amichan | Entries tagged with nathan wuornos

It can't be here.

It can't.

Standing in the middle of the store, lolling tongue, gaping mouth and huge rotating eyes. For a moment there's a flicker and I'm expecting it to screech and disappear, and then something ripping my face off, but nothing.

It's still there. The lopsided, shit eating grin and then as my brain reboots and I drop the beer to go for it. It's gone and someone else is screaming and I run because fuck—I fucking froze! And it's ripping someone apart—but no, no-one's being attacked, just some crying woman—it would have—why has no one been attacked?

Am I going mad?

Shit—no--at the end of the aisle? Staring at me. Is it toying with me? I've never seen it out in the day but I've seen it all of twice...and the last time Jodi had burned a hole through it's chest.

Has some Child of Skinflayer activated a Trouble and come for revenge?

“Come on, lady,” I tell her, given I can't place her right now, “Let's get you away from it-”

“My husband--” she says, pointing in the direction it went.

Shit. Did it get someone aftera ll?

“We'll find him,” I tell her, “Where did he go?” I can hear the police sirens already coming up the street towards us.

“He's dead,” she whispers.

Fuck, “He might be okay...it--”

“No!” she grips me, cutting off my sentence, “He's been dead for years and he was—he was here!”

Shit—is there some sort of resurrection Trouble now?

“He shouldn't—” she points towards the back of the store.

“Alright,” I tell her, “Well, let's get you out from away from him,” and my focus elsewhere. It can't. It can't. At least hold her upright I feel less shaky myself. Think sense, Crocker. You're being dumb.

Nathan, Audrey and Audrey-2 are outside. I wonder when we're gonna get shot of her—actual FBI in town is one unhappy smuggler for some strange reason.

“Duke,” Nathan says in the tone that wonders how it can blame me for something.

“You can make yourself useful, you know?” I tell Audrey who is leaning against a counter across the way with her arms folded looking a bit uncomfortable. Julia is cutting open a couple of packets of bacon and I'm measuring flour and things from the open containers into the sieve over the large bowl.

She looks over at me, “If I knew of--” she starts.

“Well, then you ask,” Julia points out, “with words.”

“You guys know I'm not a very good cook,” she says, “I don't want to burn down The Gull.”

“It's survived so far,” I tell her, “I think it can survive you; besides you're never going to learn if you just sit there and pout at things.”

The coffee machine makes a glorious beeping noise, and I set down the measuring spoon.

“I'm not pouting!” she says.

“You're pouting,” Julia retorts.

Nathan comes back from the restroom and into the kitchen area, “What's going on?” he asks.

“Your girlfriend is pouting,” I hand him the coffee, “It's hot,” I point out, “Give it a few. It's hot off the press.”

He blows on it a little, giving me a look.

“I am not, and I—Duke!” she protests, taking her own cup, as I put another down by Julia and lean against the counter, carefully sipping a little at my own before resetting the coffee machine for another batch of elixir.

Nathan looks a little uncomfortable himself, of course.

“Play nice, Boss,” Julia scolds.

“What?” I point out, “We got how much guff?”

“Don't make me step on your foot,” Julia says.

“You wouldn't dare—not after all...”

She just gives me a steely look.

“What is...Parker...not being pouty about?” Nathan asks, trying to circumvent all talk of everything but still getting a look from Audrey in the process.

“Cooking,” Julia and I both say.

“You can crack eggs though?” I ask her, “That's not that difficult. Nate can show you. You can crack them into a bowl and whisk them up to go with the rest of the food. They can sit in the fridge until the right time.”

“And they would be?” Nathan asks.

“In the fridge, oh, great detective.” I point to it and go back to the waffle mix.

Nathan grumbles something but the fridge opens and Audrey finds a bowl under the counter and sets it out. There's working, frustrated noises and complaints from Audrey here and there, and teasing comments back and forth from Julia and I and Nathan encouraging her and telling us to leave it alone but then there's this one subtle barb that you almost miss, and she puts her hands down and just levels him with a look.

Fortunately for him his phone rings and he goes outside to answer it. Audrey is busy whisking eggs and I check on her and add seasonings to them and have her whisk a bit more before she puts the bowl in the fridge for the time being. I'm just past halfway done with the waffles and Julia is gathering bacon onto a plate to put in the oven to stay warm while the other things are finished.

“Did we want sausage?” she asks.

Audrey shrugs.

“I think we'll be okay,” I tell her, scooping some more waffle batter and closing the iron and then going for my coffee again.

Nathan comes back through the door, and Audrey goes and takes him his coffee, hers in the other hand. He thanks her and they talk for a moment, before he comes back in to the kitchen where Julia and I are sipping carefully on it.

“What took you so long?” I ask him, “Trying to get out of all the work?”

“Very funny,” he says, “No, when I got off the phone I ran into someone from school and we were talking.”

“Oh? Who?”

Now he hesitates, taking a long drink of coffee to hide behind, “I'm not actually...they went to school with us.”

“You said that,” I chide, as Julia jokingly gets at me for the fact that the waffle would have burned were it not for her daring last minute rescue, “Yes. You're an awesome wench,” I tell her.

“Don't you forget it,” I hear her putting another load of batter into the iron.

“And that,” I turn back to Nathan, “pretty much gives us a pool of...I don't know everyone except me.”

Audrey almost chokes on her coffee and sets it down.

Nathan shakes his head, “I'm sorry we don't run in the same circles,” he snaps.

That's a—let it go, “Not a local then?” I ask him.

He stares off for a moment, “What?”

“The school...acquaintance not a local anymore then?”

“No...no...” he says, carefully, taking another drink, “They escaped and they came back to show their fiancee where they grew up.”

I purse my lips, “Well, hopefully nothing freaky shows up for them while they're here.”

“Don't jinx us,” Audrey chides.

“Jinx? Really?” I tell her, “Trouble problems show up at least once a week it seems like if not more.”

“Troubles?” Nathan snorts, “Don't tell me you believe that crap too now.”

Okay, now he's—I'm not the only one that—no Audrey's looking at him weird too. Good.

“Nathan--” she says, “Let's just--” she takes his coffee and hands it to me, “Just gives us a minute, okay, Duke?”

“Sure, that's probably a good idea,” I go back into the kitchen.

“Come back to work now, Bo—what's going on?” Julia finishes as I set the coffee mugs down.

“Nate's being—odd.”

“How odd?” she asks.

“Audrey's talking to him,” I lean against the counter, and pick my coffee back up, and she goes back to the waffle iron, “I don't know. He snapped at me about 'friend' circles, but eh, but then he had this 'Don't tell me you believe in this Trouble crap' moment, and that was...” I wave a hand.

“Hmm,” Julia says in that 'I'm having a ponder on serious matters' tone.

“Yeah,” I look towards the main restaurant where Nathan and Audrey are still talking—he's closed off though, sullen, and any second, yeah, there he goes walking away, but back in this direction, from what I can make out something doesn't seem to be making 'any sense' to him and she needs to 'quit it'. Classic Nathan.

“What's so funny?” Julia asks, opening the oven door and getting out the waffle plate.

“Nothing. It's fine. Is that bacon?”

She smacks my hand with the tongs she was using on the waffles, “Out!”

I pull my hand back, pouting at her. She's giving me a strange look, so I return the strange look. Where'd we..? She closes the oven again, and messes with the dials for a moment.

“You know that's not your mug, Boss?”

I look down at the brown ceramic in my hands and set it on the counter, “Crap. Right. Where is it's owner anyway? What's going on there?”

Julia follows me back towards the edge of the kitchen where we can peer out towards the main restaurant just as Nathan storms in towards us closely followed by Audrey.

“Nathan—wait!”

He stops about to push by me, “Do you have something to say, Crocker?”

“Yes. Where do you think you're going?” I ask him, “You're running away from a girl who seems to actually want to touch you!”

“Shut up!” he rounds on me.

“Woah,” Julia says, “What the hell?”

Nathan's angry, but that's nothing new, “What's crawled up your ass this time?” Trying to think what he could think I've possibly done to him lately, or what I have done to him lately.

He's just fuming for half a second, “Are you going to try and tell me you don't know?” He jabs a finger towards me.

“I don't know. I swear you imagine shit half the time just so you can be pissed.”

“I don't have to imagine anything. You've been an unscrupulous asshole since elementary school and you don't change,” it's not going to be good for him if he starts a fight in here when there are so many things around to use against him.

“Nathan!” the blonde who was chasing him exclaims sounding indignant for some reason. She looks vaguely familiar.

“Kick him in the balls, Audrey!” Julia demands angrily, from my right side, “He won't feel it if I do it!”

Okay, that's—no?

“Julia!” blonde—Audrey exclaims in a different tone to the Nathan, this is more what's wrong with you? Why would you say this?

“What do you mean--?” I turn to Julia, “it's not like the Troubles are around—he should feel it just fine. Go ahead if you want to.”

“Really?” Nathan asks, “Aside from—but just—going to blame the 'Troubles' for my being sick?”

“Because that's what it was,” exasperation thy name is Duke.

“You're just trying to make yourself feel better for all the shit you did to me. I suppose that was a Trouble too?”

“No. That was me being a bully because I didn't exactly have the greatest role model and I was...and asshole.”

“Was?” Nathan says, but then he makes an odd noise and grips his arm with a pained expression and the noise turns into an actual complaint and he buckles to his knees on the floor.

“What--?” I start to say, moving forward, as the Audrey chick crouches down to him saying his name but then:

“Boss,” Julia says, a slight tug on my sleeve, drawing my attention. I think if my nuts were in peril too they'd have already been attacked.

“What?” I ask her, turning. She pulls harder on my arm which is unexpected, but then her lips—mouth is at my...mouth, and things...kissing, yes. Kissing? Kissing! Julia is kissing me. I get pushed back against the counter reaching for her head with my hands to make sure—yes, she's really there, but how? I thought...she pulls back from me after another moment, “Hnm...what?” I manage.

She's going for my arm again, but we're already there, close enough. I want to lean back in before I wake up or something, but she's pulling at my sleeve trying to roll it. No. No! I pull back, but she has hold and yanks up before I can stop her. Bastard of a way to—what?

I don't recognize that tattoo. When did I?

She rolls the sleeve further up, rubbing her fingers across the smooth skin of my arm, “It's fine, see? Nothing there,” she says, “It's a Trouble, Boss. It's 2011. You're 36,” no fucking way, “We have sex on a regular basis,” I lean back against the counter, this is—this can't be, “you own and run this restaurant legally.”

