Ami-chan Writes

 

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

“It's okay, Boss, easy, easy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was I...? out loud?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Already on it,” he says.

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

“Boring,” I tell her.

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

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

“But you love me.”

“I do.”

 

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

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

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

 

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

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

I turn to her, slowly, “Here?”

“Your truck,” she says.

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

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

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

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

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

“Checking money.”

“Can you even work the lock right now?”

“I...” it doesn't...

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

I feel the door slam shut.

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

“I don't want to.”

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

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

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

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

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

%%%%%

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

“How are you doing, baby?”

I look around, “We found the truck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm,” I tell her.

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

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

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

I drop the clothes into the bag.

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

I shrug.

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

I chew my lip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” I tell her, “Thank you.”

“Of course, baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dizzy,” I tell her, “Warm.”

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

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

“You want some water?” she asks.

I shake my head.

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” I tell her.

“Okay,” she says, softly, “Okay.”

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

“How are we doing?”

“We're doing,” Julia answers.

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

“Yeah,” Stan echoes.

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

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

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

“Fine,” I answer, “Let's just go.”

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

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

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

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

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

%%%%%

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

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

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

“What would I say?”

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

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

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

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

The door slams back open again.

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is not how today was supposed to...

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

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

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

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

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

%%%%%

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

“Cam!”

It's loud. I have to—where is—what?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How's your hand feeling?”

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

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

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

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

“Where?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I don't argue with her this time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If tiny mistress says.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She doesn't...

“Baby, what's wrong?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cam...” she starts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

   

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.

 I'm starting to turn everything on, and about to pull up the anchor when the nausea hits so hard. I don't make it to the bathroom but there was a bucket out on the kitchen floor and I flop down and puke in that and then just lay by it for a moment catching my breath.

I must fall asleep because I wake up, achy and sore, but I can pull myself to my feet and back to the cockpit.

No, apparently I can't.

It fucking hurts. It feels like my legs are tearing themselves apart as I try to stand and my arms are going to pull out of their sockets when I reach for the counter tops to pull up with. Fuck, fuck, holy fuck. But I can't chicken out of it this time. I threw the shit overboard. I'm pretty sure I got all of it. I did, didn't I? There isn't any in the bathroom, or behind the...? No.

No. Fuck.

I roll carefully on to my side.

Come on. Don't be a fucking wimp.

 

There's that shrieking almost laughing scream. Makes my ears ring. Vibrating through my teeth and skull. I want to run but I'm also fixed to the ground, and in front of me his face—his skin almost melts away as the tentacle? Fleshy pink tentacle disappears out of view and he falls down screaming a different scream.

Everything's vibrating and he's chasing, tongue lashing...and growly rumble from all around. Creaking, light shifts. No—wait...

 

I turn, careful. Light shift. Shadowy shapes.

“No, he's here...” I know the voice, “Do you smell that?”

“He's sick...” I know her voice too.

I try to move, but I'm still tearing and snapping myself into pieces. Fuck. I'm going to cry. It hurts so much.

“Duke?” she asks, crouching down by me. I feel a hand reaching to my head, and flinch away it hurts, but the connection is made at the same time, “You're burning up.”

“I'll rinse this out,” he says, “You...”

“Yeah,” she says, “I'll find a way to cool him off,” she rubs my forehead again. Her hand feels so cool. I want to lean into it, but I...I shouldn't, “Stay,” she says to me, and I can just make out her blurry form as she goes towards the sink.

I don't see him. Him. Nathan. Nathan, you idiot. Nathan came with her. I try to shift around, especially when I hear Nathan's tread angry stalking towards me where I'm lying on the floor where Julia lowered me after feeling my forehead.

Nathan crouches down, “What is this?” he demands, shoving something close to my face.

Is there still something here? Can I take the pain away? No. I don't—I screw my eyes shut for a moment, and open them again. It's just a bag with three needles and a plastic tie. I must have left it out when I threw the dope over board. I did kinda just do that and then pilot for a bit and then crash out in bed before I changed my mind and tried to dive for it or some stupid shit.

“Duke?” he says, again.

I can barely make out his face, but I know his mouth's gotta be in that thin line and his knuckles are probably white gripping the bag so tightly.

“Nathan?” Julia says, softly and I feel her kneeling close to me and putting her hand on my shoulder, urging me to move closer, but I can't.

“I fucked up,” I tell them, forcing my mouth to work, “I fucked up, but I threw it away. I threw it over board. I swear. I swear it's gone. It's gone. I swear,” Red hot lines are searing their way down my face as Nathan shoves me up towards Julia and she puts something cool and wet over my face and carefully wraps an arm around my shoulder.

I hear footsteps and then, a door open and close again after a small burst of sea air.

Julia moves the towel to the back of my neck, “You seem like you have a pretty high fever, Boss. What did you do to yourself?”

“Something stupid.”

“Don't say that.”

“You saw what he had, didn't you?” I move away from her as best I can.

“Duke,” she says, “I don't care what he had. I care that you're sick. Come here and let me help you. You have a fever. Do you have any ibuprofen or anything?”

I shake my head, but that was a dumb shit thing to do because I start to feel sick again, and then it's retching.

She moves quickly around in front of me though, “Shit. He didn't bring back the bucket.”

She just holds my hair as it goes on to the floor. Fortunately there wasn't much left in me and she mops it up with the towel, and then goes and rinses it out in the sink and goes into the bathroom. I lay down on the floor again.

“We should probably get you out of your shirt. It'll help you cool off,” she points out coming back with the bucket, “and get some water in you at least. You don't need to be puking bile if that happens again.”

“I guess,” I mumble to the floor.

“You're dripping with sweat,” she says, crouching down next to me, “and you're wearing a long sleeve shirt. I don't care how thin the material is it's still not helping, especially if you have a tank or something underneath like you usually do...”

The door opens again and Nathan comes back in, “How is it going?” he asks. I'm not sure which of us he's talking to.

“He threw up,” Julia says, “I'm trying to get him to take his shirt off to help with the fever...” she sits down next to me, “because he says he doesn't have any meds or anything on board.”

“Idiot,” Nathan remarks.

“I know,” I tell him, “I shouldn't have...”

“No,” he says, crouching in front of me, “but you did.”

“I tried before,” I tell him, “I did—but it didn't work,” that's not the right way to put it. It's not like trying to fix an engine or something, “I didn't work. I gave up. It hurt too much. I fucked up,” I'm picking at the deck but I can't stop, “I just...”

“What is it?” he asks.
“What?”

“What are we dealing with genius? So we know how to help better.”

Fuck. Fuck. But I have to. I need to admit it. It'll help or some shit, right? My name's Duke and I'm a dope fiend. Hello, Duke.

Julia pulls my hand away from the deck and holds it.

“Heroin,” I tell them.

I hear more than see Nathan rock back on his heels and then stand up, “I'll be in the cockpit,” he says, “the sooner we get back to Haven the better. Do your best to keep him comfortable.”

“No shit,” Julia answers, “You think you can make it to the bedroom?” she asks me, “or maybe take a cool shower?” there's an odd tone there, “I can't believe you don't have painkillers,” she tuts at me, “We need to fix that.”

“Hmph,” I tell her, as we hear the rattling sound of Nathan drawing up the anchor.

“Come on,” she says, “Let's get you to the bed. Much comfier than the floor, and then we'll get this damn shirt off you.”

It takes a little bit of maneuvering but we get me turned around and then up on my feet, and shuffle through to the bedroom and flopped down onto the bed on my back. Then she's yanking on my shirt. Normally this would be the beginning of a great fantasy but right now I want to sink through the keel and to the bottom of the sea. I can feel us moving off now. It seems slow, but I don't remember when Nate last piloted her. He's probably getting a feel for the controls.

“Duke Crocker,” she scolds, sounding scarily like her mother and I relent pushing up as best I can on to my forearms and then up some more. I will not puke. Not like there's anything left to puke. For a moment there's a creepy thing in shadow behind her, but I know it's not there. It's not there.

We get my shirt off. It takes a little bit more...finagling, but she's right. It's damp, stuck to me, once it's off I'm shivering for a moment, and then I'm hot again as soon as she grabs a blanket. Stupid fever. Stupid me.

“Stop saying that,” she says, sitting down next to me. I've curled up against the back wall on top of the pillows.

“What?”

“You're not stupid,” she says.

“Got myself in this mess,” I counter, “That was pretty fucking stupid.”

“Why?” she asks, leaning against the wall herself but facing ahead, she glances over at me, “Why did you do it?” there's anger in her voice, confusion maybe? I'm not sure, “I doubt you just woke up one morning and said 'hey, I think I'll try heroin', so why...?” her voice almost cracks through me at the end and I'm sorta glad she's turned away from me.

I have to snort then because she's right, I didn't just go find someone and be like 'give me a sample of that my good man I'm bored with coffee'. I just...how do I fucking explain December without sounding like I've gone off the deep end or like I wasn't already on something?

“Fine...” she mutters, sounding both angry and disappointed.

“No,” I tell her, “It just...his face--” I can hear the words in my head but I don't know if I'm saying the words at all, that weird sound as it wrapped around his face and then his face wasn't there any more, and it was just, and the eyes pulling out...and him falling down, and the thing it's screeching noise, and the screaming laugh, and it just...disappearing and reappearing, “You know they say the Troubles are gone right, but they're not. They're not gone. They're just gone in Haven, and this—this was in New Orleans, and it just—it kept. I keep seeing it, but it's not there,” I realize she's holding me, and she's stroking my head, “went out a few times after trying for distraction and to forget the shit that happened, like maybe it wasn't a thing. Maybe it wasn't—and you know, hey, still alive, and it was a stupid good,” I snort again, “good...” because that's not even, “and you just,” fuck I shouldn't think about it. I don't have any. I don't need any. I don't need any. I don't. I don't. Fuck.

“Stop! STOP!” she's grabbing my head and I realize I was banging it against the wall, but then I'm pulled against her chest instead, and held there.

She's—I—what? I'm about to pull back but she's shaking--? And the sound?

Fuck. Idiot. She's crying. You made her cry. Asshole.

“I'm sorry,” I try to say I don't want to pull away for several reasons.

“I'm worried for you,” she says, through everything.

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't hurt yourself, please.”

“I didn't me--”

“But you were,” she says, squeezing me tightly against her and shifting her position on the bed. She has her back against the wall I realize. I'm still warm. She's warm. She's comfy. I should m—I'm just gonna stay still. The boat's moving around enough. I can feel her hand caressing the back of my head as I lay against her and try to listen just to her chest instead of my own heart racing against itself.

 

That's collision. I sit up—well, I try to I'm being held—then I remember—and she's still here?

“Julia?”

“Why are you so confused?” she asks, carefully letting go, and holding her arms out at ready as I pull away.

“You're still—what did we hit?”

“Nathan's docking—we're docking at Haven harbor,” she says, “and what did you mean 'you're still?' I'm still what?”

“Aren't you going to get in trouble?” I should go help Nathan, does he know where things are? I start towards the side of the bed but everything is so much jello.

“What are you trying to do?” Julia is there to catch me, “and it's not like I'm missing school...”

“That's not what I meant,” I tell her, “and...” she takes the hand I was trying to point to the door with.

“And?” she asks, though she is helping me stand up.

“Help Nathan,” I tell her.

“Help Nathan...” she's staring as though I just told her I was going to sprout wings, though my stomach is starting to grumble at me, but that's a whole other--“Duke—no, that's not...”

“What's not?” Thankfully we're close to the bathroom because it's not puke, and, thankfully again, urgency gets my feet working, and I manage to get inside and slam the door behind me before anything explodes.

