully I can work.”

“Let's play that by ear, Boss. Seems best,” she looks around, “You've been pretty mobile. Want to go to your actual bed? Probably much more comfortable.”

“I would hope so,” I manage a laugh, “and that—that would be good.” I start to pull myself up on the wall and she offers her arm as a brace, and we walk slowly through. I hate how slow movement is, but this will be over soon I repeat to myself. During conversation she told me what day it was, surely this must be about halfway over, and the delirium has stopped. I don't recall really any dreams there was just talking and then nothing and then talking again. I pull away from her and flop-sit on the bed. She goes back into the other room and comes back with the green liquid, and a glass of water, the painkillers and the crackers, which she sets next to the bed. At least in here I have a clock so I will know how much time has passed, right now it's about 5:30 in the afternoon.

“You need to get paid for today,” I point out as she's pouring out the NyQuil, “You actually did work.”

“We can sort it out tomorrow,” she says.

“Julia,” I tell her, “Bring me the money.”

“Yes, Boss,” she disappears back into the other room, “I need to go get your pillows anyway.”

I lift my legs into the bed and prop up against the wall. She comes back in and puts the pillows behind my head and hands me the roll of money. I count it out, making sure it's only the standard amount and hand it over.

“I'll be back in the morning,” she says, after I've drunk the medicine, “Good night, Boss.”  

“Come on,” I shake her shoulders. She grumbles, sleepily from the other side of the bed from where I would have slept and hides her head under the pillow, “You need to get dressed. We're almost at Halifax harbor. This isn't a hotel. There's no 11 a.m check out. We're landing. You get off.”

“It's barely six, asshole,” she mutters.

“That's a good way to have to leave without the gang plank,” I counter, “I already got paid,” I climb up off the bed and find her shirt and toss it towards her.

“You're gonna act like this after what I did for you last night.”

Let's not even go there.

“You should give me--” she starts.

“I'd be careful,” I warn her, “It sounds like you're about to compare yourself to a prostitute but I could be being an asshole still,” I throw her her pants as well, “Get dressed. I have other places I need to be, and I don't like being late.”

“You're a son of a bitch,” she retorts, finding her bra and pulling the shirt on as well.

“Tell me something I don't know,” I answer, “Your bags are already in the state room. I'll pull us into dock, and get the gang plank sorted.”

“Don't strain yourself,” she mutters as I close the door and head back up to the Ursa's cock pit.

I have to be careful with pulling in given we're towing the beast that is the Cape Rouge but it goes fairly smoothly and she's actually out on deck and watching me petulantly before I have the plank to the ground.

I get the reverse victory sign waved my way as she walks down the dock while I'm pulling back the plank. Oh, so charming.
 

Morning comes with around three with a needle and some chilling on the deck with the guitar until I'm willing to navigate between the boats again to raise the Cape's anchor, and pull up the Ursa's too and get underway again. We make good time not turning in until I can see Isle Au Haut and in the distance beyond Vinalhaven and Little Tall, and then we bank down the center between the Isle and Matinicus towards Haven Harbor, talking with the harbor master as we come in to dock.

It takes a while of careful coaxing to pull the Cape alongside the anchored Ursa to make for easier transportation of things from one to the other and back again, lash the boats together as best and safest as I can considering the size difference and anchor the Cape.

Then it's back to find the notepad I was assessing repairs and things on so I can continue taking stock of her, and also writing out alterations, where to put hiding spots—if she already has hiding spots (if I can find them), and all the rest of it.

The exterior is mostly cosmetic damage, needs repainting, and re-paneling around the bridge and two windows could do with replacing between seals and cracks. She's an old lady, but she's in relatively good shape, but she'd been sitting. Inside the bridge itself there are things that need to be upgraded, badly upgraded.

The engine needs an overhaul so she can do more than just coast along at trawling speed and there's re-wiring that needs to be done in a few places inside.

She has a lot more storage space than the Ursa that's for sure, but it would be really weird if she didn't.

Two bedrooms, one bath, large area that can be the state room, kitchen still not huge, but bigger, of course so that's a plus. It's a debate if I'll bring the Ursa's stove over or sell both of these and get a newer one, who am I kidding here? It's gonna be see what deals can be finagled, and basically rearrange this list into what's most urgent. Floors aren't so bad, but all the cabinetry is vile and set up for dysfunction, seriously—whoever set that up, well, they're probably dead already.

I need to run all the plumbing and see what's going on with that though, last thing we need is some horrible back up.

Was that a voice outside?

I come back out of the cabin and on to the deck of the Cape and look down to ground level. Is that? She's lookng at the Ursa, of course and calling towards it, dark hair, jeans, t-shirt, jacket and back pack, but no one else would be likely to give a shit...though the fact that she actually still apparently does and managed to find out I was here already and come down on what must be a school day after I've been here...oh, it's after three but still...she still.

I'm achy stiff. I need to move some stuff over to the Cape later. Later. Fuck.

“Hello, down there!” I call, popping the kinks out of my shoulders and neck.

“Oh!” she turns, surprised, of course, that my voice is coming from the other side of her, “Duke,” she says, “Hey, I, uh...” she points to the Ursa.

“Yeah,” I double check the railing before swinging over and then making my way back across to the Ursa's deck, “How were you to know?”

“Yeah,” she echoes, “Whose is she?”

“She's mine,” I reach the gang plank and lower it down to the dock so that Julia can come up.

“Really? You're doing well to buy another boat then.”

“It's luck, really. I won her.”

She drops her back pack on to one of the crates as she sets foot on the deck, and eyes the Cape with greater wonder now that she's a prize.

“She needs some work but once she's running smoothly she'll be better for work, more cargo space, faster speeds.”

“Once she's running?” Julia queries, eyebrow raised.

“Yeah. Right now she can only trawl for the most part, but it's not...well, it doesn't look like too complicated of repairs. Touch wood,” I knock on the side of the Ursa's cabin door.

“So, she's not running now?”

“Not so much,” I laugh, “but hey...projects keep me out of trouble, right?”

Obviously the first thing that needs to be fixed is the lighting so it's easier to actually do the work. The first three pages of the notebook I'm mapping the layout of the decks, and then the rest is the notes on things that need to be fixed, replaced, supplies that will be needed. This is a hell of a project, but the Cape has amazing potential and I'm sure I can take some parts from the Ursa to help with some of it, and sell or trade off others to offset costs.

