Ami-chan Writes

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

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

This can't...

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

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

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

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

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

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

I give her a look.

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

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

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

“I can't do this...”

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

“I--”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And that I wasn't listening...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You were there though.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

“Only okay?” she says.

“I'm just...words...”

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

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

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

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

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

“It's okay,” she says, “It's okay.”

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

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

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

“Why are you stopping?” she asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay, baby?” she asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, tiny mistress.”

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

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

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

“Yeah. They're good.”

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

Julia blows me a kiss.  

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

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

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

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

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

“Baby?” she asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure.”

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

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

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

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

She just laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Debriefing?”

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

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

“A what, baby?”

“Euphemism,” am I blushing?

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

I drop the fork I'm holding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I nod.

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don't...this isn't—this isn't me.”

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

“Okay,” I tell her.

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

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

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

@@@@

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?” I ask.

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

“Breakfast is still...”

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

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

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

I lean my head against her shoulder.

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

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

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

I feel my own tears coming though.

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

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

I kiss her cautiously and she gives a slight laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

“Mostly.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course.”

“I better call Uncle Vince.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's not entirely up to me though.

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

I nod.

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

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

@@@@

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure.”

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

“Of—of course,” Vince says, shakily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That's awesome,” I tell her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh,” he says, “Garland.”

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

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

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

“Oh, dear.” Vince remarks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I can only muster a “Hm” in response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just like calling an elevator.”

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

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

“Boston?” I ask.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmmm,” I say.

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

I stare at him.

Julia giggles quietly.

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

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

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

He nods, “As I said, think about it.”

I nod in return.

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

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

I flop back down on the couch and exhale slowly.

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

“Hm,” I tell her.

“No, you did. How do you feel?”  

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

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

“Excited,” I add.

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

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

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

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

@@@@

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

“Yeah?”

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

“Huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

I suppose.

“You okay?”

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

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

“That would be...nice.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright...”

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

“It is just Nathan, right?”

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

The bar is kinda between dive and decent but it wouldn't be this sort of deal if it wasn't. Who is going to do something like this in front of the Ritz? And it's not as if it's a complete shit hole. As I'm turning the engine off I can't help but wonder if Carolina is still knocking around somewhere given the last time I was in this neck of the woods is when I ran into her or, considering how many years it's been, if she's in some unmarked grave somewhere.

As I get out of the truck there's Ted getting out of his van a few spaces down. He's grayer about the temples than I remember but it's been a good eight months....well, then over a year since we've seen each other. Six months in the Barn, remember.

“Good to see you!” he calls, “How was the drive?”

“Long!”

“Yeah. I'm sure,” he nods, “Thanks for coming up...down? Over? Though.”

“I wouldn't do this for just anyone,” I point out.

“Yeah. Yeah,” he waves a hand, “I'm glad you did though. I heard you were out of the business.”

“I was out at sea more like,” I shake my head, “but it takes more than a storm to get rid of me.”

“That's what you get for working on a boat,” he chides, as I pull down the tail gate.

“Well, if I didn't you wouldn't get this stuff so don't complain.”

“I'm not,” he says, eyeing the boxes, “I pay you so I don't have to do that shit. That's the deal, right?”

“That's how I understand it.”

He slides one across towards him and opens the top and peers inside, “Excellent,” he says, and hefts it's neighbor forward and does the same.

“Seriously?” I remark in joking tone, though I know I'd do the same and have done on more than one occasion.

“It's not that I don't trust you,” he says, “but all kinds of things can happen in transit.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I wave a hand at him and lean back against the truck and look about the parking lot. There are about seven cars here at this point but it's really only early bird time. Ted pushes a button on his key ring and I hear the back of the van unlock. He picks up one of the boxes and I grab one and follow him to the van.

“You're not turning straight around and heading back are you?” he asks, resting the box against the back bumper so he can open the door.

I blow out a sigh, “No. No,” I shake my head, “I hate to say it but I'm camping out over night like an old man and driving back in the morning.”

He laughs, taking my box and pushing it into the back of the van having already slid his own in, “Well, then, how about we grab a bite to eat in there? My treat.”

“In there?” I give him a skeptical eye.

“I eat here quite a bit,” he says, as we grab the next two boxes, “I even bring the...family.”