“This is why I'm not leaving you alone to go help Nathan!” Julia calls through the door, “and you're obviously not going to be able to help him.”

I don't say anything because I'm too busy silently praying to something I don't believe in that my intestines stay in my body. There's a jolt I recognize as the anchor hitting sea bed and I just try to focus on the boat's motion as it settles into the lull of being in one spot and not what's going on with me. Thankfully it stops after a little while longer. I have to wait while the tank refills from the mid experience flush and I can make out Julia and Nathan talking but not exactly what's being said, and cautiously mop myself up and wash and flush again, and pull myself back together.

There's nothing in here, Crocker.

You're just gonna have to suck it up and power on through.

Another however many lovely days of this bullshit. That wasn't so bad, right? Maybe an hour of soreness...yeah...that can't be...I can't be that lucky.

“You coming out?” Nathan wraps on the door, “Because I will break it down and make sure you weren't lying about the drugs...again.”

I pull open the door, “There's nothing in here.”

“You don't sound to happy about that,” he remarks.

“Well, I don't feel to great right now,” I retort, “Feel free to check, again. I'm sure you did earlier.”

“I'm sure you've got hiding places I don't know about.”

He has a point, but they are empty and the whole point of having hiding places he doesn't know about is so he doesn't know about them and doesn't go telling his father and therefore the whole police force. He's staring me down though.

“There's nothing here,” I sigh, “If there was I would have—okay, there's probably a 75% chance I would have taken it, okay?”

“So, there's a 25% chance there's something here?” he says, “Is that what you're saying?”

“No,” I put my hands up towards him, “There's nothing here. I swear.”

“You swear?” he shakes his head, “Like you swore in December?” there's sarcasm there, “because that was obviously a bunch of crap.”

Fuck. December...

“Look--” I start, but I'm not sure what to say on that, because...things.

Nate leans against the wall, “Yes?” he says.

I sigh. My head's starting to throb, “So...I wasn't drunk.”

“Yeah,” he says, “We established that; but there was something and you convinced me. I believed you because how did you put it? 'Why would you do that to me?' was that it? You weren't going to lie to me. You weren't going to do that.”

“What can I say?” I tell him, “I've already said I was an idiot, and I fucked up. I was high.”

“It was heroin then?” he asks.

I nod, “It's only been heroin since it started then. I mean I've smoked pot. You know there's been pot, but that's pot.”

He makes a disgruntled noise but then reluctantly nods. He probably realizes I've sold that pot to people...right? I shouldn't make any assumptions at this point.

“When did it start?”

“What?”

“The heroin,” he says, moving one hand near my head, “When did it start?”

I have to think. Why is he making me think?

“Duke...” he has warning tone.

“It's not like I keep a diary,” I snap, “but maybe two weeks before I came back? I don't know...”

He runs his hands around his head, and exhales slowly, and then turns away for a moment and then turns back, “Alright then.”

I lean against the wall and then slide down it to sit, standing is a pain. Nathan sits on the edge of the bed facing me, “You know it's April, right? You missed her birthday.”

“I know. That's what--”

“That hurt her.”

I have to swallow then. It's not like...I thought she might have been angry or annoyed but...

“Tell me you at least brought her a present,” he says, “Getting clean is not an acceptable birthday gift. That's something you should have done before now anyway.”

“Fuck, Nate.”

“Don't 'Fuck, Nate' me. You have to make it up to her.”

I scrub my head, “I mean to, and I do have something for her. Really, I do. It was that—realizing what time it was—when it was, I mean...”

He leans forward, and I look over at him. He's searching my face for lies.

“...it's suddenly the end of March—and all these people, and no way to get back in time, and I'm just like fuck what am I doing? I swore I'd never...”

He leans back again that grimace on his face. I'm starting to feel cold. What did she do with my shirt?

“You're an idiot,” he says.
“I know. I said that.”

“What even got you into--?” he starts, “If this was to get in bed with some--”

“I'm not that much of an idiot,” I throw a shoe that's sitting nearby at him. It bounces off his calf and he cusses at me while rubbing the front of his leg and looking around to see where the missile went. Bet he wishes the Troubles were still active right now.

“How am I supposed to know?” he demands, “Feels like I know nothing about you any more right now.”

I lean back against the wall again.

“Well?” he asks.

“I feel like you'll say I'm lying.”

“How are you going to know unless you actually say?”

“I ran some—I ran something to New Orleans for Dad, right? Around the end of last year...”

“If you say so,” he replies, “I just know you went down there. Don't ask, don't tell.”

“Right,” Don't start scratching. I sit on my hands, but that's not comfortable so I stop, “Places the Ursa can get to that the Cape can't and so...anyway...that's how I was down there and things...went...”

“So, you had a bad job?” Nate is sarcastic because this is an equally stupid reason to become a junkie, not that the other reason was exactly great. Nothing is great. I just...

“You weren't there!” I snap at him, “and it wasn't—you didn't...and that wasn't—the guy brought. It wasn't even there at first.”

“What wasn't?” he asks.

Then there's a knock and Julia also says, “Knock, knock!” and Nate tells her that things are relatively safe, and she comes in the room closing the door behind her even though there's no one else on the boat, “You made it out of the bathroom,” she remarks.

“Yeah,” I muster, “I'm alive.”

“And confessing his sins...” Nathan says.

I shake my head.

Nathan almost manages a smile, “Getting into everything should help though, right? Aren't you supposed to tell your stories and make amends and things?”

“Are you gonna be my 12-steps now?” I mutter at him. I do need to find my fucking shirt though. It's getting cold in here.

“We're gonna be whichever steps you need,” Nathan retorts, “You told me you were coming back here. You said you fucked up and you threw it away. You're not going to get through this by yourself--”

Julia clears her throat from the other side of the room where she's opened my dresser, “I have to go to HPD in two hours to pick up some things Gloria said would help,” she says.

“What are you looking for?” Nathan asks me.

“My shirt, from yesterday.”

“Here,” Julia says, “A clean shirt. The other one is not good,” she points somewhere, and Nathan picks it up off the floor and then drops it again.

“Yes. You are not wearing that in my truck.”

“Where am I going in your truck?”

“Well, I'm not leaving you alone when I take Julia to get whatever it is she's getting from Gloria—” Julia tosses something else in the direction of the bed, “Here, you should probably put on fresh pants too, Boss. I'll turn around,” she faces the corner, “in case Nate needs to help you were kinda unsteady earlier, and you don't need to drive me.”

“But--” Nathan protests, offering me the pants. Which—she's right it probably is a good idea. I undo the pants and start to shrug them down where I'm still sitting on the ground. He bends down and yanks them by the bottom and pulls them off the rest of the way and then drops the clean pair on me.

“No, buts Nathan,” she says as I start pulling on the clean pair, “It'll be a lot less suspicious if I just bike on over to the morgue by myself like I do when I visit Mom all the—well, you know some of the time. No one needs to know it's not her I'm seeing. You can stay with Duke and make sure he doesn't get any stupid, crazy ideas that he'll regret later.”

I reluctantly let Nathan help me stand so I can pull the pants on the rest of the way. He hasn't said anything to Julia's comment, and remains quiet as I take off the tank top and put on the clean shirt.

I realize after a moment Julia's turned around when she starts up again, “Gloria said this would take a few days, at least, and that we...should keep him company. I'm thinking study sleepover at your house.”

At...Nate's...house?

At... “What--? No! Your house?” I point at him, and thankfully remain upright, “With your father?”

“Where else?” Nathan asks.

Fuck. I...can't go 'home', who knows what fucking drugs Carolina has there...and...

“My dad will scowl and maybe yell,” he continues, “Your dad will beat you.”

“...and my mom will skin you with a cheese grater,” Julia adds, “even if you weren't about to be...really sick.”

Fuck, but...I realize after a moment I've wrapped my arms around myself because I feel even colder, and I don't know that has anything to do with my body being super annoyed with the heroin that I should have taken by now. I don't even know if the Cape's in dock because I wasn't the one who moored us. If Dad's here it's not going to be too long before he knows I'm back in town and then he's going to come looking for me...they're right, we can't stay here. What was I—oh, right I wasn't thinking.

“So...” Julia continues, “I'm going to go pack for a few days before going over to HPD and my excuse will be telling Mom I'm going to stay at your place and study,” she taps her hand on the top of my dresser, “We should probably pack you a bag, too, Boss.”

“Right...” I walk towards her a bit but I...fuck, we're actually doing this...I sit down on the edge of the bed. Why did I come back here? I could have just gone some place else and avoided this whole situation. Dealt with this and they wouldn't have ever had to know. She's going to be there? How? It's not summer break? No, Nate said it was April. Fuck. Is it Spring Break? Way to go, Crocker.

I lean forward and scrub my scalp.

“Boss?” Julia asks, from near my left side, “I somehow don't think you have a suitcase, so you got a bag somewhere?”

“Right...um...it's...it'll be in the cubby over there...” I point to the small cabinet built into the wall.

Nathan opens the door and pulls the bag out, and then looks at the mess of various things in the cabinet and the bag pockets some of which are half open and with things half stuffed inside, “So, this...was a go bag?”

I sigh, “Yes, but it had stuff in it and there was...it was...but it went overboard.”

“Okay,” Nathan says, putting the bag down on the bed.

“That's good,” Julia says. She reaches towards me but then puts her hand down.

Good, right. Tell that to my itching shoulders. I lean forward and hold the back of my neck for a moment. I can hear someone rumbling around with things and clothes shoving them in the bag, and someone else goes in the bathroom and gathers things in there.

I need to get the thing I told Nate I had but Julia's right in here, and it's...shit...no, it's under the bed, in the cubby there.

Nathan gives a rundown of everything that he's put in the bag and sure, whatever.

“Okay, then,” he says.

“The motorboat!” Julia says, suddenly, “It needs to go back!”

“I'll take it,” Nathan says.
Julia hesitates for a moment.

“Who's going to say anything to your Mom?” he continues, “I'm sure not.”

She nods reluctantly. Not that I can really blame her not wanting to be stuck here by herself with me. Maybe I should go with Nathan but I don't think being in a motorboat would do me much good, and I don't need to be retching or shitting over something they've rented. Nathan pats his pockets for a moment produces a key and heads for the door, “I'll be back soon,” he says.

Julia follows him to the door, “Well, Boss. We better clean out your fridge. Don't want anything growing legs before you get back.”

“Yeah. Whatever,” I push myself off the bed and towards the door, as Nathan goes through the main cabin and out onto the deck.

Julia pokes my shoulder, “Get some fluids into you, too, considering you've been sweating so much I could wring your shirt out.”

“Right,” I follow her into the main cabin myself, and she has me sit at the table while she investigates the cabinets and the fridge and sets a glass of juice down hard on the table in front of me.

“Here,” she says, “Drink.”

I take a couple of sips of it, “Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” she replies, and then asks if I have any trash bags, for a while it's just sorting through what can be taken and what should be thrown away, out of the cabinets, and putting the first in a wooden transport crate and the others in the trash along with the bag of needles which Nathan apparently left on the counter.

As she goes back to the fridge I hear quietly, “I missed you.”

I swallow, toying with the glass for a while because I can't form the words, “I'm sorry I wasn't here,” for your birthday doesn't make it out but surely she realizes...

“You missed seeing me in a dress,” there is some teasing tone there, so I guess she does realize, “Now you'll have to wait until my next birthday to see it.”

Not completely destroyed things, maybe? “A dress...”