I'm in the various spaces of the hold scanning around with the flashlight looking at the walls and testing places to see where I might be able to put panels in for back exits when there's a noise upstairs. She's an old girl maybe she's just making noise. Still. It's best to stop and listen for a while...

...no, that's definitely not the boat creaking, that's someone—more than one someone on board. No one was on board when I left harbor so what the fuck is going on?

I suppose someone could have snuck up while I was blissed out overnight and come up over the side. Well, better see what's going on. I go carefully up the ladder to the main cabin floor stopping just below to listen again, three different sets of footprints and someone talking in urgent whisper, sounds female, someone else...also...female? Angry accusations I can't make out, but tone is distinctive. Curioser and curioser said, was it Alice?

Don't have any guns stashed over here yet.

Fuck.

It's not like I have anything that can fake being a gun and that's just dumb in case your bluff gets called, but there's plenty of hefty threatening bits of metal around so I grab one as I go closer, stashing the notebook in my back pocket and turning off the flashlight. Flashlight gets pulled up inside one sleeve of my sweater. It's cold out here in the North Atlantic, many layers aren't weird, and it's handy for hiding all kinds of shit.

Still have knives too but it's not as imposing.

And maybe they're just...what? Lost? In the middle of ice cold BFE...let's just...yeah...just stop. They're in what passes for a state room or did at one point and hopefully will again. The draft that just blew through suggests someone opened the door to the deck but well it's closed now...

I bang the rod I'm carrying heavily against a pipe on the wall and please don't fall down on me. Good just loud noise and people freaking out—not in an oh, my fucking god we're gonna die horror movie way though more loud noise at the ready attack.

Hm.

“What are you doing here?” I demand, flicking the flashlight on with my other hand so I should be in shadow but be able to see them in theory, “Did Fiegler have loser's regret?”

There's a vague murmur from one side of the room but as I swing the flashlight in that direction someone else attracts my attention and I turn that way. A woman, maybe thirty with long brown hair is there, dressed in a sort of business type suit, definitely not the sort of thing a boat thief or a recoverer might wear, “What are we doing here?” she asks but she's not looking in my direction, she's looking across where the murmuring noise came from.

“This isn't what it looks like,” comes from that way, and when I swing in that direction, someone else with brown hair of a slightly different shade, face obscured because they're shaking their head with their hand over their face apparently disgusted with themselves. Their voice was sort of familiar though. They're not suited up. More casual, practical.

Okay, what the fuck? “What is it then?” I ask her. I'll play along.

“A long and complicated story that's not going to be easy to believe?” she says, lifting her head from her hand, familiar facial features, “We're not here for the boat. We're not here for anything you may or may not be carrying. We just need a ride,” with the tone and the features...I move the flashlight around trying to get a clearer view, because it can't be. This is an adult, not a teenager, and how would she get out here? How would anyone have gotten out here? This is a trick or a...I hate that word, “I swear by the bug that crawled up Eleanor's ass and died.”

I took too much and passed out somewhere. Maybe weird old fuel too, hell of a combination.

“Julia!” another voice. I move the flashlight. A blonde, also suited. Am I going nuts? She looks familiar too but much harder to place.

The woman who can't be Julia turns to the blonde, “Hey, you didn't have to live under her roof and her rules,” she half-snaps.

“You can't seriously be trying to say you're Julia Carr,” I tell her, pointing at her with the metal pole I grabbed.

“...I told you it would be hard to believe,” she says.

“Uh-huh.”

“I can explain, I swear,” she says, “but could we not do it in the dark?”

I point to the door behind her with the pole, “...the deck's that way as I think you know,” considering the door was opened earlier.

I cast the flashlight beam towards the door as well and make them go in front of me out into the somewhat gloomy daylight, considering the weather. On the one hand they're not exactly dressed for this weather either, which is something against this being a really weird story from boat thieves. The suits and the clothes it's got to be chilly for them, given they're not in three layers of clothes like I am. I don't like the way the two that aren't trying to claim to be Julia are walking, it's got that definite I'm packing and I have authority of law behind me thing, though I think they're all armed, really, looking at the way things go.

Joy.

Possible Julia takes a deep breath and looks almost pained to be saying what she's saying, “Okay, so, long story short: an asshole chucked us back in time and I have a magic book that can get us back to the future, but we need to be in Haven for it to work.”

Magic...book...? Haven...? How convenient, and...seriously...magic book. Time travel was one thing, but magic fucking books now. I brace myself on the pole because I'm laughing so hard. I have to be passed out somewhere, though the wind is pretty damn cold on my nose for that to be the case.

“If you think that's funny you should see the video of Nathan trying to dance.”

“Julia!” blonde not hippie cop complains. She's leaning against the railing of the boat, looking a little...maybe she gets sea sick, the other one is standing their arms crossed still angry at everything, “Okay, yeah,” she continues with somewhat reluctance, “that was pretty funny.”

So, they both apparently know Haven things?

My head is starting to hurt, “No, okay...time travel...if that's...that'd be a Trouble, so don't you just—but,” I rub at my forehead I shouldn't be trying to unknot this right now, But if she was the...that doesn't make sense either, “even if that's the thing, and it's not—because you're,” I wave towards possible Julia, “and you kinda look like Gar--” probably best not to say Garland's piece to a cop, “this hippie chick that, but you; both of you...” can't be.

“The book isn't Troubled; it'll work even though the Troubles aren't due back for another fifteen years or so,” possible Julia continues, “There actually isn't—it's complicated.”

“Of course,” I tell her as sarcastically as I can. How convenient.

“It's actually not that complicated,” angry brown haired woman says, taking a threatening step towards me. I fix my stance and level a look at her, “You don't need to know what she has to do. We need to get to Haven, and you're going to take us there or we can call in the--”

I put up my hand and cut her off, with a motion of the pole, “I don't have to take you anywhere. I can drop you right here. I have no real proof you are who you say you are. Whose to say you're not just a Trouble that makes you seem like you're some future version of Julia...” or I'm not in a drooling puddle in the engine room somewhere...

“What kind of proof do you need?” “Julia” asks, musing and thoughtful now instead of looking like she wants to throw the brown haired one overboard herself or worse.