We're together? How? Since when? How have I not been lynched? Because even if she is consenting I can't imagine that...? “How? Why?”

“Because I've loved you since I was as old as you think I am, and you've loved me just about as long, and you're really, really, good. You just don't remember,” She clasps her hands around mine and peers up at me, “because you're being affected by a Trouble.”

“She's right, Nathan,” the Audrey woman is saying, as she helps him to his feet. He's still massaging his arm but he seems to be in less pain, “both of you are. It's messing with your heads.”

“And what's messing with my arm?” he grumbles.

“That would be me,” Julia explains, “My Trouble is that I can see and touch other Troubles. It's more complicated than that, but that's good enough for now.”

“What's your Trouble?” I ask Audrey, “...if you have one?”

“I don't,” she says, “I just help out when they hit, both Nathan and I—well, all of us, but Nathan and I are with the police department.”

“Helping? Him?” Nathan asks.

“Oh, for the love of...” Audrey mutters, “This is worse than when I first got here.”

“Are you sure he's not causing it?”

“Crockers aren't Troubled?” I find myself less certain as I finish the sentence given Julia has a Trouble and this is apparently 2011. Julia has never lied to me and this would be a fucked up thing to start up about now. As I look at Nathan he is older, and appears to be getting uncomfortable about the arm again. There's my tattoos and skin to reckon with too. I look at Julia for an answer to my not exactly asked question. Remembering Simon asking me a dozen—fuck it, whatever years ago to make sure I had my ass back here if the Troubles were back in town and what would that be about if...but, of course, he kicked it before he could explain—if he actually would have.

Audrey looks at Julia too and there's a guilty feeling hanging across the room, but then Nathan shifts position leaning back against the wall on his side of the room, scratching at his sleeve looking uncomfortable and irritated.

“Be careful, Nate,” I tell him, “People are gonna start thinking you're on that junk. Not good for your career.”

The glare he fixes me with—I'd be afraid the ground would crack open and swallow me if his Trouble worked that way.

“Be nice, Boss,” Julia warns.

Do not say he started it. Do not. I stay quiet.

There's a slight tap on? in? my wrist and when I look towards it Julia gives me a kiss on the cheek. This is so strange but yet awesome and is going to be weird to get used to but wonderful all at once.

“Okay,” Julia breaths in deeply, “we were about to have a nice breakfast like the friends we are,” she looks at each of us, “Shut up,” she says, even though neither Nathan or I has gotten anything out of our mouths yet, “We're all friends. So, Boss, you help Audrey set a table and Nathan, you stay here and help me finish cooking.”

It takes just a minute to locate where everything would be and for Audrey to gather silverware from where it's rolled up in bundles and glasses and we go out into the main restaurant. Yeah, this is definitely not the Shaw's place. I set things down on the nearest table and look around the room. Definitely not.

“You okay, Duke?” Audrey asks from my right.

“Just getting the lay of the land.”

“Ah,” she says, “Yeah. It's weird places that are the same but different,” she's putting the fork bundles around on the table I put things down on, “I saw a Haven where this place had been gutted.”

“I thought you weren't Troubled?”

She looks sheepish—uncomfortable, “It's more Troubles don't affect me...and there was this...”

“Lucky.”

“Mostly,” she says, as I start putting the glasses out properly. Probably need the coffee mugs too, and plates? Or are they plating things in the kitchen and bringing them out? I pull my hand self-consciously away from my ear because I realize I'd started scratching my head when I went to scrape my hair back. This is 2011, right? She showed me my arms...so if I'm clean at 36 then...I don't, it's just, it's just in my head. I'm so hilarious.

“Duke?” Audrey is by me.

“Nothing—just trying to—gonna go see if they're done.”

I slip around the other side of the main bar and back towards the kitchen. Julia and Nathan are working. There's a pan of eggs cooking, and a waffle coming out of the iron and another pan which I realize has a pancake in it, of course, when Nathan flips it with the spatula.

“Uh, hey,” I hold on tight to edge of the counter, drumming my fingers, “I...wanted to see how close things were. See if people wanted coffee with food, check if I needed to get plates, that sort of thing.”

“Coffee's good,” Nathan says, cautiously, tipping the pancake on to a plate.

“The stuff is right there,” Julia points with the spoon in her hand.

“Yeah,” I check the coffee pot, and top up or refill the mugs that are on the counter and take them out to the main room and put them on the table, and then come back in and start checking cabinets to see where the coffee is to start a fresh pot brewing.

“Nathan,” I hear Julia say, “I'll finish that last pancake. Why don't you take the bacon out to the table? and Duke and I will follow with everything else in a moment.”

“Okay,” Nathan nods, and reaches for the oven.

“Gloves!” Julia shouts, hastily, moving between the two of us.

As Nathan walks by with the tray of bacon she approaches me instead, “You're so tense you're gonna wear a hole in the floor, Boss. Sit there while I get the coffee on and then I'll relax you,” she points to a stool on the other side of the kitchen by the opposite counter.

“But I--” I point to the coffee.

“Now,” she says, pointing again.

I sit down resting with my hands in front of me and watch her carefully as she tips out grounds and reapplies filters, and drum a rhythm on the top of the stool trying to clear my head. I need something else to think about, not the junk, not whatever Audrey keeps thinking about that gives her that guilty expression, not—Julia's taken hold of my hands and is lifting them away from the stool.

“Y'all jes sit tight nah, cowboy,” she says.

“Cowboy?” I start, though the accent is...she puts a finger to my lips though.

“Ssh. Ah'm th' wickedest wench in th' west, an' this ain't mah first ro-dee-o,” she says, and I realize she's undone my fly and has one hand already on my penis.

“Wha-?” disappears though because before the rest of the sentence can leave my mouth hers is on the tip of my—and then it's in her mouth, a deep warm caress up and down the shaft and I'm gonna melt into the wall. I have never. I just...this can't, “Ju--” but that's all I get out of that given there's a vibration thrumming through every part of me from my penis it has maybe a note of inquiry it's hard to get my thoughts together it's pretty well just sensation and lights and...everything focusing in on that one point of contact until it's all just pow.

When my thoughts are more I look for something but she swallowed it too.

But then, also, just...that...

“If you can play nice with Nathan while we eat breakfast I'll show you the stockroom with the locking door,” she teases, as the rest of the my brain kicks back into gear enough to put everything away and button up.

“Evil wench.”

She laughs, “You know you love me,” it's clearly something she's said many times before. Then something clicks and she mutters shit and turns to hastily grabs the eggs which had been forgotten, “get the waffles, Boss,” she points to the oven and I get the mitts and get them out, and the pancakes. Julia scoops the salvaged eggs into a bowl and we go into the restaurant and set things down on the bar, “Plates,” she reminds me and I go back to get them and she follows, but veers off and comes back with a glass bottle of dark maple syrup that was secreted away somewhere and sets it on the table.

She's in a lot better mood than she was before you'd think we'd both gotten off. She's practically bouncing about the room as she sits down with the plate of food across from Audrey who is pouring syrup on her pancakes.

“Julia?” Audrey asks, as Nathan brings the pot of coffee in from the kitchen given the two of them had emptied their cups waiting for us, “Why are you so happy?...or do I not want to know?” she glances at me as I make my way to the table with my plate and sit down.

“He loves me,” Julia answers, with a slight nod in my direction.

“Well, ye--” Audrey starts to say, but then stops and nods.

Nathan sets the coffee carafe down on the table, heavily, and sits.

Audrey gives him a cautious look before picking it up and filling their mugs.

Julia passes me the syrup having used it herself, and I zig-zag my waffle and criss-cross it back watching the syrup filter through for a moment. I should not try to work out what things have happened that I actually own a legal business or if this is before or after Julia or when or where, that's just too much variables. These sorts of things are why exit strategies are the biggest stages of plans. I'm still holding the maple syrup. I put it down.

“Duke?” I feel a hand on my wrist and look over to find Julia watching me, “You okay?”

I nod, “Yeah.”

“You're gonna eat then, right? It's good stuff. You made it. Don't you trust yourself?” she nudges me slightly with her arm and I give her a smile. Good stuff. Good stuff.

I mean, waffles...that's just. It does make sense that I would. Waffles, and the bacon—not cheap microwaveable sausages, probably not shelf stable milk from the food pantry either, what is this madness?

Julia's nuzzling at me gently and I shift position she scoots herself under my arm. She's moved her chair closer to mine so she's close enough to engage the dastardly snuggle mode. Not complaining though. There's a fork with bacon and waffle in front of my mouth soon after. I take the bite and eat it. It is damn tasty. I have to admit and it's fun being fed by Julia too. I don't pay much attention to anything else besides Julia and her teasingly trying to snatch bits from my own fork until I 'relent' and let her take it until I hear Audrey.

“No, they do this all the time.”

“Do...we...do this a lot, too?” Nathan asks her, and then there's some awkward silence for a moment, and when I look over he's hesitantly offering her a forkful of pancake. She takes it with a smile that's cute but also a bit...not exactly shy or embarrassed but somewhere in this gray area in the middle. I will not say anything about this I will just eat my waffle.

“So,” Julia says, “what do you remember about whoever it was you ran in to?” she directs at Nathan who is toying with his food now.

“I don't--” he starts, but then pauses and thinks for a moment and makes a face, “It's weird, because I remember packing things this morning—but I also...” he cuts up some pancake with his fork, “it was a...” he stares off out of the big glass doors towards the dock, “...they were,” he holds a hand up against his body, “this tall, and had fair hair and were with a woman, auburn with dark tips, and she was a couple of inches shorter then...them?”

“Let me get this straight,” Julia says, pointing at Nathan with a piece of bacon, and then taking a bite before continuing and pointing at him with the rest of the piece, “this person was in high school with you and you're not sure if they're male or female, that's what I'm getting here?”

“Um...yeah...” Nathan nods, somewhat relieved.

“Perfect!” she says, “That's Sam!”

“Sam?” I ask her, certain things clicking into place now, “Samantha?”

“Well, Samuel now,” Julia clarifies.

“That's why she wouldn't sleep with me. That explains so much,” I lean back in the chair, smacking one hand on the table. Probably a different relief than Nathan's and I can see him actively fighting against saying something. But seriously, that's bugged the shit out of me.

Audrey has her hands over her face for a moment though and then looks across at us, “So...that's all true. That, that, seriously is...I keep thinking that you guys exaggerate, but is Julia really the only, and well, now this Saman—Samuel the only girl during high school that you didn't sleep with?”