“Well, it was my sixteen,” she points out. Right. Shit, “Mom insisted. I didn't like it very much. Too frilly.” Right her sixteen. Nate's eighteenth back in December. You're just on a roll Duke Crocker.

“Ah,” I push the glass away across the table because I'm playing around with it so much I'm probably going to tip it over or break it or something, “...just fucking up everyone's birthdays.”

“It's probably better you didn't seem me in that stupid dress,” she grumbles.

“It was that bad?”

I actually catch sight of her then and her cheeks are very red from blushing. Shit. I find myself grabbing the glass again.

“We don't have to talk about it any more,” I swirl the juice around in the bottom of the glass and keep my eyes on it.

Neither of us says anything for a while, though she doesn't seem to be doing anything with the food in the fridge either, “....why didn't you come back?” she asks.

Fuck. I promised and everything. Talking about Nathan's gathering and we were joking around but then it was a “no, seriously.” “I am being serious.” and then I go and do this shit. Stop looking at your crotch and confess your shittiness—how you were too wasted to realize what day it was.

“I meant to...but I didn't know when it was...” No, that makes it sound—I shift around and lean forward on the table pushing the glass out of the way again, “I mean I know when your—it's March 22^nd,” I add, quickly, “but I—fuck, I lost track of things,” I snort because it's so fucking stupid and one of the many reasons I said I'd never do something like this, all the times of Carolina not knowing her what's up or down, “and—and...”

“It's okay,” she says, softly. It's not though, it's really not, “as long as you wanted to,” she's actually looking at me now, and she has a smile like she's not sure things are quite right, but she really, really wants them to be. I do too, but I've fucked a lot of shit up, and I just...I want to get things back to right, but I just...I've pretty much screwed up everything and Nate's right. I need to make it up to her.

“I did,” I tell her, “I...did,” should I say, should I give things now? I don't...I can at least, “I brought you something.”

She smiles again, cautiously, “When you give it to me, can we pretend that it's still my birthday?”

“Sure,” I tell her. Two birthdays, maybe Nate won't have to shoot me now.

I don't know if her smile could actually get wider at this point. I might actually be smiling too.

“You should drink some more of that, Boss,” she teases, pointing to the glass that's still half full of juice, “Sounded like you were turning inside out earlier.”

No shit, or well, all the shit, really, “...felt like it too.”

“Well, hopefully that doesn't happen again,” she says.

I hear someone outside on the deck, which is hopefully Nate coming back and not my father showing up or something, “Yeah, that'd be good.”

The cabin door opens and it is indeed the junior Wuornos, “Mission accomplished,” he says, “How about here?”

“For the most part,” Julia answers as I take another drink, “but you're back so I'll run...” she makes apologetic look, “things will go over better with Mom if I make sure all the chores are done and there's food on the go before I disappear, aside from packing things up to head out.”

Nathan nods, “I can understand that. We'll head over to my place once we're sure things are sorted out here, so we'll see you over there.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she replies.

I lean my head on the table.

“Finish the juice, Boss,” she warns as she goes out of the door trash bag in hand.

I sit up and take a few more sips while Nathan checks the kitchen and then looks at the counter where the bag was.

“Julia threw it away,” I tell him.

He nods, “Alright then. Lets get your bag.”

“I need to get something first.”

He looks at me face full of questions.

“The gift I got for Julia,” I remind him, “I told you I brought her something. I didn't want to ask you to pack it while she was right there.”

“Oh,” he says, “Where is it?”
“In my room.”

“Okay,” he says, “Where?”

I have to grumble at that, because it is going to mean showing one of the hiding places but it's not like it's all of them, “I'll show you.”

The juice has helped some because I'm a bit more steady, as I move by him and back into the bedroom, but things are spinning again by the time I bend down to the far side of the bed closest to the bathroom and slide the panel across towards the bottom of the bed and I sit down on the floor. Nathan leans over the top of the bed and opens the cabinet the panel has revealed and I point to the box inside which he pulls out.

“This is pretty solid,” he says, bringing it around on to the bed, “Did you bring her a gold brick?”

“That would be smaller and heavier,” I point out, “or a lot heavier for that size.”

“I'm not going to ask,” he shifts around on the bed and puts the box in my bag between layers of clothes, and zips it back up, “Anything else? You need the bathroom before we head out because I'd like the truck to stay clean and everything...”

“I'm good.”

“Are you sure?”

“If it turns out I'm wrong I'll clean it up.”

Nathan gives me a look, “Sure, I can see you being in shape to clean it up.”

“Well, then I'll wash your damn truck from top to bottom once I am. What do you want me to say?”

“I don't want you to--” he stops, hand in mid air, “Just get your ass to my truck, alright? Where are the keys to lock up the boat?” he picks up the bag and slings it over his shoulder despite my trying to take it from him. I get the keys from the top of the dresser, and he picks up the crate in the kitchen on the way out as well, and we lock up, and head carefully down to his truck a little slower than I would like but I don't fall in the drink so there's that. He puts my things into the back seat of the truck and then I go to climb in but stop and look around instead.

“What?” Nathan demands.

“She's not here.”

“Wha—oh, the Cape. Sorry, I didn't think to tell you. No, she's not, but the harbor master told me she's due back tomorrow, so...”

I get in the truck, “Fine. Okay. I admit it. You're right. Let's get going.”

Him being due back tomorrow means he could be back any time in the next six to seventy two hours. Depending on what he actually went off to do, or if he ran into anyone Troubled while he was off doing it. Not like I can ask Nathan what he went off to do, and I'm not calling Carolina either—on the off chance she was paying attention to where he was going and not just planning the celebration that he'd be gone. Of course there's no telling if they've even paid the phone bill while I've been gone it's not like I was calling home.

 

 

Nathan doesn't say anything as we're driving the terrible familiar streets of town, and I lean one elbow on the window frame and try not to chew on my hand, because things are starting to get itchy and I don't know how much I might chew. At least I'm keeping to my promise because my stomach is behaving. I really hope Garland's on duty today. Please.

His truck isn't there when we pull up much relief. Nathan grabs the things and we go into the familiar green house. He puts things down on the table and starts putting the food away, setting my bag to the side.

“I figure we'll hide you upstairs for the time being. Julia usually stays in the adjoining room to mine when she has study stay overs.”

“Hide me? You're going to lie to your father? I'm impressed Wuornos.”

“Stop it,” he says.

“And Eleanor lets Julia stay over here? What store are you registered at?” I know it sounds bitter but I can't help it, but the probably going to be Chief of Police one day's son who is probably going to be Chief of Police one day himself is a much more appropriate match for the budding morgue attendants daughter than me. She must be beside herself that they get along so well.

“You know it's not like that.”

I do. I do, “That doesn't mean she doesn't have visions of sugar plum wedding dresses dancing in her head.”

“I'm not the one who has avoided asking her out for the past how long?”

“Pitch forks and lynch mobs?” I retort, leaning against the table, which was a stupid idea because my nose starts running, fortunately there's paper towels on a spindle right there which I grab and blow my nose, “Especially now. I mean...”

“You do see how much running off she's not done?” he remarks, “She's out there getting medicine to help you get through cleaning up right now. Stop being an idi—more of an idiot,” he acts like he's going to throw a mango at my head but then puts it on the counter in the fruit bowl.

“Woah. Hey, is that squeezy yet?” I tell him, “I didn't check it today for obvious reasons.”

“What?” he says, confused.

I blow my nose again, “Can you squeeze it? If you can and it's slightly squishy it needs to go in the fridge.”

He puts it in the fridge.

“And it needs to get eaten soon.”

“Okay. Okay,” he says, testing the other two and putting them in the fridge too.

“He's not going to notice all the new food and get suspicious? Where the hell do you get mangoes in Haven?”

“You could have just given them to me,” he points out, “You do do that sort of thing. Alright, let's get you upstairs. You want to take a shower, maybe?”

“That is probably a good idea before I get too off again.”

“That is why I asked. I'll get you a towel.”

 

 

Nate had given me a towel and a different tank top and pajama pants rather than the jeans he'd helped me into earlier to change into for once I was done with the shower. Once I'm actually ready and dressed in those I feel self-conscious about it given my arms are fucked up in places and find where I'd dumped the shirt Julia had given me on the boat and put that on over the top and trying not to fall into the shelf over the toilet. The steamed up air is making everything dizzy.

I open the door and let things air out and carefully pick up everything else and then try to remember do towels get left in the bathroom or taken into the room? How long has it been since I've actually stayed over here? I can hear Julia and Nathan talking across the way which answers the question of if she's actually back or not and I make my way over there.

“Seriously,” Julia is saying, putting shirts into a drawer, “My algebra could actually use some work.”

“Only you,” Nathan says, with teasing tone, and then turns when I come in the room, “He lives.”

“That's not going to get old,” I tell him.

“Well, you were in there for almost an hour. There had been talk of breaking the door down, except we knew you hadn't passed out under the water because that did turn off.”

Julia looks away for a moment, refolding the t-shirt she's holding and putting it in the dresser drawer.

“Sit down,” she tells me when she turns back, “before you fall over,” she points to the bed, and I swallow the protest and follow her instructions because I'm not feeling so great, and I don't want to prove her right and actually face plant into the carpet. I knot my hands into the blanket on that I'm sitting on because I'm not going to start scratching. I'm not.

I'm. Not.

Though I realize when Nate's looking at me that I'm kicking my feet back and forth a lot too.

“So...” I ask them, “what did Gloria give you? A mallet to knock me unconscious with?”

“She was tempted,” Julia smiles, “but no, there's some over the counter things like painkillers and imodium,” that sounds awesome, the less I'm in the bathroom losing my intestines or puking out my guts the better, “but the main thing was these,” she produces two prescription bottles out of a paper bag and shakes them carefully and then looks at the bottles themselves, “naltrexone and clonidine, she said they're good for detox and apparently better than methadone as far as time goes because she said only about four or five days. Okay, so one of both of them now, and one of this one later on,” she holds up one of the bottles again. There's already a glass of water on the dresser I realize and she starts opening the bottles. Nate goes to the bag and roots through it for other things.

Yeah, this is happening.

No backing out now.

But this is good. This is good. I don't need to be worshiping the needle and this shit needs to be out of my system.

“And it's just sweating it out, right?” I tell them.

“Apparently,” Julia says, “but we'll be here.”

“Right,” I nod. It'll be fine. It'll be fine. It'll be fine.

Nathan makes me move closer to the top of the bed so that it'll be easier when things start to kick in.

“What about Julia?”

“Don't worry about me,” she says, handing me the pills and the glass of water.

I take them trying not to appear too reluctant given these are strange tablets but I've been injecting myself with other things so I have no say, really. Seriously. These come from a much more reputable source when you think about it. Then it's a couple of Imodium and we agree to hold off on the painkillers until I start to need it given right now I'm just trying to ignore itchiness but not really hurting.

“But earlier--” Nate points out.

“Yeah, well, that was...there were other reasons for that...” I admit, “I took more than I usually did so there was just a bigger crash. I was—it was,” I shake my head, “I don't know, maybe part of me thought it would be easier to get home? Junkie logic is not, because I mostly just passed out, but it was after that I tore through the boat throwing everything out because I realized that weaning off wasn't going to work, so...there's that?”

Nate pats me on the head and I bat his hand away. There's silence for a bit after that.

“Yeah, that was stupid,” Nathan says, eventually, as Julia rearranges bottles and things in the top dresser drawer, “How are you feeling?” he asks after a little while more.

“Like a tiger in the zoo?” I reply, “You're kinda hovering and watching me waiting for me to do something and all.”