“Everything okay there?” I don't want to say your tone got weird but your tone got weird, Ted.

“Yeah, they just...” he shakes his head, “but that's why I picked the place. I come here on and off, not too out of routine but still.”

Way to avoid my question. I give him a look which he catches when he turns to take the last box from me and put it into the van.

He sighs, “The wife didn't really want me to get this stuff but I've been hankering and I knew I could get all this through you and yours for way better than, you know. You know wives though...well, you probably don't. You've never been one for attachments.”

“You'd be surprised,” I point out.

He gives me an odd look and then shrugs and goes round to the passenger side of the van and gets his payment and brings it to me, “I'll meet you inside then?”

I nod, closing the tail gate, “Yeah, sure,” I check the money in the envelope and then open the truck door and stash it in the lock box behind the passenger seat spinning the combination after I do so then lock up the actual truck itself and go into the bar.

Ted's picked out a table in the corner with a good view of the doors and waves me over to join him. It's typical fare: burgers, chicken wings, ribs, vague attempts at vegetarian food. I remind myself not to be judgmental about their selections and just go for something simple burger wise that should be hard to fuck up and one of their local beers. He gets ribs.

There's idle chit chat about travel and him questioning about this “out at sea” business, of course, which I expected. Then the food comes. Smells pretty good. I imagine Julia would both be joking with me watching me inspecting the meal, though I could easily see her doing the same thing. The fries are crispy and not soggy, bun is toasted, not a lot of grease soaking through things.

“See?” Ted says, tearing into the ribs, “Good, right?”

I cut the burger in half and it looks to be the right temperature of cook, so I take a bite. For the most part it tastes good but the cheese is not what I was expecting. The menu had just said cheese and I didn't think to ask. I set it down, and have to pick up my phone.

• To: Julia Wench
• Theres AMERICAN CHEESE ON THIS!

After a moment there's a reply.

• Aww, poor Boss. Got to NY safe, then?
• Yeah ted happy beer good at leest
• There we are then. See you tomorrow still?
• No change so far

And the familiar pulse on the tattoo which I answer as I put the phone in my coat pocket. After that I pick the offending cheese off the burger and continue to eat and chat back and forth.

“You like the beer, right?” Ted asks, pointing to the bottle I've almost drained.

“Yeah.”

“You need to try the Keegan's Stout,” he says.

I look around for the waitress.

“It's fine,” he says, “I'll be right back,” and he heads up to the bar.

The burger itself was pretty good. Glad I won't be coming back here though. I've been thoroughly spoiled by our own food. Twenty years ago this would have been miraculous. I need to stop making myself feel old. Ted comes back with two glasses of amber liquid and about a quarter inch of head. It's smoother than the bottled beer I'd selected and a slightly richer flavor and definitely stronger. I can imagine Cam would be heady halfway through the glass with already having a bottle first. Drinking the whole thing and it'd be another snuggle-fest night.

“You seem to approve,” Ted remarks.

“I might have to look up their distributor,” I admit, “and then see what undercutting can be done, because well...”

“Yeah, I know,” he gives a laugh, but it's slightly off again.

“Are you sure you're okay?” I ask him. There isn't anyone about whose come off with cop vibe otherwise I'd have excused myself to the bathroom already.

“I just...” he shakes his head, “...I keep thinking about Mel.”

“If you have to get home don't let me keep you. Job's done after all.”

“No, it's fine,” he gives a slight laugh again, “She needs to just suck it up. I do this. It's my choice.”

“Dangerous talk there,” I point out, “Those sort of things get people sleeping on the couch. I don't have any rare chocolates or jewelry to sell you.”

“I'm out of that sort of money anyway,” he says, “...at least on hand, I mean.”

“I'm pretty much done myself anyway,” I point out, draining the last of the beer.

“Fair enough,” he waves the waitress over for the check and I stand up and go to get some money out for the tip. My head wavers a bit as I do, and I grab the back of the chair confused. I'm not Cam. I can hold my booze, “You okay?” he asks.

I get my wallet out, “Yeah...must have just stood up too fast,” the numbers on the bills blur together for a moment. I pull a ten out and drop it on the table and put the wallet back, when I turn to go to the door the floor—well, it can't actually be tilting...

Someone grabs my left arm at the elbow, “Easy there,” as I go to defensive, “I was just trying to stop you going face first into the next table.”