I shrug, “Well, who was of age, I'm pretty sure.”

Is Nathan going to explode? He stabs at pieces of pancake and shoves them in his mouth.

“Really?” Audrey flails, somewhat exasperated, “Well, did you sleep with the teachers too?”

I have to laugh, “Funny you should say that.”

Hands go to face again.

“Not all of them. Just two.”

Audrey mutters something at that, but I can't quite make it out. I have a good idea it's something along the lines of 'oh is that all?'

“Plus Vice Principal Dolores Bachman.”

Hang on. I have to look over at her at that. How does she--? I have to have, “I told you about that?”

“Yeah,” she nods, “You were drunk. We weren't sleeping together yet.”

Okay, then.

Nathan's looking at Julia with a concerned curiosity.

“How did you know about Saman-Samuel?” Audrey asks.

“You remember the reunion dance--” Julia starts.

“Yeah, I remember you weren't there.”

“Well, before we snuck out to have all the sex ever in the back seat of my Mom's car we did a meet and greet with everybody and Sam introduced us to his lovely wife,” Julia giggles for a moment then, hiding her face in my arm as it becomes more of just laughter.

“What's so funny?”

“Robbie's Trouble. We were teenagers,” she looks up again, and returns her expression to the table at large.

“So, this has happened before?”

“No. Physically teenagers. It's funny because you're mentally but not physically and then we were physically but not mentally.”

“Despite what you tried to make me think,” Audrey mutters.

“Successfully,” Julia chirps with a grin.

Audrey shakes her head, “If you two weren't so--” she makes a hand motion that I can't quite interpret, “and I weren't—hadn't been trying to—anyway, Sam?”

“Yes,” Julia says, “You know the Uncles were talking about “old curmudgeon” Burleigh having died earlier in the week and his funeral is in a few hours. I imagine that could be what brought Sam and his wife back to Haven.”

“That could also spark a Trouble,” Audrey muses, “family stress, or passing along with the death of the relative.”

“Or both,” Julia says, “but I don't think Sam's grandfather was entirely supportive of Sam being transgender, and I'm also not entirely sure if they've seen Sam since he's been Samuel, so...”

“That's all a big powder keg,” Audrey says, “but Duke hasn't seen Sam at all. So, why did he..?”

Julia smacks her forehead in the 'of course/duh' type motion, “The coffee mug,” she points at the one in Nathan's hand.

He looks over confused, “It's Chief's actually. I was wondering why it was here, but I just decided to go with it.”

“Good man,” Julia jokes, “but no. The Burleigh's have a pottery place in town and they make all sorts of things, including mugs. I'm betting Garland got that from Sam. Just before Nathan stormed back in before Duke had drunk from that mug by mistake.”

“Let's just not test that theory by having you drink from it right now, okay, please?” Audrey begs of Julia.

She laughs, “No, that's okay. Someone needs to keep an eye on this one,” she pokes me in the upper arm, and I make like I'm disastrously hurt, “He can't stay here and manage the bar. He's not going to know who anyone is.”

“Yeah, it's probably best to keep the boys separate too. Not sure how much longer the cease fire will last,” Audrey says, looking between Nathan and I.

“Very true,” Julia agrees, “but he can go with you to track Sam down, all he really has to do is hang around and look stern.”

Audrey tries to be serious at that, but winds up giggling a little bit, “You do have a point. Have you started Academy yet?”

“I'm in college,” he says.

College. Shit.

“Well, I don't see us needing any firearms on this anyway,” Audrey says, “Should just be a simple--”

“I can shoot,” he says, “You think Chief hasn't taught me how to shoot? But we're just talking, right?”

“Yeah,” she answers, “That's what I was saying. This should just be a simple talk thing. Let's get on about tracking them down. You guys okay here?”

“The day crew will be getting here soon,” Julia says, “We'll clean up, and head back home. I'll just tell Shelley that Boss overworked his foot and I'm making sure he actually listens to me and rests it up so that I don't have to drag him off to the doctor.”

“Doctor?” I ask, “Why would I go to the doctor?”

“Exactly,” Julia says.

My foot has been kinda throbbing here and there but I figured it was just some other weird thing to do with the way my brain is reacting to the lack of junk.

“And there was a Trouble a few weeks back and your foot got skewered with a piece of metal,” she explains.

“Nice,” I murmur, slightly sarcastic.

“Alright. We'll head out,” Audrey stands up, and Nathan follows suit and then hesitates with the mug still in hand.

“Leave it,” Julia says, “We'll wrap it up and take it back to the Cape. Don't need any of the staff getting hold of it in case it's just a touch thing and not a drink out of it thing.”

He sets it back down on the table and follows Audrey out of the door. I pick up the mugs as we clear the table and bring things back into the kitchen. Julia puts leftover food into a box and labels it for the staff to munch on, and rinses most of the plates and puts them in the dishwasher while I rinse out the mugs and as she suggested wrap them in towels and find a small cardboard box to put them in to carry them to the Cape so I still have the old girl. I wonder how she looks. Guess we'll find out.

“So...how do I make sure I don't accidentally set off this Trouble I'm guessing I actually have?” I ask Julia.

“Don't worry, Boss,” she says, closing the dishwasher back up, “your Trouble's not that bad unless you get Troubled blood on you.”

“And then what?” I ask, picking up the box.

She purses her lips, “It feels really, really good, and then it feels really, really bad.”

That gets a snort, because seriously? I put the box down again and run my hands through my hair.

“We take a lot of precautions, beli—trust me,” she puts a hand on my arm, “I'm on a birth control that completely stops my periods, for example. It's okay. Come on, let's get to the boat and we can go into things more deeply,” she has a bit of a wink at that also, “I'll call Shelley on the way.”

The stateroom looks incredible. Gone are the garish and ugly cabinets. I bet that stove actually works. It's not the one from the Ursa but it's been long enough it's probably been replaced, and a fridge, freezer that probably knows the difference between the two.

There's a couch, a comfy chair, bookshelves. The table actually looks better than I'd thought when I wondered about sanding and refinishing it. Everything is incredible.

“You like?” Julia laughs. I must have an amazed expression.

“Yeah,” I nod, “I—we're still just gutting her to rebuild, bringing some things from the Ursa and just completely trashing others and looking for new.”

“I remember,” she says with a slight smile, “The fridge that was auditioning to be Antarctica...”

I nod, scratching at my head sheepish, “Yeah...” it's turning to the irritable need itching, then she closes the distance.

“Let me get that for you, Boss,” she reaches her hands up on either side of my head, scraping hair back behind my ears before running her fingers across my scalp and then going to work with her nails massaging and scratching the back of my head towards my neck and I feel like I'm going to dissolve into a puddle on the floor it's so good.

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

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

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

“...Boss?” she asks.

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

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

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

“Snippy?” caught off guard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cut for NSFW stuff and can be seen: in the archive here should you so desire.

“You okay, Boss?” she asks after a little while longer of us laying there while she strokes my hair and I find myself tracing circles around her chest, trying to put things together.

“I don't—everything's all--,” I take the hand away from her chest and swirl it around my head.

“Do you want me to start filling you in on the last decade and a half?” she offers, kissing my forehead again.

“There are things I'm curious about,” I admit with as much of a laugh as I'll allow, “but you know what they say about a man knowing too much about his own future...” and how I'll chew it to death more than I'm chewing things to death already.

“Well, how about I keep it to when I came back to town, then?” she suggests, “Because I was sort of gone for fourteen years.”

“What the hell,” I decide. Either way something's going to be bugging the shit out of me after all.

She plays with my hair for a little while, curling strands around her finger and then brushing them back behind my ears and then again, “I left after I graduated high school,” so she gets out, good, but then, she gets out, and the way she said things that's by herself, “Saved all the money—well, most of the money—you paid me and went to Texas. After that, I joined up with some people and traveled as much of the world as I could before and I had to come home because...” she nods her chin towards the shoulder that has a tattoo on it, a strange maze that's sort of partly made out of people, “...I woke up one day with this.”

I reach out and rub it cautiously with my thumb, given strange magically appearing tattoo and all. I mustn't sound horribly disappointed that we apparently don't have any contact for over a dozen years. She escapes that's a good thing, that's more than a good thing, “but you got out of have, that's awesome. Amazing adventures?”

She laughs, “I did everything I could that was something I'd never experience in Haven, from eating grilled rattlesnake to wearing a sari to camping in the African bush...” she brushes my hair behind my ear again.

“That's really cool. I can't say I've worn a sari.”

“...I still missed you though.”

“I—oh?”

I feel her cheeks warming a little. She's blushing, “I did a lot of things in my time out in the world. Sex wasn't one of them. No one measured up to you and I refuse to settle for anything but the best.”

Best what? “Well, you sure know how to set a strange standard,” I tell her, shifting to look her in the eyes. It's still amazing that she's here lying with me, grinning at me at this point.

“In terms of attractiveness, treating me with respect or sheer sexual skill? Because, you know, every other girl in high school can't all be wrong.”

I fan my face like an old timey Southern girl, “Pshaw. Shucks.”

She pokes me in the chest, but she's not entirely serious, “I taught myself to masturbate because of you, Boss. Be glad Mom never found out her precious little girl was getting all hot over That Crocker Boy.”

“You--” I cough because my brain catches up with what she said, “--sorry? What?”

“You're too sexy,” she pouts at me, but I realize she's as serious as she was when she poked me if not less, and she goes on, “I had to learn how to take care of things because you got me all worked up just by smiling.”

“A smile?” I sigh as melodramatically as I can muster and flop against the side of the couch, “and I was all freaked out about things and screwed all that stuff up...” and then I flop dramatically sideways again.

“So,” Julia says, leaning over me, I wrap an arm around her, “when I woke up with a tattoo that looked years old, I booked it back to town so fast I had to ship my motorcycle and discovered that not only did you still have this distinguished lady, but you actually owned a legitimate business and only a minority of the town still hated you.”

“Okay,” I say, squeezing her into a hug and cradling her breasts as I do, “still having the dear Cape I can get behind, because that's a prying from cold dead hands sorta thing but the legit business and the town what now? Are we...are we,” I drop my voice to an exaggerated whisper, “sure they're not the ones who've been hijacked by some pod people Trouble or something? Can there be Troubles within Troubles?”

She giggles, “Nope, you bribed 'em fair and square with good booze and good food. And Bill tricked you into buying it. It's not like you earned it.”