Yes, what is the magic Trouble fairy going to magic up now? I snort. Maybe they're some sort of weird thing attached to the Cape. Am I going to need to call in an exorcist or something?

“I know you're not going to throw us overboard,” the blonde one speaks up now, pushing slightly off the railing and moving towards me, but non-threatening gesture, “and I--”

“Fair enough,” I admit, for the time being, “but I have to go to port for supplies and I can just drop you there if you still exist in the morning.”

“So, we need to barter for passage from there to Haven, then,” possible Julia counters.

Ugh, my head hurts. I lean forward against the metal pole for a moment. What the hell are they going to pay with if they even have? I've never taken credit cards, and a 'get out of jail free' card from a cop who is theoretically going to disappear. I'm too sober for this shit. Why the fuck are there future cops on my boat anyway? I'm actually entertaining this future cop bull--

“This is ridiculous!” The dark haired one snaps, “Why are we wasting time arguing with the pubescent unwashed junkie when we--?”

“I bathe, thank you!” I snap back before I can stop myself.

“Because it's his boat!” “Julia” retorts, furiously, but then turns to me, “...and you should really get off heroin if you want to get anywhere with my past self without Garland getting involved,” like casual conversation advice.

What. The. Fuck?

What the everloving fuck? No.

Just, but yes, yes, lady this is my damn boat, I push back on the pole a little, “Okay, if you really are from the future—and I generally don't do favors for cops as is, no shit I know you're cops I'm not stupid even without the posturing you were going to start before I cut you off,” I wave at the brown haired one, “you're supposedly from the future, so nothing is gonna be valid, and if you're from Haven, you're really far outside your jurisdiction right now, and your gun registration, bank account, credit cards, nope. I sure as shit doubt you have a passport...so...yes, good luck with Newfoundland. It's really pretty. They have good moose.”

The blonde looks crestfallen but she's also back leaning on the railing again. The brunette looks pissed still but also like things are crumbling there might be something to this future thing. Fuck.

“Julia” has slid further away from the brunette like the stank might touch her, “How much to take us to Haven?” she persists.

“With your crazy future money?” I wave my hands at her.

“I have a college fund I'm not going to use,” sure, okay, if you're Julia I'm sure Eleanor is going to, “I don't care if Mom wants me to go to medical school. I'm going to run away as soon as I graduate and I'm going to do it with the money I earned working for you.”

I put my hand up towards her, “I don't—if you really are from the future I don't want to hear about it,” be fucking things up left and right, “and I just...” I drop the pole, either way they're coming with me for some of this trip, so I find the crossing plank and start to hitch it to the Ursa, and then line everything up pushing the two boats the right distance apart so I can attach it to the Cape as well and run across between the two so that I'm on the small area on the back deck of the small bear. The two cops are ushered towards the plank first by their traveling companion.

The blonde comes cautiously over followed closely by the brunette, and they stand down next to me looking a bit awkward.

“Permission to come aboard, Boss!”

I lean on the railing for a moment watching her. She did just say that, and the tone was the right. How many times have I heard that? And the blonde mutter something to herself that sounds like she wishes she thought of that, sanctity of the ship, something.

“What?” The brunette sounds confused.

“Too late now,” is the reply she gets.

“Julia” makes no move forward though. She's just there in the cold wind watching me from the other boat. I wonder how long she'll stand there. She doesn't say anything else. She just waits.

“Alright,” I wave a hand, “Come over.”

She does, with ease, and I pull the plank back and stash it along the side of the railings of the Ursa's back railing so that it looks like part of the wall. The two boats rock for a little while after being separated, and the blonde holds the railing slightly tighter for a moment.

I turn and reluctantly open the main cabin and usher them inside. I adjust the temperature as I turn the internal heater on and take off the outer sweater I've been wearing so that I'm only in two layers. When I turn back around to them “Julia” is having a low-voiced argument with the blonde woman, and the other is leaning against the wall arms still folded, “If she's insisting she's okay,” she says, “just let it alone.”

I get the feeling based on the brunette's expression that she just got subjected to a very fierce glare. She puts her hands up, “I wouldn't let you help me if I didn't want you to,” she says, “that's all I'm saying.”

The blonde sighs, “It's probably just...whatever the equivalent of jet lag is really...”

“Julia” clearly doesn't believe her but also doesn't say anything.

“So,” I say, into the sullen silence that's coming around them, leaning against the wall by the door towards the back rooms, “What do I call you?” I nod towards the blonde and the brunette, “given,” I nod towards “Julia”, “apparently has a name,” whether or not I believe it.

The blonde starts to say something, when “Julia” cuts in, pointing to her, “That's Audrey and that's Agent Parker...” she stops for a moment as though she was going to say something more but then it doesn't happen.

Agent.

Not just cop. Agent.

There is an agent of some kind. On. my. Boat.

No wonder she's trying to—on my fucking boat.

Nope. Newfoundland.

Maybe I can just dump them in a dinghy.

No, I push away from the wall with my hands up and cross my hands, “No. Fuck. No! Newfoundland is generous. Find some other idiot to take you the rest of the way. I'm not going near Haven until you're done with whatever the hell it is!” I turn on the radio to find the weather, hopefully we can set sail sooner rather than later. This is too much shit right now and it needs to be off the boat.

I will not throw the radio. It's not it's fault.

Agent Parker is back on tirade mode again, “Stop threatening--” she starts.

“I'm not threatening!” I cut her off, “This is a promise!”

“Agent Parker, I swear to God I will throw you overboard myself if you do not shut up.”

“I'll help,” Audrey mutters.

“Leave the man alone,” there are tuts at the agent and actually talks her down which is...how? “Stop antagonizing him. This is his boat, we're the intruders and if we want his help we need to work out arrangements with him.”

Yeah, because I trust any of them to be good for anything right now, and if this is Julia talking down a federal agent of some sort...what does that mean?

“I can give you information,” “Julia” offers, “tell you about things to do with fixing up the Cape and salvaging things from the Ursa.”

Right, that sounds like a thing I want this random—does she really?

“If I can use a phone,” she continues, “I can get money wired or arrange for a payment to be waiting...” she puts her hands up when our eyes meet again, “I understand. Just putting it out there. I do know the ways you usually get paid.”

“Oh? Do you?” I know I'm very snarky towards her. This is getting ridiculous and I'm sick of it.