All I can do is make a disgruntled noise especially as the room is spinning. Something had to have been in my drink and Ted's face, when it finally comes back into focus as he comes back over as the guy, whoever he is, is asking me how much I had to drink, tells me all I need to know about that.

“Did you roofie me?” I demand. No wonder he was being weird. Should have...my arm is being gripped tighter.

“We can get you somewhere,” the guy's voice.

“I'm sorry,” Ted says, “They have my--” and the rest is lost.

$$$$

There's the familiar marimba of a hangover through my head and the dry throat and mouth, scratchiness. My eyes hurt but when I go to sit up, to cover my eyes I find my arms are strapped—my legs too. It's leathery, what I'm laying on and has a weird head rest thing. It's a chair but it's it's in a reclining position, not a board or a bed or anything like that.

This is the worst hangover I've had since Evi's wake.

Where is Ted? That fucker putting shit my beer...

“Ah, Crocker, so glad you can rejoin us,” I can't place the voice, “Your head should ease up soon I imagine,” I should know that voice.

“What the Hell is going on?” I should not have demanded so loudly as far as my head is concerned but fuck this. I test how much give the arm braces have not much. They're thick flat straps with buckles though when I shift angles I can just make out the guy.

He steps closer. Mother fucker.

“Really, Wallace? This is a long way to go to get a date. I didn't think you were into this sort of thing...I can hook you up with someone who is actually interested, you know?” My head is actually starting to clear some which is a little odd, to say the least.

Following Wallace's eye movements there must be at least one other person in the room. I should have realized when I saw the guys a few weeks back that they weren't operating on their own but how in the hell are they in New York?

“I'm not interested in that,” he snaps, “I'm interested in money. You owe us money.”

“Since...when?” there's an uneasy feeling in my stomach which has nothing to do with his attempt at a threatening stance. It's easy to do something like that when the person you're talking to is attached to an immovable object. It's more to do with the way my headache is clearing up.

“Two-fold compensation at this point I'd say,” there's that glance off to the side and a noise of agreement from someone, no two someones.

“Our business ended years ago. You cut me off in the clear.”

“After you said you wanted nothing more to do with our trade. Too good for it all of a sudden,” he looks offended, but all's well with that. I knew it wasn't good for a junkie trying to get clean to keep delivering drugs, especially not the one he was using, “I was generous letting our ties go. I could have sent people after you...” of course who is to say he didn't and they just couldn't find me because they had no idea I was in Haven or that I had the Cape Rouge which was my intent, “and then you—you think I don't know you sent the authorities after us in Montserrat?”

He's not wrong but he doesn't need to—my limbs are starting to feel both heavy and floaty at the same time. It's so familiar and wonderful and I just want to lie back into—fuck, fuck.

“Fuck. What did you do to me?”

“A little something to make you more cooperative. I know how much you loved it.”

And he's not wrong. Fuck. It's so...

“So...to that money you owe us,” Wallace continues.

I shift my arms trying to pull things but everything is going loopy, and my stomach is churning as though we're in the roughest of seas when I turn to look at him, “I don't...in...the clear.”

“Compensation,” he counters, “because not only did you turn us in then but I'm sure that Ali telling us that he thought he saw you and them getting done has nothing to do with each other.”

“I can't...” and then it's coming up, “I don't...” and the burger is reappearing.

There's angry voices blurring back and forth and I feel a chunk of the hair on the back of my head being yanked up as my chest heaves and aches and everything spins about. I can't tell if I'm floating backwards or forwards and then there's flat surface meeting me.

%%%%% 

“How the hell much did you give him?” I hear from above me. Cold ground. Concrete.

“I didn't think it was that much but I don't know with whatever else was in his system,” another voice.

There's a familiar light feeling in my head and limbs but my mouth tastes nasty. Where am I? Who was I working with? Stay still. If I open my eyes slightly I can see feet through my hair. Someone's wearing converse shoes and someone else boots.

“Just keep an eye on him right now. He's too out of it to get any answers and if he chokes to death or something the boss is not going to be happy. Make sure he doesn't roll on his back.”

“Why do I--?”