“I suppose that's something. Can't be coming over all good and proper now.”

“Mmm,” she says, nuzzling against my shoulder a little bit, “well, I've got bad news for you there, Boss. My good reputation rubbed off on you.”

I can't help but laugh a little at the rubbing off reference because obviously that's not all of that she's doing, but how, sure she was gone, but she came back. I can't see Eleanor just rolling over and suddenly giving us her blessing no matter what bar I have. I don't see a bar making that any better at all, really but what do I know. I don't even know how we got together.

“How...?” I ask her, “How did we...?”

“How did we?” she queries, turning to make sure she's looking right at me.

“...get together.”

“Oh,” she says, “Well, first there was six weeks of us driving each other crazy with trying to ignore the sexual tension because neither of us wanted to fuck up our friendship. Then there was a noise while you were showering, and when I went to see if you were okay you were hard as a rock and full of shame that I was seeing you like that. I told you to sit your ass down on the bed and started with a little oral, and when you didn't tell me to go away I climbed onto the bed with you and told you to fuck me,” she...there...how, what now? What was...? How did that even...? “Afterwards, we talked a bit and realized we both wanted more than friendship and we've been together ever since,” she snuggles down against me like a contented cat, but I'm more confused than ever. She was on the boat while I was showering, not too strange she was probably helping me with something, but did I slip? Why did...? Maybe it was just absolute breaking point? She did say six weeks...and this is six weeks after more than a dozen years...that is a long time, but okay fucking stop this shit. Stop it. You're being ridiculous again.

“So, wait...why was I? Why hadn't I just...?” I make the jacking off motion with my hand because I can't leave things alone.

Now she gets a guilty look, but it's nothing like the one Audrey was sporting earlier and she lets out a vague sigh, “There was a Trouble. You had but it didn't work. Neither did a hot shower, a cold shower, falling into the water, or my mouth.”

“That's an...interesting Trouble, and a...well,” I laugh. I don't want to say Godsend because that's just...

She smacks my shoulder, “I tried to make it sound better than it was, but noooo, you gotta ask logical questions,” and the award for most exaggerated pout goes to Ms. Julia Carr.

I kiss her irresistibly sexy pouty lips.

She kisses back but it's not going where I'd like it to go, but then she pulls back from my mouth and breathes against my ear, “I know us, we'll probably wind up having sex, a lot, until Audrey and Nathan find Sam and sort things out, but is there anything you want to know first?”

Shit...that could be an essay and a half except am I even going to remember any of it and will it fuck things up for them...us...future us? How the fuck do these Trouble things work? And too much knowing and how are we even...anyway because surely, “...your mom...?” works it's way out of my mouth because I still don't know how Eleanor hasn't stabbed me or arranged a hit for me deflowering her precious daughter even if Julia is of age.

“Mom's not around anymore,” Julia sighs but also stretches, “She went to Carpenter's Knot for a weekend getaway and broke her neck falling down the stairs. I'd just come back to town, hadn't even unpacked yet. You let me stay the night, and I just sort of moved in rather than go back to her house.”

“Wow,” I laugh, “so you got to see all my bad habits, and knew I was a man whore and yet you still wanted to have sex with me?”

She returns the laugh, “Your bad habit is that you sometimes forget you're not wearing anything. If I'd known you did that I would have fought to pay rent because damn that ass deserves money waved at it,” She knows about the sex life but does she know about the other things, “and well, I figure after your first thousand, your transcend man whore and attain the status of sex god.”

Well, that's...but fuck she's been having sex with this 'sex god' how can she..? how can I..? “first thousand?”

“Well, yeah,” she nods, “We figure you're up to three, three and a half, maybe four,” she runs a finger up my chest, “It's not like you kept track. Not that I knew that when I first came back, but you did have a reputation in high school, and I'm pleased,” she gives me a wicked look, “...to say that you definitely live up to it.”

Future me lives up to it.

But then she's kissing my neck, “You're very good,” she says, between them, “the bitches at school weren't exaggerating. But that was on top. I learned some tricks of my own, and I'm pretty good on top, too. So...wanna see what you've been missing?” There's a thought, “Or should I go grab Nathan's coffee mug and let you make my teenage self think she's died and gone to heaven? Because Duke Crocker actually wanting to have sex with her, and her mother not being around to say no...”

Oh, man. That's a...but then does there have to be a choice? “...could there be both?”

Cut for NSFW stuff and can be seen: in the archive here should you so desire.

“Oh?” I muster, turning away slightly, “Now you want to kiss?”

She smacks me playfully on the shoulder, “You can't pull that with me. I know you.”

I lean around and kiss her, because she has a point, and who knows when this is going to end, anyway, and I'll be back, and I'm not even going to speculate about if I even remember or not.

She snuggles down against my shoulder, “I got bullied,” she says, softly, “because the bitches were afraid of what would happen if I thought I had a chance with you. They tried to convince me that you'd never want me,” she looks over at me and I don't think I've seen her looking quite so vulnerable, maybe when she was first asking if she could watch me work? Maybe, because it's coupled with a pleading expression, “...fuck me like you're proving them wrong?”

Cut for yet more NSFW stuff and can be seen: in the archive here should you so desire.

“Mmm,” she says, pulling back again and sitting up, then kneeling up on the couch to wrap her arms around my neck and move so she can kiss me again.

“Acceptable?” I ask.

She laughs then, “You are never just acceptable, Duke Crocker. Not even in my dreams.”

I shake my head, “You know how to stroke a guy's ego.”

She laughs again, “Speaking of dreams. Do you still want to make teenage mes wildest ones come true?”

“How could I not?” I ask her, “Considering it's been a fantasy of mine,” that I can now admit freely. I reach for my shirt.

“Clothes?” she inquires.

I nod, “I thought it might be less freaky for her to not start out naked?”

She shrugs, “Maybe. I figured she...would just assume it was a sex dream.”

I raise an eyebrow at that, “Why wench do I want to know?”

“Did you forget the part where I said I taught myself to masturbate because of you?” she says, but she's grabbing her own clothes as well.

Right. She did say that. I finish fastening my pants, shaking my head. The laugh doesn't quite escape but the expression is there.

“So,” she says. Her eyes are smirking at me, “Where do you want to take things?”

I go to the kitchen counter where I set the box of mugs. I had made sure to put Nathan's mug on top in the middle so I'd remember where it was, and I unwrap it carefully. We don't know if just touching the mug causes the change, so I go to the fridge assuming future me will have milk or juice in there which he does.

“Well,” I say, as she picks out the juice bottle and pours it into the mug, “if you're talking about dream assumptions what do you say to the bedroom that I'm assuming I have?”

She takes me by the arm, “It's this way.”

“I would hope so,” I point out, “that is where we put the bed in my time.”

She laughs a little then, “Well, yeah. Your bed's still in there, and I technically have a bed in there,” she waves a hand towards the extra room that's mostly just full of random supplies at the moment, “but I don't exactly sleep in there.”

“Do you exactly sleep in my bedroom?” I ask with a grin.

“Some times,” she returns with a wink, sticking her tongue out and pushes open the door with her free hand.

The room is so different. The bare walls have been painted. The bed has luxurious looking sheets and pillows, and a comforter folded up at the base. There's two dressers, brightly varnished with a couple of things displayed on them and decorations on the walls. Julia smooths the comforter out across the bed as I set the mug on the dresser and look around. I recognize a large iridescent mostly oval shaped shell on top of the closest dresser, something I found while diving in Bermuda but not the smaller two inside it, or the sand dollar but there's been over a dozen years to collect things in the mean time.

Julia sits down on the edge of the bed, “Well, Boss, are you ready?”

I don't say anything but I do hand her the mug.

“It takes a little bit,” she points out, as she drinks some of the juice, and then takes another mouthful, and then hands me back the mug which I set down carefully against the rim around the edge of the dresser so it won't fall and break, and then I sit down next to her.

“How do you feel?” I ask her.

She gives me a slight smile, “Fine,” she shakes her head, “Come here and kiss me. Dream, right?”

“I'm serious!” Nate says, from the other side of the oven that we're carrying across the deck.

“Less talk more shifting,” I counter, “We're going to have to angle it through the door if you ever want to eat something not flame broiled when you're hiding out here.”

“Now you're just trying to change the subject,” he puts his side of the appliance down, “I'm not budging until you answer me, and I'm the one in the doorway.”

“I will mow you down and you will feel it now.”

“You should be happy I outgrew my illness,” he says, with mock indignation. Yeah, just never leave Haven, “What?” he asks.

“Nothing. You wouldn't believe me.”

“Well, if it has anything to do with you not having a thing for Julia then I absolutely won't.”

“Nate, please. It doesn't matter.”

“Of course it matters,” he says, “because as I was saying before you rudely tried to shove me over board with the oven. She likes you too.”

“Eh. You can swim.”

“That's beside the point. That means you can do something about it and have, you know, an actual relationship instead of being a man whore.”

“Just pick up the oven before I ram you with it and you're never able to have children.”

“Is she coming down here today?” Nate asks, but he does, thankfully, pick up his side of the oven and start backing through the door into the rooms below deck.

“I don't know,” I tell him, though she does come down pretty much every day and she didn't say anything yesterday about having some awful family obligation with Eleanor so chances are.

“Uh-huh,” Nate says, “You know she is. She can't keep her eyes of the gypsy bad boy.”

“Stop it.”

He puts his hands up, thankfully having already set the oven down again so it doesn't drop on my feet or something.

“Seriously, Nate. I'm 19 now. You live with police. You know what that would mean. Even if she likes me.”

“Which she does,” he persists.

“And we hit it off,” he starts to say something else but I put my hand up, “but anything happened, even if someone saw us just kissing and that's the only thing that had ever happened her reputation is ruined and I'm lucky if I just get arrested for statutory rape and am not being lynched somewhere.”

“Well, then get the hell out of Haven.”

“That'd be nice.”

“Ursa's almost finished,” he points out, “Shit, if you didn't care so much about eating you could go now.”

I mime throwing something at him. He mimes ducking.

“I'm not the only one who likes eating,” I point out, “Next time you come fishing you'd be bitching if it took longer than a few minutes to get a fire going.”

“Permission to come aboard!” Julia calls from outside.

“Aah!” Nathan says, making a face.

“Don't even start.” I warn him, “I know where you live, Wuornos.”

I go out on deck and fold my arms on the railing, looking down at her, “You're late, wench,” I call down, “we might have to make you walk the plank.”

“Do you have a plank yet?” she asks.