“Cash, favors, information, sex,” she says, “I've known that since I was fourteen, Boss.”

Walks like Julia kinda, talks like Julia kinda, looks like Julia kinda, what's the trick here? Well other than going to Haven...where I was going anyway...not that they, or do they?

How does she? Did I..? This is really annoying right now...because if she is—and if she's not then really how?

“I'm not paying someone like him in sex,” Agent Parker says, “and I hope you two won't either and not,” her voice drops then and whatever she's saying is more towards Audrey, who just shoots her a glare.

I go back towards the wall, something stable to lean against is good right now, “Oh, don't worry, Agent Parker. It has to have value in trade to make it worth while. I barely trust your money to be good.” I tap the wall behind me because I'm not going to start stripping off the overheating sweaters right now. Agent Parker already made the junkie jab which is not something I have never heard before, just like the unwashed, because gypsy's are filthy untrustworthy creatures after all, but “Julia” she smacked, oh, great thing to think, at me with heroin, don't need to prove that right in case they do have ways to get me in lower case trouble about what I'm carrying on board.

Don't open the boxes, Crocker.

Don't look in the box, Crocker.

“I'm not saying sex isn't an option,” Possible Julia tells me, “with me anyway, but it's not a payment option.”

It's a trap.

Stay away from the box, Crocker.

Stop just staring at her like that. Julia isn't—and this might not be—it can't be. Look at her—it can't be and surely not.

Is that a flirty smile I'm getting sent across at me? I'm not usually so uncertain about a thing but this is not a normal day. If I can...I catch myself running my hand through my hair like it can sort my head straight.

It seriously can't be Julia, and the Audrey...what was that woman's name? Who took me to foster care? That's not important—I know where I need to be right now, I don't even have to get anything from the kitchen in front of them. It's plenty in the bedroom or bathroom, but then I have to leave them alone...

I sit down, and lean forward to massage the back of my neck.

“This is really what we're relying on here?” Agent Parker demands. I'm not exactly looking but I can feel the hand pointed in my direction, “I think your judgment is off,” I'm not sure who that's directed to exactly but “Julia” has been doing most of the talking, and telling her off—is she in charge? She has guns too. The Julia I know—in law enforcement? I can't--

“Hey!” is directed at Parker from Audrey.

“He's not exactly with it, is he?” Parker continues, “don't think I didn't hear you talking about heroin just because you got quieter before--”

“Stop it!” is the retort, and I can hear Julia's tone, but it's just...and then she's there in front of me though, crouched down by my leg, and I can see that little girl asking if it's okay to come watch me work; she won't get in the way, “Hey, maybe you should go lie down in the back room I can make sure they don't get into anything.”

Sure.

“Lie down?” Parker retorts, “You mean get high? How is this going to--?”

“No one's going to be doing anything if you don't shut up!” she says from in front of me, turning to face the Agent, “We're going to be stuck in Newfoundland in the 1990s. If we wind up in jail or something and I have to live out twenty years before I get back to--” she hesitates for a moment, and I see her eyes drifting in my direction.

“You're being ridiculous and focusing on the wrong--” she stops talking suddenly and I look over, Audrey has grabbed her in some sort of arm bar and is whispering to her while dragging her backwards out onto the deck.

What the fuck? Is she going to actually throw her overboard?

I push myself up because I've got to check and there...Julia? Is again moving between me and the door concern still on her face, “Please, go rest before you start hurting. I can--”

Oh, for the—fuck--I can't...

This just--

“It doesn't matter if you are who you say you are, you've clearly changed if you think bringing cops and Feds or whoever—” I point at her, “onto the boat is okay, and I'm not doing anything.”

She just stares at me for a moment, but is—is she shaking?

She takes a couple of stumbling steps backwards. Shit. But then she pivots and stalks out onto the deck, slamming the door behind her and I hear:

“GUNS NOW!”

I'm not going to follow. I flop back down onto the couch and stretch out, massaging my temples. Fuck. That look.

There's angry voices outside. I can hear the tone of Agent Parker again, but only make a few words about “not” and “hell no” and then, “Because you cost me the thing I value most! Duke's trust!”

I find myself sitting partway up at that. The way it sounded. I can't...

“Julia runs a little short on logic where Duke is concerned,” I hear from the Audrey woman.

There's something else at first and then, “focusing on getting back to the future!”

“I don't want to go back to the future if it's one where Duke doesn't trust me!” Fuck. Oh, fuck.

Okay, couch eat me now. Fuck. My head hurts and I'm too hot and fuck everyone's pissed off outside. I pull the top sweater off. I've still got one more. I use the one I've taken off to wipe my face and neck am I really sweating or am I just imagining it?

There's still loud noises, and shouting going on outside, though at one point I think I hear Nathan's name being invoked for some sort of purpose, and something about a thigh? then the door slams open again and I turn to face the wrath of the wench.

She's disassembling guns, still somewhat shakily...she's been crying, fuck, and setting them on the table, “These are Audrey's. These are Agent Parker's. This,” she takes one from her person and takes it apart too, “is mine, and this,” another one, “is also mine. All our guns. Get up.”

“What?”

“Get. Up,” she points behind me, with the clip from one of the guns, “I'll put the guns in the panel back there, and then the only ones available on the boat will be yours.”

I stand and move the couch to the side, and carefully ease the panel out. Of course she would know where it is. Shit. I lean my head against the wall as she puts everything inside and put the panel back once she's done. She helps me put the couch back.

“They have no idea that's there,” she waves a hand towards the door given the other two are still out on the deck, and takes a deep breath, “I know you have—I know you have a gun under the bench. I know where your shotgun is and if you don't trust me to not shoot you with your own guns then you should just handcuff us all and tape our fingers together until we...” she just trails off.

“I'm not going to...”

And then she's wrapped around me so tight and with such force I'm pushed into the wall. Her head buried in to my chest, squeezing me, any harder and I'd not be able to breathe, and I'm—what is happening? But at the same time it's okay. But...I...have...a Julia on my boat who is old enough to—who knows things...and...

Stop...

“I'm sorry,” she says, pulling back a little, and releasing her hold on me with one hand to wipe her face with the edge of one sleeve, “I'm sorry for bringing the law onto your boat but things—it was either that or reenact the ending of Titanic.”