“Well,” Nathan leans against the wall, “Do you want to talk about anything while you're still awake? We never finished talking about the job in New Orleans...”

“I...don't know if that's a good idea,” Julia's still in the room after all. I don't say it but I know I look towards her because our eyes meet. I don't want to get into all that shit and possibly freak her out I vaguely remember her crying and hugging me yesterday? Earlier?

“Well,” Julia says, coming a few steps away from the dresser and closer to me, “You sort of told me some things on the way here—but it was freaky and jumbled.”

Shit. Shit.

“So,” she continues, “if it could be less freaky and jumbled and more with explaining that might be good, especially with, you know, less of you trying to concuss yourself.”

There is some small satisfaction in Nate's shocked expression at that, “So, not just a 'job going bad'.” he says.

Julia looks like she's going to say something but then just shakes her head at him.

“No, asshole,” I say to him, because seriously, what the fuck? “I was telling you that on the boat but stopped because, well, I didn't know I'd already fucking--” I wave at Julia instead of going into all that again, “It didn't go bad. It exploded in a shit storm of freaky ass mutilation and death.” Fuck, did my voice just catch? Hold it together, Crocker.

Julia's sitting next to me, suddenly, and I'm being hugged. I'm being hugged. Do not cry. Do not cry, damn it, but Julia is hugging me and no one is telling me I'm lying, or was hallucinating right now, and fuck. It's so warm and comfortable.

I realize when Nate speaks that he's pulled a chair over and is facing me but leaning on the back of it with his hands, “What happened?” he says, crisply.

Skip over all the bullshit with the pick up and all that, “What it comes down to is the final hand off. The Ursa can get down closer to the bayou than the Cape could, so I'd picked up three guys along with the 'order' and gone down to the place. We walked it to the actual meeting point, and there's the collector and his guy...” stop fucking shaking. I can feel Julia's grip on me tightening, “But the—he—it wasn't anywhere at first, and then just was. I don't know if he was dude's security who turned on him or if he was there for someone else to take stuff, but we were in the bluster about money bit, 'Are you sure it's all there?' 'Do you want to count it?' 'There's a crowbar if you want to check' etc, and then there was this...this...” I don't know what I think gesturing with my hands is going to do to explain that screeching...skittering, “...noise and this it wasn't exactly a tentacle but it was...it,” I move my hand across, “out of nothing and around his—his head.”

“Whose head?” Nathan asks, cautiously.

“The guy we were dealing with. Guy whose order we were filling.”

“Okay,” Nathan nods.

“But I mean—he doesn't matter so much any more the thing came off his face and well, his face was—he had no ski—no skin on it any more and then it flipped again, just fwap-scre--” I stop myself from trying to make the noise, “and his eyes, they were on it—the tentacle—whatever, and that's when we saw it, the sort of person, but it was all shimmery and weird, and then it was over there, before he even hit the crate as he fell over, and then it just—gun fire, and the thing. I shouldn't say thing, there's a person under there—it's a Trouble, but it just...ripping people to pieces, and skin coming off them, someone's whole arm at one point. I just—it was...it was a fucked up mess. I couldn't...”

“Stop,” I hear Julia's voice near my ear, almost a whisper, choked and wet, “Stop,” her arms squeeze me tightly, “please don't...”

I put my head down, and take a deep breath.

“...you're here,” she tells me, “...you're safe.”

and fuck I can't hold it back any longer. I'm crying. I think Julia might be crying too. She's rocking me against her, and one hand is around my head for a moment I think, but things are sort of blurry. I almost think I hear Nathan curse.

“Duke...I'm sorry, I...” it makes it's way to me through the noise of that thing, and I try to let him know it's okay, because how the fuck was he supposed to really know. I don't know if he even believes they're going on or were going on before. It's not like—but that fucking thing, and it's noise, and the peeling, it's not like bananas or anything, or even an orange, I don't know what it's like, really. I don't want to see it, but I'm quitting, I can't, I can't have it. I can't. I can't.

Someone's holding my hands, “It's okay,” Julia murmurs with a deeper echo, “You're safe.”

 

 

Where am I? This isn't the...boat...nothing's rocking for one, but it's also too bright in the darkishness and the mattress is weird. The more I blink the less real it looks, especially when a hand appears near me offering me a glass of something, and then Julia's voice follows it, “How are you feeling?”

My arms are awkward as I try to push myself into a sitting position, and Nathan appears on the other side to help me, which I reluctantly accept. Then I can make out things wrapped around my arms given my over shirt has been taken off.

Julia's face looks apologetic as she helps me with the juice, “You were scratching yourself all up. You hadn't done any damage to your arms but we didn't want to take the chance...” she looks away for a second, “especially after you scratched your face,” she makes a motion near my eye and I put my hand up, feeling the scrape there.

“I don't...” remember really what was going on. Maybe that's a good thing.

“Trimmed your nails too,” Nathan says, “In case you start that again,” though his tone is on the please don't, “I'm sorry I was giving you crap about the job thing.”

“You didn't know.”

“I know,” he says, as I realize that I'm smelling pizza in the room, “but I should have known that you would have had to go through something rough, more than, to...” he trails off, looking towards the wall.

“Boss?” Julia changes the subject, “How are you feeling?”

I stretch a little, assessing things more, “...sore. A little bit hungry.”

“Well, we have pizza,” Nathan says, relieved for the topic shift.

“Home made,” Julia puts in, “The first has hamburger and bacon, and then there's white and veggie.”

Nathan goes and puts pieces of each on a plate, and brings it back. The meat does look good but just smelling it turns over my stomach not that there's anything in there to purge. He sits down on the opposite side of the bed from Julia and offers me the veggie pizza and eats the meat piece himself.

“It's good,” I tell them, “Thanks. Nice work.”

“Nate did most of it,” Julia says, “I was on chopping duty and pre-cooked the meat, but he did the dough and all of the things...”

“You're going to make someone a good wife someday, Nate.” I tease.

Julia makes a strange noise then and hands Nathan the juice, and says she needs the restroom, and walks over there. I look at Nate, “Was that..?”

Nathan purses his lips for a moment and shakes his head, “I don't...and don't try to get out of what you just said,” he makes like he's going to throw the last piece of pizza at me.

“If you do that you're going to have to do laundry,” I point out, “and that's not going to disprove my point if you can do it well.”

Nathan makes a grumbling noise and then shakes his head, “Fairly sure you can do laundry too.”

“That was necessity,” I counter, pressing against my chest when I burp, worried something might try to escape but it thankfully doesn't, “Simon considers that women's work and Carolina's...” a crack whore, “rarely in a good state to do it. She'd probably put crack in with the—no, that'd be a waste of crack. She'd probably put salt in, and then try to cook with the detergent.”

Nathan looks uncomfortable. Yeah, probably shouldn't be talking about drugs and my junkie mother right now even if it is a different kind. Yeah, junkie mother you swore you weren't gonna turn out like. Well, that's why this is happening, right?

Speaking of parents.

“How exactly are you going to keep your Dad in the dark about me being here?” I ask him, as Julia opens the bathroom door and comes back into the room. She looks...unhappy? That's not quite right. Her eyes are wider than normal, and maybe a little pale. Maybe shouldn't have been talking about those things.

“You stay in the room,” Nathan says, “and if he comes upstairs and this way you hide in the bathtub. We'll help you move if you're too out of it.”

“There's a pillow and sleeping bag in there,” Julia waves a hand that way.

Pillow and sleeping-- “You're not sleeping in the bath tub, are you?” I ask Julia.

“No!” she exclaims, “We're just storing it there during the day to make sure Garland doesn't see it. I'm going to sleep on the floor,” she's got that stubborn tilt to her chin that she got when she was working on the plug for the oven when we were installing it on the Ursa and it was refusing to cooperate, but I can't take, well it's not exactly her bed, but still.

“You can't be in the sleeping bag,” I protest, “You should have the bed I can be on the floor. I imagine a good portion of the time I won't be comfortable anyway...” I find myself trailing off because she's glaring at me. A lot. I'm so glad she doesn't have anything sharp or that screwdriver she was threatening Nathan with that one time.

“I...but...” I didn't think that glare could get any deeper, apparently it can, “thank you?”

She nods at me. I can almost hear her saying, “Damn straight.”

I wonder if I actually breathe that say of relief or if it stays inside. I think Nate might explode from holding in laughter.

“Besides,” she says, “It's the closest Mom will let me get to camping.”

I find myself laughing slightly me and shaking my head. She is one strange fun size wench.

“I'm worried about you, Boss,” she says, quietly.

Well, my stomach's doing pretty well, and I'm not...oh, right, friends do that, and she...well, she might be, don't think about that, “It'll be fine!” I tell her, cheerfully.

“It better be, or I'll hit you!” she retorts.

“I'll hold him in place for you,” Nate remarks.

I'm really not sure what I can say to that, because I've—I'm pushing, and she maybe realizes that, but this concern is...weird. Dad would just...yeah. This time I don't have anything to say, so I close my mouth again.

“...more juice?” she asks me.

“Sure, okay,” that seems like a safe thing to do.

She sits back down next to me, and picks up the glass again offering it to me, and I take a drink. I wonder what time it is but at the same time I don't want to ask might make me too anxious for dope. It's getting later in the evening, definitely. It's darker outside, but there are streetlights coming on. Nathan goes behind him and turns a desk lamp on but not the overhead in the room.

Why did I start thinking about it in the first place?

Fuck.

I lean my head back against the wall, and I see Julia move towards me hand outstretched but she leans back a little when I don't start banging my head.

Instead she takes my hand, “Doing okay, Boss?”

I give her a so-so motion with my other hand because I don't really trust myself to say anything that isn't going to come out horribly whiny at the moment because while I'm thankfully only a little bit achy, the itches are coming in really bad, and I can't start clawing at myself no matter how much I want to, probably a good thing they bandaged me up.

“Is there anything that will help--” she bites her lip, and I give a sarcastic laugh which I manage to stop because she probably realizes just as I know that heroin is the first thing that is right there that will stop it all dead, “help...distract you?”

There are no bugs. There are no bugs. I close my eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. Fuck, I'm not cutting the circulation off in her hand am I? She'd say, right?

“Is there anything I can do?”

Is that Nate pacing? It's not like Julia can be pacing and sitting here holding your hand genius.

“I don't know,” I tell her, slowly. They already know you're a junkie idiot you may as well just say what's going on, “I feel like there are things inside my skin...” well, now that's out there. If they're going to pitch you out—well, that would be a fucking asshole thing to do, wouldn't it? Is it getting cold too? Shit. I pull my knees up under the blanket. I am I'm cold. She leans forward and puts her free hand on my forehead.

“Well, cold we can do something about?” she looks at Nathan.

“Yeah, that's easy enough. There are spare blankets in the closet out there,” and he disappears out of the door.

“Well, hey,” I muster, “at least shivering is distracting me from itching.”

Julia laughs slightly, as Nate comes back with a blanket and another comforter. I wind up on my side curled up in a sort of cocoon. Maybe if I'm warm enough I won't ache, oh, but hey there are pills for that. Though there seems something wrong about taking pills to counter being addicted to something.

 

 

I'm too hot. The evening is too hot, and sticky. Bugs chittering, in the undergrowth as we lug the boxes along to the meeting spot. I can feel my heart climbing it's way up into my throat though, because I know something's going to go wrong. It does every exchange. It's just a matter of time.

We set the cargo down, and he gets up from where he was sitting, flanked by his muscle. It's here somewhere. I know it is. Waiting.