“I'm sure we could put something together.”

She laughs, “Not without help.”

“I did work on boats before I hung out with you people,” I back away from the railing, “Get your butt on board.”

She jogs up the gangplank and on to the deck, “What's up for the day?” she asks.

“Well, we picked up the oven.”

“That was her game,” Nate remarks, “She didn't want to deal with that.”

“What? Being trapped in a truck with you two for an hour?” she laughs, “That can get a bit much, but no, unfortunately it was just Mom deciding that I couldn't go anywhere until I helped her change all the curtains in the house,” she shakes her head.

“--the hell?” I ask.

“Well, you see,” Nate says, “In regular houses, people have these things called curtains and they use them...”

I hit him in the arm, “I was meaning why spend all this time changing them.”

“Mom is crazy,” Julia shrugs, “So, you were saying about the oven?”

“Yeah. We need to sort out the wiring on the oven and make sure it's not going to short out anything when it's connected, and we need to hook up the extractor fan. Other than that it's the clear coat on the cabinets and table...”

“Super exciting,” Nate rolls his eyes.

“You were the ones who said you wanted to help me. I can do this stuff by myself, you know.”

“I'll help with the oven,” Julia says, “It'll be good to know how to wire things. Putting the radio on won't risk electrocution will it?”

“No. Just like in a regular house, I do know how those work,” I add for Nate's benefit, “The oven is on a different breaker and I didn't connect the stove one yet because I like living.”

“This place only has one bedroom, doesn't it?” Nate remarks, when he comes up with the varnish and stain.

“I wasn't exactly in the market for a luxury liner. If I deign to allow you to stay on board at some point you can sleep on the pull out, or just sleeping bag on the floor somewhere, unless,” I waggle my eyebrows at him, “you want to cuddle up in bed with me. I'll let you be the big spoon.”

He throws the paint can key in my direction but misses and it bounces off the cabinet behind me.

“Careful now, damages are coming out of your pay.”

“You're not paying me,” he counters.

“Oh, right,” I put my finger to my chin, “but then refresh my memory, who was it loaned you, what was it $3000? so you could get your truck? And is letting you pay it off in labor?”

“And who was it just said you could do this stuff by yourself?” he picks up the paint key.

“Oh, my God!” Julia says, “Do I have to bash your faces together?”

The first part of the drive is quiet. I stare out of the window as it continues to go dark and Nate just stares at the road, and the radio hums it's way through music that doesn't stick in my brain.

“I am sorry,” he says.

“I know,” I tell him.

“Not about—well, I mean, I am, of course, but I meant about the other day, accusing you of—of being high. That wasn't—I shouldn't have.”

“It's fine,” I mutter, especially as you were right, but we're not. Not going to say anything. Not getting into that.

“Must have been a long trip.”

“What?”

“New Orleans,” he clarifies, “I don't think about what piloting all the way back from somewhere by yourself—and everything. Must be tiring.”

“It is.”

“Right,” he nods, “So, I'm sorry. I know how I get when I'm tired, and it was supposed to just be a blow off steam evening and then I'm being an asshole.”

“Just stop it, Nate, okay?” I turn to him, taking my chin off my hand, “Just--” I wave my other hand at him, “Just—it doesn't matter. It's pointless.”

“Sorry.”

We drive a bit longer.

“Are you sure you want to go...here?” he says. He was probably going to say 'home'.

“I have to. I was supposed to go see him when I got back. Tell him about New Orleans. Surprised he didn't show up at the boat,” I shake my head; but then Simon doesn't come and see you—well, not about things like that anyway. If he comes to see you...

“Right,” Nate says, warily, “What were you doing in New Orleans?”

“Working, Nathan. Then there was a great party...that would have been fun to see you at,” I manage a smile, “I would like to see you stoned some time.”

He shakes his head, “That's not happening.”

“It would do you good at least once,” we're close now, “Relax. I'm not suggesting you take something hard. Just some weed or some peyote.”

He shakes his head, “You know who I live with, Duke. Are you insane?”

“Probably, but fine, fine.” I put up my hands, “Seriously though. If you change your mind it is not like I would send you home right after you tried. You sober up first, my God, Nate. I'm not going to send you home a lamb to the slaughter. I'm not an animal.”

As he pulls the truck up to the door it's apparent Simon isn't home at the moment—the lights not being on isn't a sign but the truck not being there is. Small favors. I grab my bag out of the back seat and slide out of the Nate's truck. Nate gets out and follows me to the door.

“I'm serious. You can come back with me. Dad wouldn't mind.”

“I know, but I have to be here,” I reach into the inside pocket for the keys, “I'm sure I'll have something else to do tomorrow anyway or the next day.”

“No rest for the wicked,” Nate says and looks like he instantly regrets it.

“Something like that.”

“Alright. Well, you know where I am,” he puts a hand on my arm and then gets back in the truck.

%%%%

I almost call out to Carolina when I open the door, expecting to see her laying there on the couch given I can't hear moans from the back room, auto-pilot to get a response, make sure she's still alive. Forgetting that she's not going to be there. They tried to call her in for questioning too, but not been able to track her down. I dump my bag on the sofa and turn on the lights. Hey, they turn on. The house smells of stale beer. TV works too, but I can't focus on anything on it so I turn it off again.

Then it's aimlessly wandering around the house trying not to think about things, which doesn't work. So, I give myself some help, and then find my way to being pissed at myself and find my way into Simon's liquor cabinet as he's still not home and my brain won't shut up despite my previous efforts, and keeps returning to the inlet almost two weeks ago. What was it they were saying at the interviews today? Should have all their lab work soon. Well, good.

The door slamming open rouses me. I knock a pile of mail off the kitchen table as I sit up.

“What the Hell is this?” Simon demands, “Leaving all the lights on? Drinking my Goose? Have you been crying too?” His hand is raised to hit me but I don't care, “Not to mention this is the first time I've seen you since you got back! Don't think I don't know when you docked, boy.”

Four questions about thirty different answers but the one my brain musters is, “Fuck you,” so then my head slams into the table and I'm hauled to my feet by my hair. The almost empty vodka bottle smashes on the floor.

“You've been crying over the Carr girl?” he demands, “You've wet your dick in how many others and that one you cry over?”

“I didn't--” I try to pry his fingers from my head. Actual effective fighting methods lost to me. Goose is stupid. I forget what I didn't want to and remember what I did want to forget. Fuck you, vodka. Why does he drink you?

He knees me in the chest then, releasing me and I tumble to the ground coughing, “You didn't?” he demands, “Didn't what? You didn't fuck her?”

“No,” I choke out.

“So--” there's a scoff laugh. I feel an iciness suddenly, creeping out from the middle of my chest into the rest of my body, “Wow. So, I got that before you did. Too late for you now then, isn't it? What was so--” and the iciness is red hot rage, and I barrel into him, knocking him over the back of the couch. That he wasn't expecting.

I'm only coordinated by rage for a little while though, and lose the upper hand quickly. He might have a black eye and busted nose, but so do I, and my chest is killing me, as I pull myself into the corner when he walks away.

“Are you going to cry again?” he asks, going to the liquor cabinet, “It's a broken rib at most. It's not like I haven't given you those before. Look at this,” he shakes his head, “I have to drink the Smirnoff now, thanks to you,” he pours some into a glass and then brings the bottle and glass to his favorite chair and flops down.

I don't say anything.

He shakes his head, “So, how was New Orleans?”

I don't say anything.

He leans forward in the chair, “I didn't do anything to your ears or mouth,” he says, a little louder, “How was New Orleans?”

“It was fine,” I answer. My voice is scratchy, “Everything went fine.”

“Why were you late?” he asks.

“I picked up another job,” I pull myself to my feet, using the wall.

“Oh?” he says, curious, “And?”

“That went fine, too,” I lie. I lean back against the wall for a moment, steadying myself. Eyes closed.

“Well, then. Good.” I hear him pouring himself more alcohol.

I walk along the wall towards the door, “Where are you going?” he demands.

“I'm going to my boat,” I tell him, grabbing hold of my bag and his car keys from the table by the door quietly.

“Fine,” he says, “I expect to see you tomorrow by 9 a.m.”

“Fine.” I go out the door and unlock his truck. I'm not going to drive anywhere, but it's somewhere not around him to be. I sit down in the passenger seat and push it back so I can lay down. In a few hours Simon should be passed out drunk and then...and then I'm not sure what I'll do.

There's Nate's voice telling me I should call the police about what he said; but when have the police done anything about Simon Crocker.

%%%%

After reading half of The Tommyknockers so that I stay awake I figure it's a good time to check on the state of the drunkard. I carefully make my way to the house, stiff, having a hard time moving. Between the bruises and my head throbbing and being dizzy I throw up halfway the front door. This won't do.

“Dad?” I call.

The only response is snoring, and he's drunk almost the entire bottle. Good.

I hobble back to the car and go through my bag for something to help the pains, then to the weapons locker which for a moment doesn't make sense. There are so many things, mostly guns and knives, and one of the knives I do pick up, but he's already gotten the drop on me and I don't—until I stumble back and almost knock a sledgehammer on my foot and I remember him talking about hobbling people.

I drag the sledgehammer behind me into the main house.

“Dad?”

He's still sprawled out in the arm chair, legs out in front of him, not a care in the world. There he is, all relaxed and asleep as though nothing is wrong, as though he was perfectly justified in doing those things to Julia, as though I should be grateful, thankful to him that she's dead.

I swing the hammer up and bring it down on his right ankle. There's a crack and a crash as it goes through his foot and into the tile below as well, and he wakes up flailing and yelling. He tries to come out of the chair after me and screams again, falling over, cursing me. I back up out of his reach.

“What did you say, Dad?” I ask him, moving around to the other side and raising the hammer again. He reaches towards me, desperately, but he's too slow to switch sides compared to my own movement and I slam the hammer down again. I miss his ankle but I hit the middle of his calf and hear something crack. The scream is satisfying and curls him up long enough I can hit him again and actually crush the foot.

“What the fuck are you playing at, you little bastard?”

“Can't let them get away, can you?” I tell him, “Am I doing it right?”

“You asshole. I don't need feet. I have knees,” he's grabbing at the chair, pulling himself up to them so he'll be able to reach me. Panic and I hit him in the chest with the hammer. He does wind up on his knees, but bent backwards, coughing, sputtering, spittle, gasping.

“What's the matter? Haven't you had broken ribs before?” I can feel my chest burning and my arms aching with the exertion but I can't stop. If I stop I'm dead and it's all for nothing.