“What?”

“Shit. Um. Giant boat that sank? People freezing to death in the ocean. They made a movie - a stupid, sappy, love story masquerading as historical fact - but the point was,” she pulls away, somewhat reluctantly, and goes to the other side of the cabin, “When we landed here- there, on the Cape, she was...not fixed. I was afraid you hadn't won her yet, and- but you- I looked and saw the Ursa towing her so that was kinda reassuring.”

“Kinda?”

She presses her lips together, “It meant we wouldn't be camping out in the dark, waiting for you to win her, but...” she gestures towards the deck where Audrey and Agent Parker are still waiting, “...that still happened. I'm not a cop. Wouldn't work for the government if you paid me.”

So, if she's not either of those things then what the fuck does she do that she has guns and they—nope, don't open the box, Crocker. Close your mouth.

“Military-trained assassin. I won't tell you anything else,” she says, crisply.

That's...but...

“Why would you tell me...future things...?” I don't want to know stuff that could—I start to move away to cross the room but that's just going to be a ball of no, so I stay where I am, though visions of her suspended on ropes breaking into buildings, and taking down a guy with a flying-- “I mean, damn, that's bad-ass but...”

“Because there's not that many other professions that use firearms and you deserve to know why your kitchen wench is able to separate a hostile federal agent from her gun,” she points out, “Won't you sleep better knowing that if she tries to kill you in your sleep I can kill her first? O-or incapacitate her and keep her secured because even if she's from the future you don't need a crime scene on your boat.”

“I was just going to ask if they were okay out there and no one had actually been thrown overboard—though I would have thought we'd have heard the splash...” Idiot. I sigh. Think straight, Crocker, “but, I...suppose...would she really try to kill me in my sleep? Future box not opening and all, I seem to be around, aren't there issues with paradoxes?”

She gives the sigh and eye roll of someone whose had to deal with way too much, “Not if she's smart. Hopefully Audrey's talked some sense into her. As for paradoxes...do you really want to talk time travel with your head like that?”

There's...this her knowing things is really annoying.

“I'm not happy about the heroin, but I understand why...” she sort of waves her hands about, “I'm sorry, I know you don't want to know. I'm just trying to answer your questions or explain myself in the most noncommittal way possible.”

I wonder how used to my grumbly noises she is, “I get it, kinda. I just...people showing up knowing all this stuff about me is...”

“Cheating,” she says, “We're dirty cheaters from the future, and the only thing I can do to even the odds for you is make sure you know I'm on your side.”

“Hm,” I allow.

“So...” she says, softly, “will you take us to Haven?”

“I'm kinda going there anyway...” I admit.

The smile she gives, obviously she knew that, but obviously she was going to, “Is there anything you'll trust as payment?”

“I don't...” there's this impulse to not charge her because it's her, but that can't...and there are is the cop and fed to put up with and all the rest of it, but...her money, “I do prefer cash...but emptying your college fund...”

“Were you really going to charge us fifty grand?”

Fifty? Fifty...? What the fuck?

“That's what...” How do people even?

“College is expensive, Boss. Especially medical school.”

“I see...” Good thing I never wanted to go, “So...no...I...not that much...”

“Five thousand?” she suggests.

Well, I am going to Haven anyway, not that the other two need to know that, unless they're listening at the door, and towing the Cape is going to screw up fuel, and they're going to need to eat and I'll actually have to put the heat on instead of bundle up a bunch.

“Sounds reasonable, considering you guys will need to eat and everything. You might not like what I have in stock...” What do I have in stock?

“Plus bonus for cops being on your boat.”

I find myself smirking a little, “Should we let them back in? Let them know you've won over the obnoxious gypsy?” I find myself meeting the wall rather solidly because it's comfier than standing up. Maybe it's a good thing the weather was going to be too shitty closer to the coast to set off right now. Though I'm behind on my planning...we do need...

Her smirk turns concerned after a moment, which I wasn't expecting, “...Boss, you need to take something. Even if it's just a little. You're not doing well.”

I lean forward for a moment and massage my head. God damn her being right.

I stretch back up, “You'll keep them occupied? And out of trouble?”

“Even if I have to tie them up and sit on them,” she assures.

I nod, “Okay, well...I imagine you know where things are given you've bought access to the kitchen. I'll be in the bedroom if something catches fire.”

“...you got it, Boss.”

I could swear that she looks like she wants to kiss me as she says it. I can't...in the future are we?

Don't open the box, Crocker. Especially not when...look where you're going and what you're...but she...

Don't open the box, Crocker.

Never open the box.

When I get the junk and supplies out from under the bed I sit for a moment and debate how much to take. I have to admit the soreness coming in and the overheating...how not good I feel. Taking the edge off...I'll be cranky and hurting again so quickly and I know it.

Don't need another round of fight and fight.

So, I best just...Julia's out there...it'll be fine. It'll be fine.

Both she and that Audrey seem to be pissed at the FBI bitch so that's—it'll be fine.

I flick the needle a couple of times to clear those pesky air bubbles, and it won't be long until the juice works it's magic.

I flop back on to the bed to not think for a while (and maybe exercise my hand a bit) before everything is over warm and jelly like and it's better to just float off with it.

Julia's swinging down from a helicopter by rope, semi-automatic on her back, bandoleer of ammunition across her shoulders, and down on to the top of a building in the shadows of the night ready to break in. There are several people at her back, following her instructions.

I can see her from beside and above.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Onto the roof of the building.

Hiding behind outcroppings of rock.

Over sand dunes.

Caterpillar treads and flags flying behind, giant cats pulling the cart, as it submerges beneath the sand, basking on the back of the tank warming in the sun as it bobs and weaves, and butterflies explode around it.

Something grabs my hand. I pull back and swing and hit something as my eyes properly open. Not a tank. Bed. Ursa.

“Easy, Boss. It's me,” she says, one arm up, stopping mine from hitting her in the face.

I pull my hand back, “...Julia???” she looks, smoother, straighter.

“From the future, remember?” she says, carefully.

I need to iron my head out, I work at my scalp with my fingers, trying to smooth out the knots of information, “...right...with the cops and the...magic book.”

She looks at me then, lips pursed and eyes almost sparkling...is that? I've seen that sort of look before, but surely...not, “I made food,” she says, “You should probably eat some while it's still hot.”