“Because you're the one who gave him that much.” They're on the far side, but one is sort of turned in my direction. I can shift a little and let out small grumbling noises, something hopefully I'm just sick and unwell sounding and feel around on my jacket for something I can use. Nothing in pockets, but loose button I pull it while coughing and hear them arguing with each other about checking on me. I roll slightly so I can see more of where they're at and then flick it off something metal, barely; everything's not quite oriented but it's not as though this is unusual for me...but this seems...wrong because he wouldn't...but that's—maybe that was wrong? Fuck it. Get out of this shit first.

I roll all the way on to my back now that they're being all paranoid about the weird skittery noise and make the coughing louder, hiccuping and doing my best to assure them I'm about the puke up my insides while hoping that I will not actually puke up my insides while faking it.

There's a mini argument between them about who is coming over to make sure I'm okay.

“I don't want to get puke on my shoes,” one mutters.

“You have more than that to worry about that if he chokes to death.”

Footsteps come closer. Yes. Closer and I can push you down. Blue and white shoes and the shiny hitch that is a knife in a sock. Dumb ass. That's even better. He reaches to move my shoulder and I yank it and stab it in his foot. He screams and I rip it out slam him over and throw the knife at the other guy but it goes off and doesn't hit him, clanging off something else as I pull myself to my feet. Staying balanced is tricky. I feel more unsteady than I can think of in a long time and then someone hard slams into me and knocks me to the ground we slide a little way and I can see the knife and reach for it. The sleeve of my jacket pulls up and I see them—the hearts around my wrist. Tiny mistress.

This is that body. So, why am I high? Duke would never. Who are these people?

I can't grab the knife but I can—what are the codes? Fuck it. I grab the tattoo and squeeze as hard as I can while I try to kick him off me. Then the other guy grabs my arm and pulls me to the side and wraps an arm around my neck.

“What the hell is going on in here?” a third voice demands.

“He was faking the whole thing!” the arm round my neck pulls me to my feet.

“He just stabbed me in the fucking foot!”

Wait. I did! I slam my foot down on a foot but it's apparently not the right one, someone or something hits me in the head sending me reeling a bit and then I'm wrestled backwards and slammed into something covered in squeaky plasticy leathery...it's like a dentist's chair two of them are holding my arms and the new third person my legs. I try to place him but I can't. They wrestle my arms and legs into leather straps and tie them down. My legs are straight but my arms are turned so the insides are face up and my stomach drops because I think I know why Duke is high now and I'm more determined to get the fuck out of here even as I realize that my wrist is pulsing, has been pulsing—the tattoo is—Julia is answering me, which means she knows something is wrong and she'll be on her way possibly with other people, but I...don't know where I am...exactly. If this isn't Haven there's no telling how long it'll take...

There has to be a way...

“Now,” the one who came in while we were fighting says. He's turned around and I can hear a sound and smell a scent that's all too familiar: the burning and bubbling turning powder into liquid, “we were discussing your compensating us.”

“Compensating you? I'm the one being held hostage here.”

He turns around needle in hand. I can't put a number on how many times I must have had one over the years and how sweet it was, but it needs to be far, far away from me. There is no give in these straps though, and strong arms are on mine from above, and I look up in to this person's face. I'm not sure if this is the guy whose foot I stabbed or not because they're not talking but they look familiar. They're upside down which doesn't help.

“I'll explain, again,” he says, with false graciousness, “you owe us for lost revenue, lost merchandise, and, I'd say pain and suffering, wouldn't you?”

“I would,” the guy holding me nods. Okay, so he doesn't have a damaged foot.

“Definitely, additionally now. Unless I get to stab him in the foot.”

“Plus the shoes,” fine foot guy says.

“Right. Right. These are limited edition.”

“Maybe you shouldn't wear them to work then,” I point out.

“I know you, Crocker, you're going to have back-up plans. You have to have money stashes in places. I bet you even have one here. You came here enough for us.”

So, not Haven. Fuck. I never had jobs that brought me too Haven, other than for the Guard, so I bet Duke didn't have any either especially as these guys have drugs and what was it...he broke connections with those people back when he got theCape. Julia said that was when she was a...teenager.

“You're not getting anything,” I tell him. I'm sure he's right and Duke has some but even if I had any idea where they were I wouldn't say.