“Duke--” he says, raising a hand towards me, “Duke,” I slam the hammer down onto that hand, missing though and hitting the floor in front of his face. He smirks at me, but looks wary when I drag the hammer back towards me, “come on. Are you really ready to be the only active Crocker? You think you can do that?”

“I don't give a fuck about that.”

“You will when the Guard comes knocking.”

I slam it on his hand and he curses me up and down again. Rolling to one side, which puts him on his back again.

“Not so funny when it's your hand, is it? You need to be stopped. Your shit,” I raise the hammer again, “Needs to stop,” I slam it down in the middle of his chest. I was hoping for groin but I'm getting wavery. He's not going anywhere any time soon though. I lean on the handle of the sledgehammer as he coughs, spittle turning red, rather than white. I remember seeing this before and Simon getting disappointed that the guy might go too soon but he was coughing up a lot more of it at the time. He doesn't say anything for a moment just wheezes, flailing with the mangled hand towards the ground and gripping at his chest with the other. I bring the hammer properly onto his crotch as hard as I can. The scream is so satisfying given I can only imagine exactly what Julia went through thanks to this asshole. I swipe the sledgehammer back up and smash it in his face because of how he's been moving around with the pain and the writhing I wind up only catching the top of his forehead, not his face full on but at this point what the fuck ever I just smash and continue smashing I mostly hit his face, then I hit the ground which throws me off and I switch to just ramming the hammer into him from above.

He's not...moving...

I realize this slowly that even the twitching has stopped.

The hammer clatters to the ground, smashing through the remains of a lamp and I fall on to the floor backwards. It hurts. I can't look. There's red and pink mush everywhere.

Oh, fuck. Oh, holy fuck. I just...I just...

%%%%

I know I can't make it to the bathroom before I puke. I wind up puking into the kitchen trash and then flopping down on the floor there because my legs don't want to support me any more. I just...can't any more.

I'm so tired.

I should move. I should...

...but the floor is cool and I don't care so much that it's sticky under my hands I have a nook here in the corner between the cabinets to keep myself propped slightly up so that I don't get my hair stuck to the floor at least.

I'm jolted awake feeling like I was falling. That things tongue wrapped around me, pulling me away from the car. The screaming...it's barely coming light and I don't feel rested. I grab the kitchen counter and hoist myself to my feet.

Everything comes back as soon as I turn around and see the mangled mess of flesh pulp, bone, hair and blood in the middle of the family room. I grab my bag quickly and go back into the kitchen away. I need to do something about the mess but not...right now. Right now I need to not be aching everywhere and to get some actual sleep, be thinking clearly, to scrub things out of my brain, and there's only one thing I have that can actually do that given I'm not doing anything with vodka again.

I have to wash a spoon, but I do find one. Take off my jacket trying not to pay attention to the blood and bits on it and roll up a sleeve and sit back down in the corner. A few minutes later everything disposed of and it's all sliding away, and sleep must come for a while anyway.

I'm woken by the sound of a car pulling up by the house, four doors opening and closing but I can't bring myself to move. I realize I left the door partly open given I can hear them talking.

“Yeah, the DNA came in,” someone says, “but it's on us. This is our matter, not theirs.”

“His kid's in town, isn't he? He was in interviews,” voice two.

“Chances are he's on his boat. I wouldn't want to live with Crocker.” A woman's voice.

“Crocker!” There's a banging on the door from voice one, “Crocker, you home?! Teagues needs you! We're here to take you to the meet!”

“If he's passed out drunk our job is easier,” third male voice.

“The door is open,” the woman points out.

I should move. I should move. Teagues. That name. I know it. Why do I know it? I hear the door creaking.

“Oh, holy shit!” the second guy says.

“What?” the first voice, and then it echoes the second guy with a slight coughing sound following it.

The door creaks again and slams shut.

“Fuck me,” the woman says.

“Well, someone did our job...” the fourth voice whistles, “I'm gonna say, with that hammer.”

“No shit,” the woman again.

I hear them moving about the front room. The sound of things being moved about a little bit.

“This was done with venom,” the second one says.

“Simon Crocker brings that out in people,” the first points out. The woman and the second guy agree with him.

“This makes it different though,” the fourth guy says, “Call Teagues. We need to know how to proceed, if he wants clean-up or what we're going to--”

“Moore,” the first voice says in an attention call type way.

“Hm?” the second voice. Must be Moore, I guess.

Footsteps are getting closer. My head doesn't want to turn. Someone crouches down in front of me.

“Hey, kid,” Moore says.

“All the blood and everything—he must have...”

“That's his kid, isn't it?” the fourth voice says, “What's his name?”

“Duke,” the woman says, “but look how beat up he is...”

I hear a clicking and then I realize there are fingers in front of my face being flicked the way you would when clicking along with music, “There we go. Are you with me?”

I manage to turn my head and look up at Moore, but my voice—my mouth doesn't want to work.

“You doing alright? You hurt?”

“No shit he's hurt,” the woman moves to touch my face and I push her away from me.

“You're safe, kid,” Moore again, “He's—he's more than dead.”

“I know,” now my mouth works, but my voice sounds all wrong, “I—I know. I...” my hands are shaking against my legs now that I've lowered them back down, “He...”

“It's okay,” the woman crouches down next to Moore.

“Where's the phone in this house?” the fourth voice says.

“Not now, Alan,” the woman says.

“We need to talk to the boss and I can't fucking find it.” Alan snaps, “Do you know where it is?” he bends down towards me.

“I don't fucking know,” I snap back, “This is the first time I've been in the house in over a month. Who knows maybe Mom pawned it for drugs better that than the precious TV.”

“Just page it from the damn base,” the woman says, turning her head around. She stands up then and goes over to the fridge. I hear her rummaging around in there, and then looking in cabinets.

“What happened exactly?” the third guy says, “How did that--?” I'm not sure what he's doing but I can imagine he's gesturing towards the mush in the other room that used to be Simon.

“I hit him with the hammer...” I gesture towards it with one hand, and then grab that hand with the other because it's shaking.

“A lot,” the woman says. She kneels down next to me again. She has something crinkly wrapped in a towel and she offers it towards me, “This is for your head. Though I don't know how much it'll help at this point. This all happened last night I'm guessing.”

“Yeah,” my voice is quiet, again. I let her put the crinkling cold, freezing cold bag, over the side of my face. It must be some sort of bag of frozen veggies or something. I wonder how long it's been in there given I bet it's one I bought.

“No, I mean...”

“Just leave it,” Moore says.

Alan reappears, in a much better mood, “Vince is on the way. He doesn't want anyone to do anything else right now. We're just to wait.”

%%%%

Tedious. Everyone standing or kneeling or sitting around in that sort of silence that stretches out the way you over pull a rubber band in the hopes you can get it that much further than someone else when launching your spit ball. Eventually another car pulls up and two people get out by the slamming doors. The front door creaks open and closes eventually when people have walked in.

“Well, damn,” a voice I recognize says. That's when I realize who Vince is. I've heard and seen him arguing with Dad quite often, outside on the back porch, in hushed angry tones by the front door, and a couple of times coming to almost blows, slamming against the wall by shoulders and collars before stalking away from each other in huffs.

“Thank God it's tile,” the other guy says, “If all this had been soaking into carpet I don't even...”

“You could have let him shower,” Vince says, “Good grief have some common sense. Come on, lad. Do you have clothes here?” he hoists me to my feet by my arm pit.

“My bag...” I wave towards it.

He grabs that in the other hand and walks me towards the downstairs bathroom which I realize I'm a bit terrified to go into. Who knows what's in there—what Mom was doing last.

“I'm sorry about that,” Vince says, “Sometimes they get tunnel vision with directives. You get yourself cleaned up and then we'll talk about things. You've had a rough go of it I'm sure,” he pats me on the shoulder, “Take as long as you need. We'll be sorting things out here. Don't worry about anything.”

“But...”

He makes sure to look me right in the eyes, “Don't worry about anything. Simon was a murderer. Haven has been done a great service that he's dead. We will take care of everything. Go and clean up. Drop your clothes outside the door right here.” He points then turns the handle on the bathroom door so that it opens but he doesn't go inside he goes back to the front room.

The bathroom is not as scary as I feared. It does smell of mildew thanks to formerly damp towels in a pile behind the door, but nothing is stopped up, and there's no client leavings anywhere. I'm actually able to find two clean towels on the linen shelf above the toilet which is good because I didn't think to pack any of those from the Ursa but I do at least have soaps and things in there. I set the shower running to warm up and stand in the corner away from the mirror to strip then dump the clothes and mildewy towels out in the hallway.

The shower feels good until I start picking bits of Dad out of my hair and having to stomp them down the drain with my feet. It hits me like the wave of the shower itself, the smashing of the hammer into the bone, the red hot rage. He deserved it, but he still—he was—and I—and I'm in the bottom of the shower with one hand partly in the drain, until I realize I'm shivering from the water going cold and drag my ass out of there and into the towels.

I pull on pants after a while and sit. I'm going to have to go out there and talk to them all about Simon and everything. More questions. Like all the hours and hours of questions about Julia from yesterday, and now...I can't face that sober. Fortunately I can cobble something together in here to mix things with, and get things sorted before finding a long-sleeve shirt to put on and stash everything away once more.

The pile of clothes is gone from the hallway and I dump the bag by the end of the corridor towards the front door and look around. The room is brighter.

Alan and the guy who came in with Vince are wearing plastic over their clothes and have garbage bags, a roll of shiny clear plastic, shovels and are working with Dad's body, having rearranged the front room some. I can smell bleach. Vince and the others are at the kitchen table, which they've cleaned off. Papers and books and things have all been dumped in a corner. Not that it makes much difference. I can smell coffee though. Good luck finding mugs. No, wait, one of them is missing. Then he comes back into the room through the front door, carrying a huge thick plastic crate which he sets down in the front room near the other two. He's also wearing plastic over his clothes.

“Over here, Duke,” Vince says, waving me towards them.

Moore at the table gets up and offers me his chair so I can sit in front of Vince. The woman is sitting on the other side of us. After a moment or two of watching her I realize she's flipping through Dad's notebook for a moment I'm angry about that and then I don't care.

“Doing okay?” Vince asks.

I give a slight laugh.

“To be expected,” he answers, “Anyway,” he continues, “We've met even if you don't remember I'm Vince Teagues. This is Toby Moore and Alicia Walker.”