I can't breathe. It's too hot. Wrapped up all over, hands, legs, everything pinned, sticky. I can't move either. I can't.

“Boss—Duke--” she wasn't there. The voice is far away, muffled. My head is covered too. If I move too much my skin will peel off too. There are other words through—but I can't hear them. Then things are getting a bit clearer, and I think that's a window?

“Julia?”

“Guess you stopped being freezing?” she asks, and there's a thwump and another and a hand. She fades away again. No. That's not where I want to be, “Hey—hey,” I hear from the other side, “don't start that again. Come here,” there's a shift, and things tilt.

It's not the bayou then. We're in a bay near here, laying on the deck looking up at the sky. She puts a hand up in an L shape around a cloud, “You've never thought about flying in a plane?”

“I have a boat right here. I know how it works. I know how to get places.”

“What about a car?”

“I'm learning that. You'll learn that too. I can teach you the ins and outs of the Ursa if you want.”

“There are places you can go in a plane though that you can't go in a boat.”

“There are places you can go in a boat that you can't go in a plane,” I point out.

“Is this just going to go round in circles?” she says, rolling over so she's laying on her stomach, watching me.

“We're anchored,” I answer, “We're going to stay in one spot.”

“That's not what I meant, Duke Crocker,” she pokes me in the shoulder, “and you know it.”

“Do I?”

“Yes!” She goes to poke me again, but I grab her and we wind up rolling around, jabbing and tickling at each other until we collide with a collection of tarp covered boxes and—well, it's a good thing Nathan's not around.

 

 

There's something on me. I can feel it on top of the blanket when I wake up. There's just one blanket and I'm face up, and the thing—it's an arm. There's an arm—please tell me it's attached to somethi—you're in a bed, genius.

Right. Bed. Nathan's house.

My brain starts to actually work, slowly. I'd been cold, there were lots of blankets. Now, there aren't. Whose arm is that though?

Trying to move to work that out proves to be the worst mistake of my life. Though the hoarse sound of pain it causes to escape my mouth gives me the answer I was looking for.

“Duke?” Julia sits up, managing to move her hand off me without putting any weight on me for which I'm eternally grateful considering I'm cursing everything that ever was. Fuck, I thought I was sore the other day on the boat, when even was that? Was that just yesterday? Shit. I want to curl up but that hurts, but stretching out hurts, but moving hurts, “Duke?” she moves again, so she's by my face, “What do you--?” she stops, again, and looks away for a moment, “What do we have here that will help? Is it your stomach?”

“No,” I force out, “Every--”

“Everything? Okay,” she scrambles off the bed and towards the dresser, reappearing with a handful of pills and a glass of water, which she sets down for a moment and we wrangle me up into a sitting position, “painkillers,” she says, when I look at her skeptically, “though you do need to take some of the clonidine, probably...should wait until after you can eat though.”

I sigh. This is probably why people give up on this shit.

“Is there anything I can do to help until that kicks in?”

Don't get pissy about how long that's going to take. That's not her fault. You did this to yourself, “distraction?”

“Well, I doubt you're in any state to play gin with me, so...and you...I could...” following her train of thought is not, “do you want to hear about things that happened in town since Nate's party?”

“Sure.” Why not?

She puts pillows up against the wall and I lean against them and she sits next to me, turned slightly off the edge of the bed so that she's looking over at me.

“So...” she says, tutting for a moment like she's not sure where to start, “there was kind of a brawl at the Rust Bucket on Christmas...” she says, “and about six people wound up getting arrested. I'm not sure exactly who...I think one of the McShaws might have been there...” and she goes on about a few other people who were arrested. Seems like Mom's managed to get in it again. She apologizes about that but it's nothing new and it's not like Julia has anything to do with the bullshit Carolina gets up to. That's all on her. She goes on about things at school, matches against Derry, pranks and mascots, graffitti on banners or something. There's something about a new teacher when Nate knocks and opens the door at Julia's okay. He eyes us on the bed. He's already dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, and Julia and I are in pajamas. I wonder what time it is.

“How's everyone feeling?” he asks, though it's directed at me.

“Pain's going away,” I say.

“That's good,” he says, “I was wondering about breakfast things?”

“It'd be good if Duke ate so that he can take the next round of pills,” Julia says, standing up. I am not able to prevent myself from groaning in complaint. Julia turns to me, “You can not take them,” she points out, “but what were you just feeling like an hour-ish ago? I imagine it'll be like that or worse...so that's entirely up to you.”

Stupid people and their stupid logic.

“Fine,” I mutter.

“Fine,” Julia's is louder, then she turns to Nathan, “though Gloria had suggested toast and peanut butter for him might be a good idea. You do still like peanut butter?” she asks. I nod, “Easy on the stomach,” she says, almost to herself, “Maybe just make one slice? I'll stay here with him and then when you come back I'll get dressed and go make something...is--”

“Dad's not here at the moment,” he clarifies, “I'll be back with toast. Shouldn't take too long,” and the door closes again.

She turns back to me, “It would probably be best to wash off before you put clean clothes on. Um...do you think you can stand to take a shower?”

Sure, that shouldn't be too hard, right? Though I can tell as soon as I shift and put my feet forward on to the actual floor that maybe I was a little wrong but I'm not going to stop now. Have to push through. She hovers carefully nearby as I stand myself up as straight as I can and make the way towards the door. It's not very far. I've been across this room before. Twice, maybe? Of course it was years ago, but suddenly everything is falling further away, but I'm pretty sure I'm standing still—pretty sure. Though Julia's hands on my elbow and back make me question that again.

“Okay--” she says, when we've made it to the actual bathroom door, “Maybe a shower's not such a good idea...”

“I'm he--”

“No,” she says, “I mean standing is the thing...not the getting clean or were you--”

I nod, “Okay. No. I was meaning I'm here,” I wave a hand, “at the bathroom.”

“Yeah,” she says, opening the door, “Yeah, I'll just, um...” she hesitates, toying with an ear and pushing the door open, before going for my arm again even though I could brace on the doors. Then I sit down on the toilet.

“Okay,” she says, turning on the taps, “I've got you into the bathroom I'll...go get Nathan,” she hesitates in the doorway.

I'm about to tell her it's okay. She can leave me to go downstairs I'm not going anywhere but I wouldn't trust me.

Thankfully just then Nathan knocks and opens the door to the main room and sets a plate down on the counter, “Everything okay?” he asks.

Julia explains what's happening and I hear him telling her it's okay, to get herself something to eat and he'll keep an eye on me and then he's inside the room and closing the door, with a towel in hand.

“Alright,” he says as though he's going to say something and then he sets the towel down and goes and checks the taps, and then he hesitates again, “Do...you...need help getting undressed?”

“I want to say I should be fine,” I tell him.

“But?”

“But I almost fell over walking across the room...so I'm not sure I can stand up to get my pants off, or get into the damn tub.”

He nods, “Well, I helped you at the boat. I'll help you now.”

I bite my lip. I do not deserve this. He goes and checks the water again, mixing it around with his hand, and I take my shirt off and toss it into the corner not being sure what to do with it and then carefully pull myself to standing using the counter around the sink. Nathan is there quickly and it's that elbow hold again.

“I'll keep you upright. You get off the pants,” he says, “and then we'll get you in the bath.”

“Right...” I make sure I don't nod in case I make it worse but I do make sure I say thank you because this whole situation is so fucked up but I've only myself to blame.

Soon enough I'm carefully stepping into the tub while Nate has himself behind me and an arm under my right pit and holding me around the front so that he can lower me into the tub and I can sit, then he pulls the shower curtain along so that I have some semblance of privacy but stays in the room I hear him sitting down with his back against the side of the tub.

“There should be soap and a loofah sponge thing in there,” he says, “can you reach it?”

I look around, and there it is hanging around the taps of the shower, and the soap is on a shelf thing up there.

“Not as such.”

Nathan mutters something and stands up, and then realizes he still hasn't turned the taps off anyway. So, he gets the things, turns the taps off and pulls the front of the curtain slightly aside to hand me the things. I have to admit the bath is more than nice. The aches that the pills haven't touched are easing up and my head feels less sludge filled.

“So,” he says, after a moment of him sitting back down, “Julia was where this morning exactly?”

I just—but right—her arm was over me when I woke up this morning. She'd gotten in bed with me...over the top of the blankets but still but—she was probably just making sure I didn't go anywhere, right?

“She was on top of the covers. What ideas are you even--?”

“Do I have to get out a hose?” he asks.

“Oh, shut up,” I soap up the sponge loofah thing and start to wash my legs, carefully, “and even if she was interested I'm too sore for anything anyway.”

“And nothing can happen,” Nathan says.

I make grumbly noises at him, “You're on at me that she likes me and then you're on at me that nothing can happen. Make up your mind.”

He doesn't say anything to that at first. I'm about to ask him to clarify when he says, “You haven't heard her mother's rules.”

“It's not as if she was in the bed. She was on the bed I'm 90% sure. She was probably just make sure I didn't try to leave.”

“I swear for a horny Crocker you spend a lot of time convincing yourself this girl doesn't want to touch you.”

I slide down in the tub so that I'm mostly under the water. Even if she had had a crush on me I've probably shot that in the foot...though she is helping right now, and she hasn't run off, but I just...I can't imagine that she would. I mean maybe she's okay staying friends but...and I think we're okay about the whole birthday thing. Ugh. I lean my head backwards and am about to slide the last few inches but then there's voice from the other side.

“How's the twitchiness?” Nathan asks.

“What?”

“You've been pretty twitchy on and off. How do you feel?”

“Pretty good, right now. The water's helping.”

“Hey, if you get sore and twitchy again later maybe you can ask Julia to massage your legs?”

Really, Nate? Really... “You do realize how awkward that could get?” I ask him, “Why are you doing this to me? I thought you were my friend.”

“I'm her friend too,” he mutters.

“I'm not saying you're not,” I tell him.

“It's not just about you,” he says, “Things going on, I mean. I know we're getting you clean, but...” he trails off, “Never mind. I don't know words,” he stands up, “Are you clean?”

“Enough.”

“Alright then,” he pulls the plug and I hear him sit down on the toilet for a little while. I pull my feet up as the water drains some and try not to shiver, and brace on the side of the bath. He pulls the shower curtain back slightly and is standing there with a towel and hands ready to help me climb back out. I sit on the side of the bath to dry myself off, and Nathan goes into the bedroom to find clothes for me and then helps me get into my pants again, and leaves me for a moment as I put my shirt on to go check and see where Julia is at. Apparently she's in the bedroom because I hear them exchanging a few words with each other, and then Nate comes back in and guides me out of the room. It's a little easier for me to walk given the bath has soothed my legs quite a bit but he doesn't trust me without him being close by and it's probably a good idea, much as I hate to admit it.

Julia's made the bed, I see, as Nate releases me to sit down on top of it, and there's a pitcher of juice on the dresser. She's sitting on the floor with a textbook, well, not on the floor, I realize. There's a bundle of things underneath her, which I'm guessing is the folded remains of her pseudo-bed, the blankets and sleeping bag.

Nathan goes to the dresser and retrieves the plate of toast and pours me a glass of juice and hands me the plate, and then sits next to me holding the juice in his hand. Julia gives me a slight smile over the top of her book but goes back to studying. I manage half the piece of toast before I start to feel sick, and Julia goes to the drawer where the medicines are and starts figuring out things to hand out for me to take.