“I thought you might say that,” he says, “Hold him,” he tells the guy behind me, but apparently he was talking to both of them because they're suddenly both on me, one with his body over the top of mine, keeping my left arm down, ignoring my attempts at damaging him, and the other holding my right arm still, rolling up the sleeve.

“Get off me,” is all I can really manage but at least I feel like I'm doing something instead of just ineffectively clawing at the one guy.

I feel him flicking at my arm and then the jab and the warmth spreading down my arm and up as well towards my shoul—ahhh, damn it, fuck it's too good. If there was...no.

“How are you feeling now?” he asks, “More cooperative?”

It's hard to glare at him when my brain is slipping off into unwilling bliss. I can barely feel my hands in the straps. I remember this so well. I want to roll back into it like I have so many times sitting in a corner of the Ursa rolling into the light spaces between memory but this is not and I can't. I don't care how awesome wonderful it is.

I would spit at him but the dry mouth is already there. Nothing doing.

“No,” I tell him, “You're fucking kidding me. Sticking me full of this shit and expect...” money it was money but he cuts in.

“Oh,” he says, “So that's how it is. Well, then I'll be back in a little while and we'll chat again. You guys stay here and make sure he doesn't get out this time.”

“What about--” foot guy starts.

“I'll send Evan down with some bandages,” he answers. I can almost hear him shaking his head in annoyance given the sigh in his voice.

I try to lift my head and see where he's going as a door open and closes but my head won't cooperate to lift up. Fucking heroin. Fuck you.

%%%%% 

Someone is smacking my face. I go to grab their hand, hit them with my other fist but I meet resistance. My arms are restrained. Right. Straps. Weird chair. People. I look myself over. Jeans, shoes. Denim shirt. The right sleeve rolled up, welts from where they've jabbed in the needle full of smack, one, two...maybe three? Scratch lines. Maybe just screwing it up because of them not knowing how properly, me not cooperating.

Heart chain tattooed around the wrist. Yes. Right.

These guys...abducted Duke because they think he owes them money. They want money from a safe stash he might have. Right. How long have we been here? It can't have been that long. It can't have been. Tiny mistress would move heaven and earth.

My eyes are achy, starting to come down from the high. I can feel the itchiness in my arms, across my chest. Well one thing for the straps I won't be scratching our skin off.

“What's so funny, Crocker?”

Seriously? I can't come up with anything better than 'your face'? Stupid junkie brain.

“So original,” he counters.

The door is opened, “He's awake boss.”

The guy who shot me up comes back in. He already has a loaded needle in his hand which the guy at the door seems to find amusing. I move my feet around testing the limits of that strap but nothing doing there, annoyingly, even with the way my legs are twitching a bit it's just making things hurt and annoying me and I find myself shifting in the chair trying to scratch my back but that's just an exercise in frustration too given all it really does is make the chair surface creak and squeak.

“Problems?” This 'boss' man asks, “Not feeling so good?”

“What's it matter?” I ask him, “I'm still not telling you anything.”

“Well, what do you think?”

I realize after a moment he's not talking to me. He's talking to Stabbed-Foot and Boots.

“Should we offer it or deny it?”

“I think he's going to beg you,” Stabbed-Foot says.

“But not til next time,” Boots says, “Twenty on it.”

“Fuck you both,” I mutter, clenching my fists against the desire to scratch given I can't anyway.

“You're going to tell me where the closest one is,” he says, “the closest stash and if you don't I'm going to pump you full of this again,” he waves the syringe towards my face but he's standing a good ten feet away.

“No,” I tell him, “No. I am not.”

“Really?”

“No, I'm joking with you. I'm perfectly willing to suddenly tell you where thousands of dollars are,” I feel myself twitching then, “because—because you miraculously deserve it.”

Boots smacks me.

“Thanks,” I mutter.

We go back and forth for a few more bars. Him closing the gap because I'm either ignoring him when he talks or telling him to fuck off like it's the only thing I know how to say. Boots and Stabbed-Foot get into an argument with their boss who during the course of their discussion I've found out is called Wallace something I probably should know given I'm “Duke” about if they can rough me up some on top of Wallace's threats about shooting me up again.

“Maybe he's tricking you? Maybe he says he doesn't want it but he does...” one of them mutters. It's getting hard to differentiate their voices given my ears are hurting.

“No, he doesn't want it. I can tell. This isn't back then.”