There's a blurry motion that is probably Alicia waving at me with the closed journal. I nod at her. Moore moves to lean against the counter behind Vince.

“Over there is Alan Finch,” he makes some sort of motion. I turn around in my chair, but I can't make out much of their features any now especially with all the shimmery plastic, and he says other names but I lose them in the crinkling and squelching of what they're doing to the goop that was Dad. I turn back to him carefully, “-ing you?”

“What?” I ask him.

“Had Simon been teaching you? There's lots of notes in your school record before you were withdrawn about absences of a week or longer for family matters and so on...” he's got some sort of papers in front of him I realize.

“Hm.”

“That's not really an answer.”

“I don't...” I wave a hand at him, “What are you even...doing here? You and Dad used to piss each other off...not that he didn't piss off a...” where was I going with that? Dad...people... “ton of people; but...”

“You know what your father's abilities were, don't you?” the woman, Alicia, steps in, “You recognized the journal.”

Oh, my God, they're so funny. There's my Dad's body literally being scooped into bags and a bucket of some sort in the other room and they're making coffee and we're sitting around chit chatting about the family job but they're not actually naming the family job is this like the Macbeth thing? Are they afraid if they mention it by name I'll just haul off and kill them all?

“Kid?” Moore's hand on my shoulder startles me and I turn to him.

“I'm nineteen,” I point out.

“That's a kid to the rest of us here,” he retorts.

“Fine. Whatever.”

Vince clears his throat, “If you could focus. I would appreciate it.”

I turn to him, scrubbing at my head with my finger tips, like I'm trying but I don't want things to get clearer. That was the whole point. Things were too clear last night and there are still bits all over. Someone is rattling around in the kitchen. There's water running and crockery clattering off itself. I wonder if anything will smash the sink is a mountain, bound to be silverfish or even roaches.

“-ment?”

I turn to Vince, “What?”

He looks irritated, “What started the argument?” he asks, “I'm inferring, based on your injuries that there was some sort of argument, which turned into a violent altercation which resulted in,” he waves his hand towards the room behind me, “that.”

“I...drank his favorite vodka because I was upset...about...about Julia.”

Vince seems pained for a moment, “And that lead to this--?”

“Ye—yes...” My left arm is itchy, “it was him. He said...he said what he'd done to her,” I feel like they're closing in on me then, so many eyes breathing at me, deep questioning breaths demanding more. I lean forward on the table. I can hear him over and over, and the expression twisting his face and the anger burning through me.

“Duke,” the Alicia says.

“I couldn't—I couldn't. He keeps—he kept, and he did those things—those things to her, and he—he laughed, said I shouldn't be upset,” I can't look up at them, can't see what they're thinking. I keep my fists either side of my head and just stare down at the filthy table top, the dried, what is that? Ketchup? Floating in and out of my vision, “said he did me a favor, a favor...having her, torturing her, and she's not even Troubled. He wouldn't have gotten high from her even and there's been so many others, and I don't...and her hands...” I cover my face then. I just can't. Please let that be enough explanation. Please no more.

Someone is grabbing me. I push back, ready and then Moore says, “No, hey, no, it's okay,” and puts an arm round my shoulders and just holds me so my head is against his chest and shoulder, “It's okay,” he repeats, “It's okay.” I think by the way his head turns he's talking or gesturing to Vince or Alicia or both but I can't hear what's going on and I don't want to. I just want it out of me.

“Toby's going to take you to our local safe house,” Vince declares, “We'll talk more tomorrow.”

Great, “Okay.” I lie and follow Moore, who is carrying my bag, out to one of the cars.

%%%%

The house is covered in white boards, has fake blue shutters, window boxes. It looks entirely too cute to be sitting out on the road today. When Moore stops the car I'm expecting someone to burst out of the front door to a swell of music followed by birds and animals and some sort of song about shiny, happy people. Maybe with mops.

Nothing happens though.

I get out of the car and find my bag.

Moore leads me up the steps and knocks, pulling up his sleeve and holding his forearm up to the window in the door. After a moment it unlocks and we're invited in by an older couple. Moore ushers me in ahead of him, rolling down his sleeve as he closes the door behind us and locks it.

“These are the Gallaghers,” Moore says, “Matthew and Susan. You might have been in school with their son Mike.”

I shrug.

“This is Duke...Crocker,” Moore explains, “Vince wants him to stay here tonight. We're dealing with his father right now.”

“Ah,” Matthew says while Susan pulls a face.

“You can put your bag in the room on the left over there,” Susan says, “When was the last time you ate?”

“I...”

“Let's get some food in you then, and you can rest. You look exhausted.”

I just nod.

The room is...well, it is. Dresser with mirror. There are tiny little animal figurines lined up against the back of it. Pictures on the walls of Haven scenery. Lacy curtains on the windows, possibly hand made bed spread, decorative throw pillows on the bed, a chair covered in more lacy things I'm sorta nervous to put my bag on it, which was my first impulse, so I set the bag on the floor next to it instead. There are things I would more expect to be in a souvenir shop on shelves on the walls, and a small book shelf by a door that has a weird assortment of books on it, crime novels, romance novels, one sci-fi and a fantasy and some local history crap. This is not a room meant to be touched.

The knock at the door makes me whirl around.

“You okay, hon?” Susan's voice.

“Yeah.”

“I can bring you towels if you want to take a shower...we didn't know you were coming or I'd have stocked up in there.”

“No, it's fine. I—I showered this morning.”

“Alright, hon. I'll give you the towels after we eat. Matt'll have the food ready in a few minutes, okay?”

I nod, but then remember she's on the other side of the door, “Okay, thanks.”

So, there's a bathroom in here. Good. It turns out to be the door by the bookshelf. It's small, toilet, sink and shower, but that's fine.

Lunch is toasted cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. Moore has stayed for it. There's awkward banter about things in town and them trying to establish whether or not I know their kid and trying to act like they haven't heard stories from him about me given we clearly didn't run in the same social circles. By the end of lunch I'm getting a dull headache, but I insist on helping with the washing up, partly so I can palm a clean spoon and then it's not hard to excuse myself to the bedroom given they're pushing me to rest anyway. Moore says he'll be back in the evening to see how things are going and there's teasing from the Gallaghers that he just wants more food. Then he leaves and I hide myself in the room they've given me, which thankfully has a lock on the inside door.

With a small assist, between my toes, sleep finds me pretty quickly and it's blissfully dreamless. Here and there a murmuring voice, but no images, no running. I wake up with a jolt, uncertain in the half light and creepy out of place shadows where I am. Right, “safe house”.

I take advantage of the shower and get dressed again before going cautiously back out into the house. I'm not sure what time it is, but I can hear someone humming in the other room.

“Oh, Duke!” Susan says, as I come into the kitchen. She's rinsing out a coffee carafe in the sink, “Do you drink coffee?”

“Some times. What time is it?”

“Six thirty, in the morning,” she clarifies, “We thought it was best to let you sleep. Moore was pretty sure you hadn't slept properly for quite some time.”

I nod.

“I bet you're hungry too.”

I nod again, “Thank you.”

She allows me to help her make breakfast though: eggs, bacon, sausage, waffles; by the time Matthew is downstairs and Moore is knocking at the door the whole house is filled with the scent of cooking.

“Well,” Matthew remarks, “Aren't we a well-trained house guest?”

“I...had to learn how to cook or I didn't eat,” I admit, carefully, “One of Mom's lodgers taught me some things and then slipped me money if I would make sure there were meals for him to eat, wound up being lucrative for me for some reason guys like to not have to cook for themselves when they come home to crash.”

“I would never have guessed,” Susan comments, dryly, with a look at her husband and then at Moore.

“I'm just here to make sure he hasn't run off,” Moore says, putting his hands up, “It's not my fault that happened to coincide with breakfast.”

“Well, make yourself useful,” Susan tells him, “and clear up the table and set it.”

Moore obediently lays out silverware as he was told as Matthew is pouring out coffee for everyone and setting out milk and sugar and soon after that we're eating and there's chat between them about the local baseball season, and the Labor Day boat race that happened just before I got back. I have to be asked twice before I realize they were talking to me about where it was I'd been off to in August.

“I had to drop off some things in New Orleans,” I tell them, “and stayed for part of the food festival they were having,” so there's discussion of different foods for a while which is a nice, safe, distracting topic but then I'm dismissed through into the front room because I helped cook so I don't have to clean those are apparently “the rules” and Vince will be here soon anyway, Moore says.

The front room is equally full of cute and weird things dotted about on every surface, interspersed with pictures of the Gallagher family in various locations around the house and town. The couches and chairs all have those similar lacy things on the back and I feel so weird being in the room that I just perch on the edge of one of the chairs to wait.

I try to go around the room identifying everything once more so that my brain doesn't wander back into the events of the past couple of weeks and I don't wander back into the bedroom and the zippered pouch. It's probably best to not have another meeting with this Vince while high I imagine with more than twelve hours sleep behind me I don't have as much leeway to be disjointed. No matter how much it's singing to me from in there. No matter. I daren't go in there and get my book even.

It feels as though it's at least another hour though I've only gone through everything in the room three more times and am sitting on my hands by the time there is an officious rap on the door in that same rhythm Moore used. Matthew practically sprints from the kitchen to answer it. I hear him shaking hands with and greeting Vince and someone else, after a moment I recognize the voice as that of the man who showed up with him yesterday and started arranging the cleaning up of Dad's body. I'm standing up when Matthew shows them into the front room.

Vince shakes my hand which seems weird and then, “You remember Don?”

“Yes,” I shake his hand too.

Vince leads the way back into the kitchen and the Gallaghers leave. Moore stays, pouring coffee for Vince and Don. He presents me with the mug I had earlier also, and sits down himself.

“First things first,” Vince says, “Simon Crocker has packed things up on the Cape Rouge and left. You have no idea where he might have gone. The last time you saw him was the night before last when you got into an argument turned physical fight with him and left the house afterwards to clean yourself up on your own boat.”

“Right,” I tell my coffee cup.

“You can tell people that, I trust, because that is what you have to tell everyone.” Vince says.

“We put a lot of work into this,” Don remarks.

“I will tell it!” I retort, “It's in my best interests, isn't it?”

Moore nods, “Well, yeah.”

Great. I shake my head, “So, what's second thing second?”

Vince smooths his hands across the top of the table after setting his mug down, “I know you understand about the Crocker family's Trouble.”

I grip my hands more tightly around the mug, “Simon was very adamant that it was our family's divine duty to cleanse the Troubles from Troubled people...”