I push myself up into a full sitting position, swinging my legs around to the floor, carefully avoiding hitting her with my feet, though she backs up a few paces, “Right...um...thanks,” I should probably boost first though, and wash up, “I'll be out in a minute.”

“If you're not out in five, I'm coming back,” she warns. There's a vague motion of a finger move but it doesn't really go anywhere.

I half salute her, “Yes, ma'am.”

She might be blushing as she ducks out into the main cabin. I need to stop that. Seriously.

I pull myself up and go into the bathroom to clean up just a little bit; but I should also take a little more, just in case, just to—right...I mean, seriously, I don't need to be nodding out in the middle of conversation with the Agent Bitch and start all that shit over again.

I quickly prep and shoot about a third of what I would normally take, and I'm going to leave but then fuck, not now. I'm spitting up into the sink.

So...rinsing the mouth out and washing the face again, and then going out to the main cabin after waiting by the door for a moment. No, wait, change sweater, yes, that's a good idea. I do that first instead, rearranging shirts and layers, and pants, and dumping the others in the corner of the bedroom for now and then going out into the main cabin.

Audrey is sitting at the table the seat close to the wall, and Agent Parker is opening some cabinets, at Julia's direction, and awkwardly getting out plates, not used to the way things have to be restrained because of the potential for storms at sea and not wanting things to fly out of cabinets and smash everywhere as is being explained to her, “It's the same reason the mugs are on hook clips and have padding and things,” she continues.

“And the fridge, and oven lock,” I point out, “and all the counters have lips.”

“Ah, good. I don't have to follow through on my threat,” Julia remarks, upon my words, “Going back in for him,” she clarifies when the other two look at her questioningly.

“It's all good,” I tell her, “There was mention of Julia made food. Any home-made food is good, but Julia-made,” I give perfection-kiss hand motion, and she eye rolls and turns back towards the stove, taking a tray of something out and putting it on a towel on the counter top.

“Okay,” Julia says, carefully, “We have roasted fish and vegetables with a simple beer sauce, and then toast with melted cheese. I'm not 100% sure which fish this--”

“Lake Trout, from the looks of it,” I fill in, “The other's whitefish.”

“And the potatoes are okay being blue?” Agent Parker asks, “With the fridge having frozen some of the things I was--”

“That's a Newfoundland thing,” Julia and I wind up saying at about the same time, though she says “delicacy”.

“Do you have any concerns about the carrots?” Julia continues, “or the cheese?” she starts putting servings on to plates as the agent shakes her head and then passes the first plate handed across to Audrey.

Julia asks me to get drinks for everyone. Audrey takes one of the beers, but everyone else gets water and we sit around the table after I get the silverware, hand it out, and set a roll of paper towels in the middle of the table. The food smells really good, but, of course, I'm not that hungry.

“Thank you for agreeing to take us to Haven,” Parker says, cautiously, after a little while of silence as people sample food and thank Julia for cooking and me for having the ingredients on hand and declare it tasty.

“I'm not going to bite,” I tell her, “but you're welcome.”

“Well, earlier neither of us was at our best, so I wasn't sure,” she returns.

“I only bite people when I've been given permission,” I point out, taking a bite of fish and potato for emphasis.

When Audrey makes a coughing sound I realize that Julia's blushing and looking at her plate. The way she keeps looking at me...I don't...anyway. I mess around with the one piece of fish and chop several of the vegetables up, maybe if I do that I'll have more appetite by the time I'm done portioning.

“So...” Audrey says, sounding a little hesitant, “...that made me think how are we going to sleep tonight? And well, however many nights it's going to take to get to Haven.”

“It'll really depends on the weather,” I point out, “I couldn't take us to Newfoundland this afternoon because there's a storm closer to the coast and towing the Cape makes that even more dangerous for us than just going there in the Ursa. Provided that's cleared up we can go there tomorrow, and then on to Halifax depending how long it takes to get supplies, and then to Haven the next day.”

“So, that's tonight here, tomorrow night in Halifax, and then to Haven,” Agent Parker clarifies.

“Depending on the weather,” I repeat, “Winter is not always kind to the sea.”

Audrey and Julia both nod in agreement there but then Julia is a Havenite and Audrey seems like she must be...at least adopted native or...I don't know. Julia seems more comfortable with her than Agent Parker definitely, but they both have affection for the agent, she wouldn't frustrate them so much otherwise.

“So, that's two nights,” Julia points out, “and the Ursa is...cozy.”

“This is true, but it's not like I haven't...ferried people before. The couch is an option some people choose, alternately the cushions can be put on the floor. I have at least one air mattress, sleeping bags, blankets...”

“Where do you want to sleep, Audrey?” Julia asks, firmly, putting her fork down and looking across the table at the blonde woman.

Audrey stops chewing for a moment looking at Julia confused, but she also has a tired and drawn expression and has for a while, “What?” she asks, “Why come to me first?”
“Because you're the one who has the headache they're trying to ignore and probably has been since we got here...” Julia says.

Audrey frowns. I wonder if it's the same expression I had when Julia called me out on being dope sick. Then Audrey sighs, “If it wasn't so cold outside I'd ask to sleep on the deck outside where it was cooler, but that's...asking for hypothermia.”

“Yes,” Julia nods, “It is.”

“Maybe the floor then?” she says, “I can be near the door and get air if I need it.”

Julia turns to me, “I know you don't keep regular painkillers, but do you have anything else that might help her rest?”

Parker sighs, “I was just going to ask about advil...if we'd stopped being stubborn.”

Julia looks as though she bites back something else and instead just says, “We can always add extra to the--”

I put up my hand, “You don't have to finish that, and I can probably come up with something,” considering the cannabis in the hold, “depending on Ms. Audrey's opinion.”

“Ms. Audrey's opinion on what?” Audrey asks.

“You'll see when I dig it up.”

Audrey looks both curious and wary.

“So, there's the couch then?” Agent Parker asks.

“Yes,” I nod, getting up, and moving my plate to the counter, along with any others that people have finished with, and scraping food into the trash, and putting the plates into the sink after rinsing them quickly. I should get Audrey's “medicine” sooner rather than later, “I'll bring up the air mattress and pump when I go down to the hold. There are spare blankets and things inside the couch storage.”