After a little while longer talk turns to what we're going to do for the day. Sitting around upstairs is going to get tedious and is likely to lead to tension, but walking around town is not really an option. Garland's going to be gone until the evening though so we have run of the house provided we're careful. So, we wind up downstairs in the family room with a movie on the TV, and Nathan and Julia on either side of me on the couch in case I get “droopy”. I don't know if this is better or worse than if she was massaging my legs or not. She's right there. I could reach for her hand.

Some older cartoon thing has been put on, about a mouse who is sort of like Sherlock Holmes or something. I'm not entirely following it very well, but there was something about not real people probably being easier to stomach and less likely to cause flashbacks, but I keep zoning out and skipping back into things and not really knowing where things are and not wanting to ask. There's some big burly mob boss rat guy who laughs a lot, and is generally pissed off at everyone and a dachshund who is like their car or something.

Then Nathan's hand is on my shoulder and I realize he's waking Julia up too. Both of us were asleep?

“Come on,” he says, “Let's get the lanky one back upstairs before Dad gets home.”

“Is the movie over?” Julia asks, sleepily.

“It has been for a while,” Nathan teases, “but you guys were just so cute...”

She bolts up to standing like her ass is on fire and turns around in a circle for a moment. I have to ask her if she farted. It's a good way to keep my mind elsewhere. She scowls at me.

“Alright,” Nathan says, “I'll get him upstairs. Why don't you see what there is for food? I'm sure there's leftover pizza. Maybe we can add something to it?”

“Sure,” she says, shooting me a look before disappearing through the kitchen door.

Nathan pushes me towards the handrail, “Really?” he mutters at me.

“She's the one who shot away from me like I was a poisonous snake,” I tell him.

“She--” Nathan starts and then stops, “That's--” we start to climb the stairs, “Okay, look—you know what, never mind. You're being ridiculous and you can just dig that hole. I'm not even gonna, right now.”

We walk the rest of the way up in silence and he pushes open the bedroom door and directs me back to the bed until I point out I need the bathroom. He stands outside the door while I go, still in silence. So, this is great. I'm back on, but not in, the bed, when Julia comes in with several pieces of pizza, chips, juice and a bowl of chopped up fruit. I can smell from here some of the mango we brought from the Ursa.

I eat half a piece of pizza and take the pills I'm supposed to take while there's some talk about the movie and what both Julia and I missed while I eat some of the mango, and have some more juice.

“You sure you've never seen it before?” Nathan asks.

“Really?” I ask him, “You think that's the kind of movie that's going to be in Simon Crocker's house?”

“I didn't mean like that,” he says, “You could have gone to see it.”

I wind up laughing a little at that, “No, mijo we don't go to see movies. There's nothing to be gotten from that. Though, we did sometimes get kids movies from the various give poor kids toys places she drug me round too. That wasn't one of them.”

“Let's talk about something else,” Julia says, as Nathan glances at his watch.

“We'd get the inspirational bullshit, about how life gets better. You just have to try your hardest and do your best,” I pump my fist in the air, though my arm feels sorta heavy, “and then Simon would use them for target practice.”

“Maybe we can play a card game or something later?” she says, “What games do you know?”

“Don't we have too many people for gin?” I ask her, “Isn't that what you said earlier?”

She thinks for a moment, “I didn't say we had—oh, well, three is—but we could play regular rummy if you're up to it, but I was thinking of games that didn't require so much strategizing in case you got...” I lose the rest of her sentence, which probably proves the point, “ord games might be better,” she's looking at Nathan.

“I can check downstairs,” he says.

“You maybe want to get into the bed?” Julia asks me, “You look like you're about to fall over, Boss.”

“Maybe I should then...” I move up the bed and almost slide off the slippery comforter.

Julia mostly catches me, though one knee hits the floor, “Up,” she says, as I carefully pull up on the bedside cabinet, and she shifts the bed coverings down so I can get back in, “I set some laundry things going...” she amends, “When the—when Nath—when Sargent Wuornos was at work. I'll have to see if Nathan can sneak them up here. I forgot about it with falling asleep,” she looks embarrassed.

Asleep...she fell asleep, too. Right...crap, “Did I? Did I keep you awake?”

She takes a moment before saying, “...not...on purpose,” as she pulls the blankets back up where I can reach them.

I can't look at her then, because obviously I did but she's trying to not blame me, but it is my fault, so she should just, “...okay. Sorry.”

“You were having a nightmare,” she continues, quietly, getting closer and then stopping as though something might bite her, “It's not your fault. I'm not just going to lie there and ignore you.”

Is that what...? Simon yelling at me to shut the fuck up is more, and maybe there were a couple of occasions with Carolina, was she trying to be comforting? I just remember mumbled slurriness and a hand sort of shoving me back into bed and covering me with blankets and patting me. Yes, because now is the time to think about this compared to—Julia knows more about what normal is supposed to be like, and she's fiddling with the edge of the blanket. You've been quiet too long and that has to be you that's sliding sideways. Julia is much more upright.

“Woah, hey,” she guides me down to the pillow and being more flat on the bed.

“Thanks,” I tell her.

“Well,” she gives a slight laugh, “You're already in the bed. You did the hard work there.”

“No, I mean for disrupting your sleep to deal with me.”

“And I'll do it again,” did she just kiss my forehead? She's really close, leaning over, hugging may as well be, messing with sheets and pillows, “If that's what you need.”

 

 

I hear murmurings outside and I want to see what's going on but my eyes don't want to open. I shift around moving the covers so that my ears are clearer. Who else would it be but Nate and Julia? There's something about boards or shooting? I'm not sure. Come on...I need to get up.

“Oh, you are awake,” Julia's voice, and then no, Nate's hands helping me into a more sitting position.

Now my eyes are agreeing to open and I see Julia's digging around for something in a drawer and then she says she'll be right back and goes into the bathroom.

“How're you feeling?” Nathan asks. I make what apparently passes for a verbal shrug he says and then goes, “That good?”

“It's been worse,” I point out.

He gets me water which is appreciated. I didn't realize how thirsty I was until I was having to make conversation, “Do you want to go back to sleep?” he asks, “Or were you up for doing something until the time that the rest of us normally turn in?”

I give an actual shrug then, “Distractions are good, I guess. Better than just sitting here given I imagine downstairs is full of your Dad.”

“Yeah, that's for sure,” he says.

Julia comes out of the bathroom in pajamas. Stay good. Stay good, “Board game, then?” she asks.

“Okay?” I'm not entirely sure what that means but I don't want to say so. It sounds familiar. Like I should know.

Nathan disappears out of the door for a moment and returns with a flat box and then I remember Carolina yelling in Spanish and accusing people of cheating because she hadn't put the right things in the tiny envelope. It's easier to read instructions when you're sober. The game was free though.

“Oh, right, like Clue.”

“Well, this is Chutes and Ladders,” he says, “but yeah. We figured it wouldn't be so taxing on the brain,” he bonks me gently on the head with the box.

“Gee, thanks,” I tell him.

Julia pulls over the chair that Nathan was sitting on yesterday so they can set the board up on it, “I'm going to be the spiral shell,” she declares, and hands Nathan a small black button. I pull myself up into a better sitting position, “Which leaves this piece for you,” she hands me a small pebble with a shell glued to it, “The wheat penny is Garland's,” she explains in hushed tones, “unless you have something you'd like to put in to use for you.”

“No, it's fine,” I hand it back to her, “put me at start.”

“It fits you, really,” Nate says, teasing, “You're stubborn as a rock.”

“What does that say about you button with nothing to button?”

“...so what does the shell say about me?” Julia asks. There's that challenging tone to her voice. One wrong word and someone's getting cut.

“You like pointy things?” I offer, hopefully.

She considers this for a moment. Nate watches as though this might be my last moments on this plane of existence though I somehow doubt Julia would leave him on his own to clean up my body. There's a moment of wondering just how much damage she could do as she mimes stabbing at both of us with the tiny pointed spiral shell and then she says, “Okay, Boss! Spin to see who goes first--”

Except then there's some...bickering over whether it's actually the oldest, or the youngest, or the prettiest, or the person whose house it is, or the oldest but do they mean oldest or who is mature? Because then—(no shut up or Garland will come up here!) the one who starts the game isn't going to be any—you know we'll just spin the dial (how it's supposed to be anyway!) and whoever gets the highest score will be the one who goes first.

Julia sits there shaking her head as I spin, and then Nathan does and she's still shaking her head as she takes her spin and wins, given she has a three, to Nate's two and my whopping one.

“I think it's rigged,” I tell Nathan, “It's your game. It's rigged.”

“If it was my game and I rigged it I would have won, surely,” he says.

“Well, not right away,” I tell him, “You don't win straight off. That arouses too much suspicion. It has to lead up to winning over the course of a few rounds, be all subtle.”

“I'll take that into consideration,” he says.

I can't quite tell if Julia is laughing or not as she moves her piece and then passes the spinner to Nathan for him to take his turn. Much as I hate to admit it I'm glad it's a simple game because every once in a while everything on the board becomes one blur of –

 

It's the all round body ache that wakes me.

It's mostly dark in the room. No sign of board game or Nate or Julia for that matter. I don't remember the game actually ending. I sit up and look around. Maybe if I just get a little bit—a dumb idea, worst fucking stupid—but it'll make things easier because this is fucking painful and—look, sixty fucking ibuprofen or one tiny, tiny little hit?

I'm out of the bed and trying to go across the room but my legs don't want to work right and if I bash into something I might wake up Julia whose probably on the floor—where is she anyway? The bathroom? The light's not on...I crouch down, and what the fuck am I doing anyway?

I lean against the side of the bed, sitting. I'm supposed to be getting clean, not sneaking out somewhere...okay, deep breath and get back in bed.

Get back in bed, Crocker.

Get. Back. In. Bed.

Get. Back.

And yet I'm crawling across the floor again. The door is this way, and...shit what—idiot! There's a questioning, murmuring mumble from the huddled bundle I just bashed into that was curled up in front the door in the mostly dark.

“Sorry,” I say, “Sorry,” Tell her you got lost trying to find the bathroom...that's twenty feet away at most? Right...

“Duke?” She rolls over a little, “Duke...what's going on?”

“I...was...wanted to leave,” I admit, sitting up and pulling my legs towards my chest. It's getting cold again and my shoulders hurt.

“You gotta stay, Boss,” she says, moving around in the sleeping bag. It makes her look sort of like a worm, “Gotta stay.”

I nod against my knees. Fuck, what am I doing? I can't explain this to her? She crawls closer to me and I lean over on to the floor trying to ignore the voice that's still yelling at me to ignore her and leap for the door, and down the stairs because what the fuck does she know? It won't take much, and I know it's right. It won't take much. Just losing any shred of respect for me that she and Nate have left.

Ugh.

“It's okay, Boss.”

“No, it's not,” God fucking damn it, am I crying again?

She pulls me into a hug, arms out of the sleeping bag, “It will be. We'll get you through this. Okay?”

Sure. Sure.

“Okay?”

I nod against her and feel her brushing my head with one hand, “Okay,” I answer, as I hear the sleeping bag unzipping.

“Okay. Good. I'm going to get you some pain pills and you're going to take some and I'm not going to hear any arguments about this because you're already miserable and I don't think either of us wants that to get any worse.”

I nod.

“Good,” she says, getting up. I hear things rattling about and then water running in the bathroom, and then she's crouching down next to me. I pull myself up, carefully. She doesn't have anything with her which is—I thought she was getting pills, “Come on, Boss,” she says, “Let's get you back to bed, and then you can take things and get all toasty.”