“Then why?” I ask him, “Why the hell do you think you're going to get anything out of me?”

“One way or another this is going to work,” he says, “and then we get the satisfaction of turfing you out onto the street in the middle of nowhere just you and the monkey again,” he leans down but not close enough for me to actually reach any part of him even with my teeth, “maybe you'll even be crawling back to us for help with it, won't that be fun?” he's not talking to me again. It did only take one time the first time...and they apparently know that.

If this were me doing the questioning I'd be walking away about now because I'm clearly starting to hurt. I'm probably an hour or so away from retching and then I might be hard pressed not to beg him for something because I am sore, and after throwing up I'm gonna be even more sore and itchy, oh so very drive you mad itchy and not able to scratch. I remember it so, so well how bonkers it makes you when you can scratch. So, leave me alone for a while, let me stew. Let me sit with my own thoughts and the pain and let me cry.

But then, “No?” he asks, “Nothing for me? No bank name? No storage locker at a station or an airport maybe?”

I shake my head. Ah, right. I should have remembered the dizziness too. Why do I always forget that?

“Really? Not even a hole in the ground somewhere?”

“Do I look that stupid?”

“Alright then. I warned you,” he makes a head motion towards Boots who grabs my right arm between the wrist and elbow and then between elbow and shoulder and holds tight I buck against him and fight, “I told you,” Wallace says, “this will go easier if you are still,” he addresses to me.

“Because I want that,” I say, sarcastically. If the fuss keeps up maybe with all the extra people around something on the damn chair will break. The only thing that does right now though is the surface of my skin and into the vein and there we go again. I'm suddenly absorbed by the pattern on Stabbed-Foot's shirt as he gets bitched at by Wallace for not helping hold me down this time.

“I'll be back in a half hour,” he says, “Don't rough him up...too much in the mean time and don't let him out.”

Maybe one of these assholes will have a Trouble.

%%%%% 

I couldn't get either of them to bleed any more and I'm kicking myself for not getting Stabbed-Foot's blood on me in the first place, that could well have fixed this problem way back. Though I'd possibly be lost in the middle of nowhere crashing and disoriented...better than this? Common sense isn't so sure.

There's another hazy round of questioning as I'm starting to come down and fuck-offs, followed by being pinned in the chair because I can still move slightly and won't keep my arm still for them to shoot me full of heroin for some strange reason and I keep hoping if I wrestle enough something in the chair will give and I'll be able to fight my way out.

The next time he comes back though...there's a small ray of sunshine that's not just a hallucination from all the opiate in my system. Boots is pulling my arm into position and I swear I hear a clinking from the buckle and as I shift my wrist there's an ability to wiggle it that wasn't there before. I need to sort it out but at the moment I'm flying away and I might as well be on the moon for all the good it's doing me.

When things start mellowing down though I shift my hand carefully in the strap and look at my wrist. The hook on the buckle is almost out of it's hole. I look to see where Books and Stabbed-Foot are. They're sitting over on the left of me playing some sort of card game given I'm still out of it as far as they can tell. I carefully shift my head so that my hair covers my eyes and I can watch them as I carefully waggle my wrist some more in the strap and I can feel it loosening more until there's a faint clinking sound and the strip loosens as the buckle gives and it's all I can do to not let out a whoop. Gotta hold on to sneaky. Sneaky. And not roll back into the float. Not back into it.

It's going to be harder to get my other arm free without them noticing but I have to try. I have the first part of the buckle undone when Boots notices and comes running over to grab me and stop me. I head butt him, and pull the buckle the rest of the way and scrabble for my feet while Boots pulls himself back up. Stabbed-Foot instead of coming to help Boots runs for the door and yells for Wallace and then comes back. I don't have my feet free yet and they slam me back into the chair each holding an arm by the side of my head when Wallace comes in. I at least have the satisfaction that blood is running down Boots' face and his nose looks decidedly fucked up.

“You're really getting on my nerves,” Wallace remarks.

Oh, I'm so sorry, “That's interesting,” I pull against them, “because you're getting on mine,” my hands are still free of the bindings at least. Maybe I can get free of one of them given Wallace is likely going to ramble and engage them in “witty” banter might distract them enough that they loosen their hold slightly on one or both of my arms.

“It's in your best interests to keep still,” Wallace says, “there are other places I can stick the needle—you want to risk going blind in one eye?”