Julia is getting up as I head towards the hold area and I hear her starting to say something but don't make out what it is. The mattress and pump are together along with another storage box of blankets and pillows so I push them out of the top of the hold and into the cabin area, and then go back for the less legal supplies that I need.

I go into the delivery things. Generally it's a rule, yes, to not open the box, but this is not that sort of box. This is something else entirely given I already know what's in that section of the cargo hold. I pry open one of the boxes, move the cheap crappy, but strong smelling coffee, and take out the green bundle that's about the size of two bags of flour and bring it back up to the main cabin holding it by my side away from the view of those in the room.

Things have been rearranged in there. Half of the table has been folded down, and chairs pushed to the side. There are blankets and pillows laid out and the air mattress is inflating: the vibrations running through the deck as I go into the bedroom and look for the bong. I bring it, a lighter, and a portion of the pot in a small bowl back out into the kitchen after sealing the packet back up and leaving it on the dresser.

“What is that?” Agent Parker asks in tones of someone who has a damn good idea and is probably correct.

“Pot,” I tell her, “It's good for what ails you,” then I have to cough, “provided Audrey wants to have it, of course.”

There's a moment of mixed emotion across Audrey's face but then, “If it's going to make things feel better I'll give it a try.”

“Are you--?” Parker starts.

“It's not as though it's a class A substance. It's basically aspirin,” I point out, prepping the bong given Audrey's agreed, “and we're anchored in international waters. Cannabis is legal in many places. Consider us Holland right now.”

“Right,” Parker says, “Well...I'm just going to...” she grabs a couple of blankets, a book off my shelf, wraps up and goes back outside, “...call me in when the air's clear.”

“Using this is going to be okay?” Julia asks.

“I can pick something up when we're in Newfoundland to make up the missing. It'll be fine,” I wave a hand in her direction, “I've done it before.”

There's a moment of frown, and then she shakes her head and gives a vague smile, “You know what? I'll go outside too. I have some energy I need to work out...a contact high's not going to help with that I'll check on you guys in a half hour or so if we haven't heard anything,” she follows Parker outside with a, “I hope it helps,” in Audrey's direction.

“Me too,” she says, as the door closes.

I pull one of the chairs around at the table, as I take my first hit on the bong.

Audrey comes and sits on the other side of the table, “I don't want to...” she starts, “...but is it okay to...” she waves a hand towards the bong, “...with...” she trails off, “I'm sorry. I just I want you to be safe.”

“It's all good,” I tell her, “It's not like I haven't done this before, and it is just pot in here don't worry.”

“I trust you,” she says, massaging her temples again, “As weird as that probably sounds to you.”

“These things are getting less weird,” I say, “Now, do you know how to do this?” I waggle the bong towards her, “Or...” I can't help but laugh.

“You okay?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say, “Well, I mean I'm getting stoned and I'm already high, but it's just...I'm about to volunteer to shotgun this chick who kinda looks like this hippie I remember being around when I was a kid but is a cop now and it's just...”

She has this weird look for a moment, but then waves her hand towards me, “Just pass it here. I wasn't always a cop, you know? I do know how a bong works.”

“Yes, ma'am,” I slide the bong across the table and she catches it, and follow it with the lighter.

“Don't ma'am me, Crocker,” she remarks, flicking on the lighter, and inhaling through the top, and slowly exhaling.

“So, you haven't always been a cop,” I repeat, “What else have you been?”

She laughs for what seems like ten minutes but I know well can't have been, “Oh, well, a nurse, an FBI Agent, a bartender.”

FBI. FBI, son...no, wait, not, “So, wait, you were FBI, too? Is that how you know stick-up-her-ass Parker?”

She laughs some more, covering her nose and mouth, “Yeah, that's it,” she passes me the bong back.

“Why'd you leave?” I ask her, before taking my next hit.

“Can you imagine the actual FBI running around Haven during the Troubles?”

“Good point,” I exhale. So, I was right. Not native but adopted.

She slides around closer so it's easier to pass the bong backwards and forwards. She's already looking less pinched about the face.

“....soooo, you left the FBI to be a cop? And you were a nurse and a bartender. I'm guessing that was before those...that's an interesting mix.”

“Oh, I've done so many things it's hard to remember what they all are,” she waves a hand, all dismissive, taking the pot back, “Hey, I've even been an investigative journalist!” then she pauses lighter at the ready, “Wait, have I?”

“Are you sure you actually need more? It's not been that long. Forgetfulness usually doesn't set in until at least--”

She points at me accusingly, “You're trying to tell me not to—no way,” she takes a long drag and holds it for a while, before blowing it out in my direction, “I should be confiscating this.”

“You are—in a way.”

She giggles practically hugging the bong, “No, no, now I'm like, acting like, I mean...Or—Parker. That's not. No.”

“You're not,” I tell her, “Seriously. No.”

“Thanks,” she says, with a smile, “but yeah...hers and my paths diverged after I went to Haven, definitely.”

“Haven does that to people.”

She nods, “Definitely. I wonder how it'll look, you know? It's got to be different to how it is—will be.”

I shrug, “The way I understand it Haven is pretty much Haven.”

She laughs again, “Still...it's...what year is it?”

“1995.”

“Okay, so...about, hrm...fifteen, sixteen years ago. I shouldn't be trying to math right now...” she waves a hand through the smoke, “there's bound to be some differences.”

I lean back, “I'm not getting into things. Don't tell me places that are there and I'm not going to be all, is such-n-such still there?”

“No, no...but...” she points at me, “You could tell me what's on the corner of some places, so that...” she makes an vague raspberry noise, “No, never mind, that's just boring anyway.”

“Yeah. Really,” I have to snort though, “I bet the paper's still there.”

“Oh, please. Like Vince and Dave would ever go anywhere,” she gives me a sneaky look, “I thought you didn't want to know anything.”

“That's not knowing something if it's a foregone conclusion,” I wave a hand, “That's not something you could even bet on it's a 1:1 odd.”

She nods, “You have a point. Do much gambling do you?”

“Enough. Got me the old girl,” I nod my head back towards the Cape.

“Are you sure that's a good investment?” she teases.

“She may be battered but she's solid,” I tell Audrey, “It'll take a lot of work but it'll be worth it, and I already have some things I can move over – not the fridge though. That needs to be put out of it's misery...”