Whatever, so long as I stop hurting. I let her help me stand up, and we go the few feet to the bed and I sit down in the hole I made throwing the covers about. She hands me the pills to take and holds the glass for me to drink from and makes sure I've swallowed them, and then I lay down. The bed is really cold still, but we have plenty of blankets, something I know from the previous day, and she brings me several of them and then sits down next to me, pulling the desk chair over and brushing hair back away from my face so it's not sticking to me and I'm not eating it.

“Thanks.”

“Well, it wouldn't do for us to get you clean and you to choke to death on your own hair,” she points out.

“Yeah,” I manage a slight laugh, but it hurts, but no and at least I'm not as cold.

“It will be okay,” she tells me, leaning down close. She reaches through the blankets to take one of my hands with the one of hers that's not been brushing my hair free of my face. Then I could—this time I really could swear she kisses me on the forehead, “the pills will kick in soon and you can get some more sleep.”

“Good,” I admit, “I am tired.”

“I'm sure...” brush, “but it'll be fine.”

“I'm sorry I woke you.”

“No,” she says, “That was good. It's better that than you break your neck going downstairs, or worse wake Garland.”

“Right.”

“Now, come on, Boss. Just close your eyes.”  

 

Uggggggh. Why didn't I leave last night? Oh, right. I was an idiot and talked myself out of it, and got back in bed. Fuck. I need to...I fail at being quiet untangling myself from the mountain of blankets and crap that are around me on the bed.

“Boss?” Julia. Shit, “Where are you going? You need the bathroom? I can get Nate to help you seem sore--”

No shit I'm sore. You didn't let me go anywhere.

I'm tempted to flop back down but then I'll just have to sit back up again.

“No. I don't need to bathroom,” I turn around on the bed.

“Okay, then,” she says, from the chair by the desk, “What do you need?”

“To go downstairs...” That should be safe, right? Fuck, is Garland still here?

“Why?” she asks.

God damn it. Why am I getting the twelfth degree? “Because I want to go downstairs! Is that a crime now?”

“No,” she says, with this infuriating tone, “It's just...” okay...decide what you're going to say then. I shift myself around some more, “...there's nothing for you downstairs that can't be brought upstairs.”

That is so not the point. I run my hands through my hair. Okay, you'll make a better argument if you can fucking stand up without falling over. Come on. I turn slightly and push up off the bed, and then okay, standing, and Julia's looking at me like now what?

“Okay, so...not downstairs,” I tell her putting my hands up and thankfully staying up right, “I need to go, okay?” Not okay, I can tell by her face.

“Oh, you want to leave?” her tone is not good, “You want to leave and find some heroin that you'll buy with...what?” I won't need much I can snag five bucks—ten easy. That's no problem, what is is the no longer happy, approaching furious tiny girl stalking across the room towards me, “And then you'll get high somewhere and Nate will have to call his dad to find you before Simon turns you into roadkill and I'll be grounded from every seeing you again—is that what you want?”

I fall back to sitting on the bed, “You don't understand—it'll just be...”

“And that's assuming you don't fall down the stairs and break your neck and leave me and Nate with options of calling his Dad--”

“Now you're just being crazy!”

“You're in no position to be calling anyone crazy,” she retorts arms folded, “Seriously, you want to leave us with the options of calling his Dad and my Mom and explaining why you were here, or trying to sneak your corpse out--

“You don't want me to break my neck—you help me downstairs--”

“--and back onto your boat and setting it to sail off into the sunset knowing that unless we also started a fire our fingerprints and hair and shit is going to be all over the scene and we could go to jail for killing you. Is that what you want?”

I shake my head, “No, seriously—help me downstairs, no falling, no one murders anyone and that's and I just—five dollars that's all I have to--”

“No!” she says, “Yes, I don't want you to break your neck, but you're going to KEEP YOUR ASS IN THAT BED that's how it's not going to happen because if you try to leave this room, Duke Crocker! You WILL find out how hard I can hit you with a chemistry book!” she shoves my shoulders and for half a moment I'm going to push back but I just—I can't—this is Julia, maybe I can--

“...I just need a little bit--” I plead, “It'll just—just to cut through--”

But it doesn't. She pushes me harder on to the bed, “Hang me for mutiny later, Boss, but you're not leaving until you come back to your senses even if I have sit on you for—I don't even know,” and pins my lower body with hers by sitting on my thighs.

Seriously?

Nate opens the door about then, as I'm debating how best to get her off me given the way she's pinning my legs I can't entirely roll, and when I try to move her with my arms she neatly deflects me with her own.

“You don't understand,” and now it's really fucking hurting. She might as well be sandpaper and spikes which sucks because I don't know how many dreams I've had that are, well, 50% like this anyway, much less percent once Nate actually opens the door.

“What's going on?” he asks, “I heard the yelling I was...going to offer help, but...now I'm just...confused.”

“Get her off me,” I plead.

He looks at Julia instead.

“He's being irrational. I think it's time for his medicine.”

“Isn't it...” Nate comes into the room and looks around at the clock on one of the dressers, “...not due yet?”

“I think there's some wiggle room,” Julia says, “it's only a little over 30 minutes.”

“You really think--” he starts, looking from her to me and back again as I was trying again to get away from her and she deflects me.

“Why don't you tell him how unreasonable I'm being, Boss?” she says, suddenly sounding weirdly cheerful.

“Please, let go of me. Let me up,” I beg her, hoping that with Nate here she might actually do it, or he might convince her that rather than this medicine bullshit she should just do that.

“Whyyyyy?” she draws it out.

“Because it hurts...” I point out. Freaking sand paper.

“It wouldn't hurt if you stopped struggling.”

It wouldn't hurt if you'd let me do what I need to do, “That's not what I'm talking about,” I tell her, keeping my teeth gritted, “It hurt before...and you still wouldn't let me out of here.”

“You're a witness, Nate. Duke doesn't want to be in bed with a girl!” she turns slightly, “But then again, I don't count,” she mutters.

“Yeah,” Nate cuts in, “I think we can push things ahead,” he goes over to the dresser and starts rustling through the things in there.

“Fuck you,” I tell him, “Fuck you both.”

“Are you sure about that, Boss?” Julia asks.

I'm not walking in to that. I just try to lift up. She's really strong. She shifts her position on me and it's like grating the pants against my legs.

“Just stop--” I tell her.

“If you still hate me when this is all over call me a mutineer and make me walk the plank,” she tells me.

“I don't want that shit.”

“Well, that's all you're getting. You're not leaving.”

Suddenly Nathan is hauling me up into sitting position, “I will force these pills down your throat if I have to,” he waves a fist in my face, as Julia shifts further up my body and grabs my hands and holds them crossed on my body, “Stop being a whiny bitch! You can beat this, Crocker!”

I open my mouth and he puts the pills in and follows it with a glass of water from somewhere and waits until I swallow and then lowers me back.

“Let's just talk about something,” Julia says, “Distraction. Until things kick in and you feel better.”

Right, that's gonna help me right now, “About what exactly?”

“You usually have some great stories about things you've done while you've been away...” Nathan says, as Julia once again stops me from moving but I don't want to think about anywhere I've been lately. I want to be away.

“Anywhere I've been lately I've been high,” I snap, “That's not what I need to be thinking about, is it?”

“Fine!” Julia snaps, “You don't have to talk. You're just going to lay there and shut up while we do some actual studying, given I do actually need to do that while I'm here.”

Whatever. I shove myself down into the pillows and will not think about the fact that she's sitting right there around my crotch, but about the fact that everything hurts.

“You're still willing to help, right, Nathan?” she asks him.

“Of course,” he says, of course. Eye roll.

“Then my Chemistry text book and notes are over there,” she shifts slightly and points to the sleeping bag bundled up by the opposing dresser. He goes over like an obedient little golden retriever and gets the things and then pulls the chair further down the bed so he can sit level with Julia and they can talk over their stupid school work. I can't move my hands to block them out because she still has hold. Nathan is holding the book and flipping through pages and talking about things.

This is all such bullshit. At least I don't have to look at them.

Assholes keeping me here. Stopping me from—shit--what was I trying to do? It hits me after a while. I realize because I'm facing the digital clock and the numbers keep blurring in and out that I'm the idiot. Idiot. Idiot. I'm the asshole. I am. They're doing what I asked them to do.

Saving me from being a fuck up. More of a fuck up. How did I wind up with friends like this?

And Julia—there is a Julia sitting on my junk. Shit. Think about what an asshole you've been and how pissed she must be at you. Listen to the confusing as fuck talk. Don't think about the tiny hot chick on you. That's the wrong thing to—you're an asshole—what shit were you saying to them earlier? You fucking asshole. They're trying to stop you screwing yourself up and you're cussing them out and acting like they're the terrible people.

“Yeah, that's right,” Nathan is telling Julia, “It would be H-C-L and N-C-3-O-2.”

“It would?”

“Yes,” he says, “Trust yourself with these things. That's five in a row now I think it's safe to say you've gotten this section.”

“Woohoo!” she says, “Stupid equation balancing.”

There seems to be a lull so I plunge into it before I can chicken out, “I'm sorry,” I tell them possibly a little too loudly, “I was being a dick, an asshole and you were just,” and Julia has released my hands and shifted around and is hugging me, which is a relief because it means she's not sitting on my groin directly as things were starting to get twitchy there and I would have had something else to apologize for in a few moments. You were being an asshole. Think about that. Think about her weird uncles at the paper place, and Simon, thinking about Simon, that's decidedly not sexy.

“It's okay,” she says.

“No, it's not,” I tell her over her shoulder before she lets me go, “You guys are trying to help me and I was--”

“If getting off drugs were easy it wouldn't be an addiction,” Nathan says.

Julia sits back on the bed and I roll onto my side, facing the wall, in case anything does become incriminating, “I guess,” is all I can really say to that one and Nathan snorts in response to that. It sounds like there's some sort of exchange going on between the two of them and then Nate excuses himself downstairs to make everyone something to eat.

Julia is sitting at the bottom of the bed by my feet, “I don't have to walk the plank, do I?”

I turn carefully so I can see her, “No, I-thank you for your persistent valor and your...um—unending ...determination in the face of...compromised? Boss.”

She waves a hand at me, “I would have kept that up even if you somehow did get downstairs and I'd had to knock you out and drag you back to my house and keep you bound and gagged in the basement so Mom didn't see you,” she says, defiantly.

I'm not sure there's anything I can say to that right now given the idea is more than a little arousing and that's the opposite of what I'm trying to do.

“Of course that would have been a lot less comfortable for you.”

“Yeah, this is true,” mrgl, and oh, man why is that so—think about something else. I should give her her present soon, maybe? Double as belated birthday and sorry you've been having to put up with me being an asshole. Not going to try and grab it right now though she doesn't need to see... I can ask Nate to get it for me when he comes back in don't have to move then and show her that I'm so excited—in case she's...hopefully I can calm things down by then.

Nathan comes in the room with some plates and bowls of food. I'm not sure what's in the bowls but it looks to be some sandwiches on the plates.

He looks between us for a moment, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Julia says, “I was just making sure I wasn't going to have to walk the plank.”

I carefully shift myself around into somewhat of a sitting position, adjusting the comforter in my lap at the same time, as Nathan sets things down on the dresser, “Hey, um...you remember that...thing we put in my bag, the...from my trip?” I ask Nate.

“Sure...” he says, and goes to wherever they'd stashed my bag and brings it over to where I am setting it on the bed by the pillow. There's another series of looks between him and Julia and then he goes, “You know I'm not really hungry at the moment so I'll just go...check that we've got enough stuff for dinner and maybe run to the store,” he gives a sort of salute with two fingers and disappears out the door.