Sure the arm is better than the eye. I remember the difficulty of shooting in the tear duct myself. Didn't stop me doing it at times. Just not first thing when I was way too shaky then it was find whatever vein in arm, leg, foot or hand I could.

I gnash my teeth in the direction of Boots and Stabbed-Foot but don't say anything. Just try and grab my face. Go on. Wallace preps the needle and then comes over to where Stabbed-Foot is standing and pulls my left arm down, holding the needle up.

“Where do you have money close by?” he asks, “For that matter where's the two grand we gave to Ted for the booze?”

“What?” I ask him. The words not quite making sense. Then it unfolds and I realize this is why we're wherever we are—some sort of delivery—clearly a set up now.

Shit—I got myself distracted I feel the needle jab into my vein and them strapping my arms down again as things start to blur away from me. I could swear someone pats my face and there's a vague idea of someone saying words in my direction something about seeing me in a little while. I have to focus, find something to focus—where's Boots bloody nose?

Is that? I could swear there's a banging noises coming from somewhere in front of me. Focus. Pull things together. Don't lean in. Don't. Where's Boots? There's another thud. Good distractions have to move. That buckle is broken. It broke, right?—I pull at it again hoping for loosening. My arm feels like jello and I'm not sure I'm doing anything. I can only vaguely feel anything moving and then another thud and I feel a pulsing on my wrist the way only Julia can do—is that her? On the side of me and a shape on the floor in Stabbed-Foot's colors?

“Baby,” Julia's voice cuts through the haze, “You're safe now, baby. Tiny Mistress Julia is here.”

I try to find the source of her voice. Where is she at?

“I'm going to get you free, okay?” she sounds, closer. I feel her hand calming the movement of the one working at the broken strap and taking it off, and then she kisses my hand, and the warmth of her body leaning over me to undo the other strap. She kisses that hand and my forehead, and I feel her hands running through my hair, “Baby? Can you talk? How are you doing?” She moves away and I feel the straps on my legs loosening.

I need to get up. We need to get out of here before someone else shows up, “Julia?” I ask her, and push up with my arms, but I meet the bed again very quickly.

“Baby! Careful,” she's at my side where I can see. I can make her face out more clearly as she brushes my hair away from my face, out of my mouth. Then I feel her hands in mine, “it's okay. I'm here. You're safe, okay? You're safe,” I feel the tattoo pulsing again, and then she kisses my forehead, “Just lie still until your head's less—until you've come down a bit more, okay? I'm right here, close by.” I didn't take it on purpose. She has to know that. I have to tell her, but my mouth doesn't seem to be working the words because she says, “It's okay, just wait and tell me in a bit. I've just got to move these guys. I'll be right back.” The tattoo pulses again. Three beats. I let mine answer her given my words don't word right at the moment.

“I'm sorry I'm like this but I didn't take it,” I tell Julia. She comes back into my field of vision, “I didn't want it. I didn't,” I reach for her. I'm not sure if she's understanding what I'm saying, “They—they made me. They put it--”

“Baby, calm down,” I feel her hands on my face, and more light touches, kisses, “It's okay. Just relax. Enjoy it. Whatever it is we'll talk about it when you can actually talk, okay? Do you understand me? I'm not angry. I know what's going on. It's okay. I'll be back, okay? I need to deal with these guys before they wake up,” she kisses me and brushes a hand through my hair before moving away again. My head is light and airy where she touches and I follow the glow of her as she moves out of my field of vision and I close my eyes and actually lean in to it this time. 

%%%%%

“Baby?” I feel a cautious hand on my shoulder, warm, tender.

I open my eyes, carefully, the feel heavy. My mouth is so very dry but Julia is in better focus and my head is clearer. I can push myself up with a more steadiness but I'm still not quite where I'd like to be. Julia puts her arms around me and wraps me in a tight hug putting one hand on the back of my head.

“It's okay, Baby,” she whispers, “I've got you.”

“I didn't take it,” my voice is hoarse but it actually seems to be working.

“I know. I know,” she says, “I saw what they were doing to you,” she kisses me and I feel like my mouth might crack as I kiss back I'm so dried out, “We need to get you out of here, okay?” She pats my legs, “I've got you, okay? Can you turn?” With her arm around my shoulders we get me swiveled on the chair and my feet swung around to the floor feeling a little mushy when they touch down. Julia lets me brace myself on her shoulders and leads me towards the door. I can hear people echoing around in other rooms.