“It was kinda strange to open the fridge and find a good portion of the things in there frozen.”

“Well, they call them ice boxes,” I wave a hand towards it.

“There's a difference between ice and a glacier.”

“Fair enough,” I spread my hands, “but food's still edible and provided you know the ins and outs of it's hot and—well, cold and colder zones it works. That's not to say I'm not going to get a new or newer fridge, at least when I fix her up because, you know, just because I have to put up with that now doesn't mean I want to forever.”

“Makes sense,” she nods, getting up to get herself a water, “I upgraded from a tiny B&B to a...an apartment above the—to a...to an apartment,” she swallows the water carefully, wiping her mouth with a slightly awkward look.

“Almost said something?” I ask her.

“Yeah...kinda.”

“Maybe we should do a thing where you have to do a...hm...well, depending on how bad you are at this shots might get dangerous quickly,” it's my turn to have teasing tone. I waggle eyebrows at her as crosses the small kitchen space and sits back down.

“What do you have that I could do shots with?” she inquires, sitting back down.

I sigh, “You have me there. I have some Johnny Walker, and well, there's the beer.”

She shakes her head, “I think,” she continues, as she sits back down, “That's okay, and I just I feel weird, because you're...are you even old enough to have the beer on the boat?” then she puts a hand up, “No. Stop. I'll stop. I'm...” she shakes her head.

“International waters,” I remind her.

“That's not going to work once we get to Haven.”

“Who says there'll be any left by then?” I mock toast her with the bong.

She shakes her head, laughing again, “You're just...you--” she stops.

“I am me.”

She sighs, “Yes. You are. I...” this is a different head shake, “I'm getting too deep, maybe. I wasn't expecting...you were like “Trouble this” right away...kinda, but...”

“It's Troubles and Haven? It's like racism? Everyone knows it's about but mostly it gets ignored? Just some people have to deal with it more often than others, right?”

“I guess...” she scratches her head, “I just...I thought they were done when you were a kid.”

“I thought so too, but things--”

But then she cuts me off with this horror struck look, “Your Dad's not alive, right?”

“No.”

“Phew,” she says, and then the horrified look comes back with a different twist, “I mean, shit! I mean--” it's my turn to cut her off this time though.

“No, seriously okay,” I lean over and pat her hand, pushing the bong into it directly after, “He's been dead for a long time and no one liked him when he wasn't.”

She gives a wary laugh at that.

“I'm not going to ask what you've heard,” I tell her, “but whoever offed him did me a favor, really. I dread to think what things would have been like if I had to grow up with him, well, past the age of almost eight I mean.”

“Yeah...” she says, “...from my understanding he was kind of a bastard.”

I laugh, “Yeah. What bits and pieces I've ever gotten from Carolina would agree with my memories and with that but he's not worth the breath,” I blow smoke towards her, “How's your head doing?”

“Pretty good,” she says, cautiously.

“It's good for what ails you, right?”

“Definitely seems to be,” she agrees.

“I can leave some more out for you...for tomorrow...” I tell her, given we'd best start airing the cabin out before everyone else comes back in, and there aren't many places that can be opened to do that.

She nods, “Thanks, but, I'm sure when we go into town there's stuff we can buy, right? We'll need clothes too...that are less--”

“Conspicuous?”

“I was going to say less cold,” she counters.

“Potato, po-tah-to,” I tell her, “but you do need to be less...coppy if that's possible, especially for Agent Parker, traveling around, otherwise she's not going to be anywhere near me going places. She can stay on the boat. Out of sight. I'm not burning contact bridges over this no matter what I fe—think about Julia.”

She puts her hand up, as I go towards the door, “No. No. I understand. We don't want you losing any contacts or possibly getting into any...hot water with anyone because you're suddenly associating with law. You're not a snitch.”

“Appreciated,” though...snitching can have it's benefits; but we don't need to get into all that, because snitching also only works when you can generally pin it on someone else after a fashion or...anyway. Both of us are way too stoned to get into my complicated moral methodology. I turn the vent fan on over the stove and then open the door and make a half-hearted attempted to waft some of the smoke out of the room. The cold air hits fast as I open the door, and Audrey coughs, hopefully, at the unexpected draft and not something else going wrong with her.

She's pouring the water from the bong down the sink after getting my okay and begins rinsing everything out.

Julia and Agent Parker, out on the deck, turn around when the door opens. Agent Parker shrugs the blanket tighter around herself and looks over questioningly.

Julia moves closer to the door, “Everything good?”

“She says the headache's eased,” I nod, leaning against the door frame, “but may want to let the place air out a little bit before being in there.”

“Well, I need to shower,” Julia says, “Can I use--?”

“Sure,” I point towards the bedroom, unnecessarily, “You know where it is.”

She crosses the room and disappears through my door. Audrey sets the bong carefully on the counter, and turns around towards the door where Parker is still hovering, hesitant, like a strange monk with her blanket robes and book held tightly at her chest.

“It's looking clearer,” Parker says, after a moment, looking past me into the cabin.

I nod, “It is a thing about smoke. It clears.”

She shakes her head, and I make a butlery type gesture indicating she can come inside if she likes, and she walks by me, and I close the door, which is good because it doesn't take long to get really fucking cold. I remember about the dishes then, but it turns out they've already been washed, which is good because, of course, Julia is...in the shower and the...water...usage.

Julia is in the shower.

What is she going to—where is she sleeping for that matter? As I see there are only two sleeping places set up in here which I hadn't paid attention to with all the pot. I pick up the bong and then set it down again not quite sure what to do with myself given Julia is in my shower and I...clothes and...hrm.

“You okay, Duke?” Audrey taps the counter near me but doesn't touch me.

I look over at her, “Yeah...just...well...” I waft a hand about.

She laughs, “Yeah...shouldn't ask really, I guess. I just, we're going to be bedding down, so...”

“Right. Look, in the morning, kitchen, whatever, and I can bring you out more...” I pick up the bong and wave it about for a moment, “if you need it.”

“Yeah, you said.”

“Right.”

“Julia—when she was making dinner, we went through what was in the kitchen and things: coffee, that's the all important.”

“Right,” I nod, again, “Okay, I'll leave you to it,” I bring the bong back with me to see what's going on in the bedroom or bathroom, as though I need defending.