Julia turns to me. She looks excited but at the same time it seems like she might be more nervous than me which is a little strange. We'd talked about pretending it was still her birthday...should I have given Nate money for cake is that what was going on there? Get the box, idiot. I unzip the bag and find it which isn't too hard considering a lot of the clothes and things have been taken out of the bag. It's a brown cardboard box given I don't exactly keep wrapping paper on the boat and didn't have time to buy any, and the guy who sorted this out for me has written his name and address on the bottom should I ever be back his way and want something else and then put the box in my lap as I turn around.

She's looking at me expectantly and there's a moment of jump for both of us when the bag falls onto the floor.

Deep breath, “So, um...Happy Birthday belatedly...from Jamaica...” I offer her the box, “I didn't exactly get to wrap--”

“That's okay,” she says, taking it, gingerly and feeling the weight, “Jamaica?”

I nod, “That's where I was—where I had it made.”

“Made?” she fumbles with the flaps a little and then gets it open, and is presented with several layers of tissue paper, “Tissue paper?” she says, with a laugh, “Just what I always wanted.”

“It can be very useful sometimes in fire starting,” I tell her as she opens the layers of tissue paper and finds the carving inside. The little gasp she lets out as she lifts it out of the box gives me relief because it sounds like a positive gasp, and she turns the falcon around in her hands, taking in it's pose, wings spread landing on the branch perch that is also carved from the piece of wood. The falcon's chest is carved hollow in a sort of knot work with another falcon inside.

She turns it around in her hands again, “I love it,” she says, running her hand up the length of one wing, “thank you,” she puts it back in the box and gently puts the tissue paper back over it, shifting up on the bed closer to me and putting the box down in my lap. Suddenly she's leaning up and over the top of the box so that our faces are level. I'm about to ask what but then she's kissed me and my brain has shorted out for a moment, and the only thing I can really tell other than that my cheeks are reddening is that she just kissed me—but why...?

She's—was that just a thank you kiss? Have I been ignoring—I mean...is Nate right? But I'm a stupid junkie asshole...

Oh, crap she's staring—how long has she been looking at me?

She seems like she might be blushing though. Relationship things are so much easier when you don't give a crap, “...I wanted my first kiss to be with you...on my sixteenth birthday.”

Wait...what? Is that why she asked...? So that's...

“...it's okay if you don't think of me like that,” she's staring at the wall.

So, wait...think of, “You..? Me..?” get out actual words can you. I carefully reach towards her hand, even though I've just been, “even...?” is all I actually get out though.

She nods, and takes my hand. No. I'm still out cold from the pills they gave me before, that has to be what all this is. It's good though. I have a chance to not be a total asshole, right?

“So...it's probably better you weren't there and Mom didn't witness this.”

Considering I can feel what's going on in my crotch area right now. That's definitely true, though there's blankets and present on top of there still so there's that, “Yeah, I'd have probably been kicked out of your house or castrated or...both...considering...” I tsch myself, let's not get into that, “but...I've had a...” man, how do I...? even explain... “had a...thing for you...”

She startles up to stare at me, “But I'm--”

“What?” I ask when she stops her sentence just as suddenly as it started.

She doesn't explain though instead she just plants her mouth on mine again and starts to kiss. Okay, no, this feels like there's really lips on mine, and the stirring below. Yeah, this isn't a dream, I put one hand on the back of her head and tilt hers slightly so that the angle is better and gently tease her mouth open with my tongue, and then show her how things can go from there. She follows my lead, and our tongues tease each other back and forth, hands tangling in each others hair. Somewhere in the exploration she moves the present box behind her and we close the distance a little, but I'm trying to behave and keep my hands from roving too far.

I'm not sure how long it's been but then there's a cough and knock at the door and Nathan's there looking kinda smug—more than kinda smug really.  

“Shut it,” I tell him when he comes in the room with that grin. Julia turns round slightly curled up, chewing on one of her fingers, and maybe grinning a little I can't see her face, but I feel it.

“I'm not saying anything,” he replies, “I'm just glad I didn't come back to World War 3 again. That's it entirely.”

“Sure it is,” Julia says.

“Why don't you check the things I got downstairs?” Nathan asks her, “I'll make sure Duke's sorted out with the bathroom before we eat—I have a feeling he needs to go,” he gives me a look.

I can't meet his look for a minute, but obviously he saw what was going on.

“That's okay,” Julia says, “I need it too but I'll just go downstairs in the “public” one, and then stop by the kitchen,” she hops up, and then gently picks up the box of falcon and moves it to the dresser by her things and sets it down before going downstairs.

Nathan pushes the door shut and just gives me a look.

I don't say anything for a moment.

“Well?” he says, arms folded.

“Fine,” I say, “You were right. I'm sorry.”

“You are sorry, for many reasons,” he says, “I'm just—please tell me you can actually get yourself across the room right now. I'd rather not...”

“I should be okay.”

“Good.”

I'm glad too, really. It's weird enough that he knows for sure what I'm doing in the bathroom right now instead of just odd jokes and posturing that have happened here and there, but damn it I'm fit to explode between everything but things are evened out enough with symptoms and body right now I can actually balance to stand up in the shower so that solves many problems.

Julia is back before I'm out of the bathroom. I can hear her talking with Nathan, and there's a moment of disbelief before I open the door, that this whole thing was just nothing; but there she is giving me a different sort of smile, and there's the box not in my bag, but on the dresser, and there's Nathan still looking smug and shaking his head at the both of us.

When I sit back down on the bed, Julia jumps up next to me and nestles her head against my shoulder. There's a hesitant look for a moment from Nathan but then he just shakes his head and laughs.

“What?” Julia says.

“Nothing,” he replies, “You're just cute together.”

Julia sticks her tongue out at him, “You okay with this?” I realize she's looking up at me.

“Oh...yeah,” I nod, “I mean I don't want to go parade in front of your Mom if it's actually going to get you disowned but I'm happy to know that you actually...” I run out of words to explain the rest of that, she's blushing though it's cute. I boop her nose.

“Not disowned,” she explains, “Probably grounded until I'm eighteen though.”

“I'm not sure if that's better or worse.”

“Worse. If I was disowned Garland would take me in and I could still see you,” she says.

“Right...”

This loud, dramatic mournful sound escapes from her, “Damn it. I'm a girl!”

I wind up laughing, “...I'm not sure how to take that...”

“I swore I'd never go all soft and mushy over any guy, like my brain was made of chocolate and it melted,” she looks at me furious but not furious, “This is your fault, Boss.”

“My fault?” I ask, innocently, looking at Nate for help; but Nathan just puts his hands up like please leave me out of this I'd like to just leave altogether really but I live here. He's also eating so there's that too.

“Yeah...” she toys with the hand of mine that she's holding on to, “you weren't supposed to actually like me.”

“Oh...” I laugh a little at that considering the many, many conversations that Nathan and I have had over the past year or more, “...well, Nate knows how I thought you couldn't possibly...”

“Why would I?” she asks.

I snort at that. Really? I'm sure my man whore skankness is all over the school. How many STDs do I supposedly have now? And what she just said about Eleanor...

“That doesn't stop any of the other girls.”

Ah, right....the other girls who I don't give a shit about, explaining that is really going to make things better there, “...that's not...” how to get that out without...

“I know it's just sex,” she says, which makes me slightly more curious in the fact that she's still interested in me considering Eleanor, “I don't know that they all know that, though.”

“There's been a couple of...but--” I pause because that's a wait...what? With people she's been dealing with at school and how? What have they been—? But at the same time the more important thing is that I'm getting things straightened out with her about anything that could possibly be going on with the two of us, “...well, that's not what I was hoping for...with you...so...” damn it, words are so much easier when you're practically conning someone into sleeping with you, “...and with all that other I wasn't sure you'd be up for...”

Her eyes are suddenly huge, “Really?!?” she says, her voice squeaky, “You want more?”  

Nathan coughs while I'm trying to come up with ways to put it in words again. It's so difficult for me because I want to explain it properly with no way for confusion but I've never said anything like that before. So, the interruption is both welcome and not.

“You guys should eat,” he says, pointing to the food by us.

Julia picks up one of the bowls and mashes at whatever is in it with a fork and then offers me some, shaking it carefully in front of my mouth so that nothing falls off. I take a bite. There's ham and pasta with a thick cheesy sauce, and there's a breadcrumb topping. It's got more flavor to it than just plain mac and cheese though.

I have to put a hand up to my mouth and catch some of the cheese sauce that dribbles down, “It's good,” I tell her once I'm able to talk.

“You like it?” she asks, there's some sort of thing coming I can tell by the glint in her eye.

“Yes.”

“Good. I made it. Does that mean I'll make a good wife?”

It's a good thing my mouth is empty. I might have choked.

Nathan laughs, “You brought that on yourself, really.”

I would throw something at him but there's nothing really appropriate nearby.

“Well,” she wiggles the fork at me offering another bite.

“I wouldn--” I get out before she shoves more food in my mouth.

“I won't torture you,” she says, “Well, not any more...right now.”

“Thanks, I think,” I tell her after I swallow the mouthful, “Maybe I can just feed myself?”

She shakes her head, “I don't know if I can trust you with a fork,” she says but she has a teasing tone, “you might try to stab us and run.”

“I don't think that's going to happen.”

“You don't think,” she points out.

“You don't want to be fed food by the girl you've been--” Nathan starts but I shoot him a look.

Julia sets the fork down at that though, “What was that about?”

“I don't want him to rub in how long he's been...” I sigh, “how long he's been saying things were...a thing, and I've been saying they weren't.”

“How long?” she asks, looking between the two of us.

I let out a breath, given it's been long enough it's going to be hard to sort out in my brain.

“Let's just say it was before he could sail off anywhere in the Ursa,” Nathan says.

Julia lets it go but she does then offer me another bite of the casserole which I take. I point out that she should take some herself which she does, and for a little while it's just alternate forkfuls of food and Nathan finishing his own food and then cleaning things up while Julia gets me another round of medicine and then sits down with me on the bed.

“Come on,” she says, “I'll lay up here next to you and you can rest on me.”

“Is that okay?”

“Nathan's not going to say anything to my Mom. Are you?” She pulls herself up on the bed into the position she talked about.

I pull myself around and follow her but don't rest on her yet, “I think if I could never talk to your Mom it would be a good idea.”

“Well, if you really want more like you said earlier that can't happen,” she takes my hand and sort of rocks it back and forth, “You never me answered me about that...”

“Words about things...aren't easy for me.”

“Things?” she says, with a slight edge.

“See? Already screwing things up,” I purse my lips, “but...I do—I do want to be with you,” I squeeze her hand, “I just—I figured with things now especially...and I mean I wasn't sure—I always told Nate that there'd be pitchforks and things.”

She gives a slight laugh, “That is a possibility, and I mean...there is that age difference for one...and you are—well, that Crocker boy.”

“Yes, the evil Crocker boy...” with the Troubled-murdering family.

“What was that look about?” she asks.

“I...was just thinking about Simon.”

“Don't worry about him right now,” she says, putting her hand to my chin, “and if you're going off thinking about the drugs thing, don't either. You're cleaning up. We're helping you. It'll be in the past soon. It...it was just a hiccup. Everyone makes mistakes. The important thing is what you do to fix it.”

How are you so...I can feel tears again.

“Duke...” she puts her hand on my cheek now, and then kisses the spot above my nose between my eyes, and brings my head down to rest against her chest, “...it's okay.”

“I know,” I tell her, “I haven't felt like it will be before.”  

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