“Who came with you?” I ask her, swallowing as much as I can trying to force saliva to form.

“Audrey, Dwight, a couple of cops: Stan and Rebecca,” she says, “and a contingent of Guard,” she pauses for a moment, “Mike Gallagher is one of them.”

We're moving slowly towards what I assume is the outside.

“The Guard are gone though. It's just Gallagher left and the others. Locals law enforcement are here now collecting the gift-wrapped drug dealers. It's been just over an hour since they shot you up,” she adds, gently, “How long are we going to have until the crash gets bad?”

“There's lots of things that could...two to four hours, I guess.”

We skirt around a small group of policemen and out into the day. Dwight and the other two cops are talking to some who must be some of these locals. Audrey and Mike are who we're heading for they're standing to the side near a van and Dwight's truck.

Audrey comes rushing up and then hesitates in front of me, “It's so good too—I'm glad you're safe,” she makes a gesture and I consent to her hugging me.

Julia goes into the truck, opens a bottle of water and offers it to me. I take a few tentative sips. I wonder exactly how long it's been since I've had anything to drink given how the body seems to be soaking up the moisture. Julia's looking at Gallagher expectantly.

“We've been all round,” he says, “No sign of it.”

“Sloppy,” she mutters.

“What is?” I ask, voice less scratchy now that I'm comfortable enough to take larger swigs of water.

“They didn't grab Duke's truck,” she says, “I don't suppose you have any idea where it is.”

“I don't even know where we are right now,” I tell them, “I've narrowed it down to not Haven but still in the U.S most likely.”

“That's kinda what I thought,” she kisses my cheek.

“We're in New York state,” Audrey fills in, “but unless they somehow took the entire truck apart...”

“That would require actual skill,” Julia begins.

I look over to where Dwight, Stan and Rebecca are with the other cops. Dwight is saying something and by his expression it looks like he might have already said it before at least twice, “--arver not Crocker,” he explains, “it's not the first time it's happened, believe me. He's not going to press charges on the kidnapping he just wants to get home as soon as possible because of the medical condition I already mentioned.”

The other cop says something I can't make out and Dwight shakes his head.

“Believe me he and his wife know how to manage things. That's not necessary and would make things ten times worse. Familiar surroundings are the best bet. She has all the things they need.”

“Cam,” Julia says.

I turn back to her a little to quickly and put my hand against the truck to stay steady, “You guys got quite the tale together.”

“Yeah,” she nods, “We had time,” she looks more than a little frustrated about that.

I kiss her, “Poor tiny mistress. You must have been so mad you couldn't teleport the vans.”

“You have no idea,” she says.

“I remember thinking at some point about you bending time and space.”

“Baby,” she says, reaching up to put her hand on my cheek, “We need to know where Duke's truck is so we can get on the way home before things get bad. I need you to try and switch now, okay? I'm sorry.”

“It's him you should--” I start, “I think I wound up out because he was not doing so good at all—and the puking. They had thrown us on the floor to stop us chok--” I probably shouldn't explain these things.

“Baby...” Julia says, in the same tones when hearing about things in the time line that spawned me.

“I was able to stab one of them in the foot because of that,” I point out. That should make things better, “but anyway...I just wanted to warn you because I'm worried that when he comes forward i—he might just kinda fall over. I'm hoping he can still tell you things.”

Julia and Audrey exchange looks and Gallagher leans around to look towards what Dwight is doing.

“Okay,” Julia rubs a hand down my arm, “What can we do to make it easier on Duke?”

I can't think right now. I'm just trying not to freak myself out internally because what if he does just pass out? I can remember being shot up at least five times, and there were three welts, one of which was probably what they did after they slapped me back in the chair after I stabbed the one guy in the foot.

“Maybe you should just sit down already,” Audrey points out. 

 Not a bad idea. I can't believe I didn't think of that. I keep my hand against the truck and slide down so my back is against the wheel, and try to fade back in a different way than when I was floating back into the heroin high. I'm not sure how exactly...it's like I've sort of forgotten how this works. I almost feel like I should be walking down a street calling his name.

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.