“Not exactly.” Don says.

“No, really?” I mutter, feeling myself going cold, “Going around the country killing people for their blood rush? That's not something that's supposed to happen?”

“That was an impressive level of sarcasm,” Moore remarks.

Vince gives him a slight glare but then returns his attention to me, “Well, then, perhaps you'll be interested in hearing what the Crocker family is traditionally supposed to do for Haven and the Troubled, rather than the way Simon...twisted things.”

“I have a feeling you'd be telling me anyway,” I say, remembering Simon's words, “I am the last active Crocker and you're...The Guard, right?”

“Active...” Don says, “Are you sure?”

I just glare at him.

Moore whistles.

“Since when?” Vince demands.

That first hunting trip he took me on he'd told me we were going to Michigan but we actually stopped in Vermont. I got to stay in a motel the first couple of days, and then he picked me up and drove me to a cabin he'd borrowed where there was a beaten and restrained guy...

“October 1989,” I drain the rest of the coffee cup and set it down before my hands start shaking, “He—he took me to Vermont and—and there was a guy...”

“He didn't just activate you with his own--”

“It doesn't work like that,” Vince tells Don, “Otherwise the Trouble would be done now. The Trouble would have been done more than a century ago when two Crocker brothers got into a fight over a woman and one killed the other. Besides I dread to think of the consequences if...” and he trails off then not voicing what it was he dreads to think of.

“He used the guy's blood,” I tell them, “It—it was...” I wrap my hands back around the coffee cup and try to stop myself from fidgeting but I wind up turning it around and around in my hands instead.

“Anyway, you're active,” Moore says.

“Yes.” It's terse, I know, but seriously we've been through this and I don't know how much longer I can sit here and go through this bullshit and my neck is itching.

“The Crocker Trouble is...a control mechanism,” Vince says, “We've only ever sought to have Crockers cleanse Troubles that are dangerous to large groups of people, the town as a whole, or when there's just no other way. Your father will have had a journal somewhere.”

“I've seen it. I had to write the man's name down and what his Trouble was.”

“Exactly,” Vince nods, “but in time's past this has been reserved for things like people who could create cyclones that were destroying, well you can imagine, and they weren't able to find a way to control themselves, or...”

“I got the drift,” I tell him, gripping the mug tightly because I'm shaking againn. Part of me finds it hilarious that if I was high on Troubled blood right now the thing would have shattered.

“Only when there's no other way.” Vince says.

“Right...” I can't. It feels like the empty mug is going to swallow me. It would be nice if it could.

“You want some more coffee, kid?” Moore asks.

“No,” I tell him, “No. I need to piss, actually, is that okay? I swear I'll come back.”

“Fine,” Vince is clearly irritated, but he dismisses me, after all who wants to risk the wayward gypsy peeing on the furniture, might not be properly house-trained. I do go to the bathroom but I also need calm. There's too much and I need the peace, aside from it calling to me all morning. I'm sure my irritability is partly to do with that. I'll be better able to handle the whole thing if I take some edge off all this. It'll be better. It will. I just...this whole thing is just stupid.

I mix everything together in the spoon, taking off shoes and things will take too long, so it has to be back to the arm. It burns a little but then there's warmth, and then as I undo the tie off things start to feel so much better, which was the whole point after all. The pit of unrest eases out of my chest and stomach and smooths it's way through my arms and legs. I allow myself some deep breaths before cleaning everything up and stashing what I don't throw away or flush, rather, before going back to the kitchen and the waiting Guard. I flop back into the chair.

“Sure you don't want more coffee?” Moore asks, waving the pot at me.

I put up my hand, “Nah, no. It's fine. So...” I turn to Vince, “What were you gonna say...before..?”

“When Don and his team were arranging things with Simon they retrieved the Crocker archive and tools that Simon had on his boat.”

“Awesome...” I tell him, still slightly sarcastic.

“We'll help you out of sticky situations here and there, pay you for certain other errands, provided you leave yourself open to fix certain...Troubles when it's needed.”

“Kill people, you mean.”

“We don't ask these things lightly,” Vince says, “The reason Simon and I kept arguing was because—anyway, that's not important. We need you to sign on with us.”

“Do I have an actual choice here?” I trace my fingers over the top of the table, don't lay your head down, don't... “I mean, really?” I have to snicker a little bit, “If I say 'no' what happens?”

There's a moment of uncomfortable silence as a look passes between Don and Moore.

Vince finishes the swig of coffee that he was taking and sets his cup down and then steeples his fingers before looking at me, “You're young. There are a lot of things about this town and the Troubles you don't understand, especially given your father's particular 'take' on things. The fact remains that we did you a huge favor by cleaning up the mess that was made the other night. I think you'll agree. What would you have done if my people hadn't shown up?”

I shrug, “Burned the house down?” something slowly reaches through the fog I injected over my memories, “You were coming to deal with him anyway, weren't you? I really don't think a four person crew was just coming to tell him off and ask him nicely not to do that shit any more—and you didn't have any cops with you. So, didn't I do you a favor?” thankfully right now I'm too blissed overall for that to make me want to puke even if Vince is grating against that.

Vince smooths the table in front of him, “What are you intending to do to live now? You need money to survive, you need jobs. Simon's not here to arrange things for you.” he inquires.

“Simon arranging things wasn't always for the best,” I counter.

“I can see that,” Moore remarks.

Vince shoots him a look, “And what if the Cape Rouge just 'happens' to show up? What then?”

“So, blackmail then?”

“I don't like it, but what the Crocker Trouble can do is that important, Duke. It can save hundreds of lives and more at the cost of just one. We can help support you. You just have to take on these odd jobs for us from time to time and you'll be saving countless people. There, thankfully, aren't that many terrible, horrible Troubles so it'll just be a matter of having a way to keep in touch and other than that you can go about your life at least until the Troubles come back here, and then you'll need to be here for the duration.”

“Lovely. When's that likely to be?”

“2008 at the earliest.” Moore says.

“We'd keep you apprised,” Vince says, “and you'd have a stipend, of course, a retainer, whatever you want to call it and if you wanted to stay in the area--”

“I don't.”

“Fair enough.”

I toy with my arm for a moment, “but the Ursa can make fairly good time being small,” I can't believe I'm saying it—but it goes back to the previous of what choice do I have? And it is what our Trouble does that's been brought home to me for the past five years and then New Orleans...

“Your father had drop box--”

“I know.”

“Of course,” Vince nods, “Moore can drop you back at the Ursa along with your inheritance and we'll see you later today to finalize things. You understand what will happen if you change your mind and leave.”

“I said I'd—alright I implied I'd do it and I will,” I stand up and the others follow suit.

Vince leans over and shakes my hand. His hand feels really cold, “Thank you,” he says.

“Right,” I answer and Moore takes me out to the car after I retrieve my bag.

The house doesn't seem so cute any more.

I'm sitting on the table of the picnic bench in the park, laced cigarette in hand, reading the time on my phone: ten minutes to go before contact but then someone else comes over from behind and to the left.

“Duke?” female voice, recognition is slow. Officer Parker.

I turn, suspicious. She looks confused and concerned. This is unexpected.

“You're...out of hospital, already?” she's looking me up and down like she hasn't seen me in years.

“I wasn't in...hospital?” I point out, adding in tones of why the hell are you talking to me? I start texting contact meet blown cop here change loc change time update soon. Of all the bullshit. She's probably just talking out of her ass to be talking and making things awkward.

“You—you...really don't look well. Are you sure you should have been let out this? Where's--”

“I don't know what your game is but--” I slide off the bench and down to the ground, finishing the cigarette and stomping it out.

“And since when do you smoke?”

I ignore her and continue my sentence, “but I don't have to talk to you. I have things to do. Go harass someone else.” I pick up the bag I had under the bench and leave. She doesn't ask to check it, which is also unexpected but I'll take it. Whatever weirdness is going on with her she can have it. I watch as she heads back towards the P.D and head down towards the general area of the docks myself but only a block before texting contact again so that we can meet down the road I'm at. There's a bakery at the end that had a fire and hasn't been rebuilt yet good chance they'd be coming that way. They approve. Exchange is made. Arrangements for next batch and different location. Move on actually back towards the docks and on board the Ursa to stash payment and check for messages. Nothing at the minute.

The thing with Parker was weird—that she showed up right then. Did someone leak something? I make a few accusatory phone calls and nothing seems to shake loose. We'll let that fall where it does. Then I offer myself some de-stress from the stash in the wall panel behind the couch.

%%%%

“Crocker!” Wuornos' voice jolts me up. Needle still in my left arm. I'm leaning against the bathroom wall. I finish the rest of the push. Everything rushing quiet through my ears. Things disjoint. The wall blurring.

“CROCKER!” it makes me jerk, and the needle catches, busting scabs, blood spurting. Fuck.

“Just a fucking minute!” I yell back, tossing the needle into the toilet, flushing, and grabbing a towel to wrap around my arm.

“Hurry your ass up! We need to talk to you!”

We. Well, he wouldn't be about without Parker, I bet. She probably realizes she screwed up not searching things. Well, too late.

I pull myself to my feet using the sink. Dizzy. Puking. Fuck. That was too fast. Rinse things out. Readjust the towel and meander outside holding it. I was right. We is Wuornos and Parker. Though they're on ground level not right outside.

“What do you want?” I demand.

“What happened to your arm?” Parker has that weird concern in her voice, again. Head shape moving up and down slow movements studying me over and over.

“I was making food. My hand slipped when you yelled. It's fine. What do you want?” I stare down at them, blurring in and out like that.

“To talk to you.” Wuornos.

“Okay? About what?”

“Do you--” Parker starts, then sighs, “Can you come down here?”

“Fine.” I amble down the gangplank onto ground level.

“Are you sure you're alright?” Parker says, “You seem unsteady.”

“I'm fine.”

Wuornos scoffs, “Maybe we should bring you back to the P.D to repeat that. I doubt you can pass a sober test.”

“If I was high. You can't—you can't detain someone based on something in their system, only—only things on them, which I...do not have.”

Wuornos exchanges a look with Parker, “What about on the boat? We can search that.”

“I do not give you permission to go on board.”

“You're hurt,” Wuornos continues, “Looks like self-harm to me. I'm gonna say that gives us probable cause to go aboard, who's to say we didn't go aboard earlier to check on you out of concern for a Haven citizen when you didn't answer the first two times we called.”

“The hell, Wuornos?”

“Parker?” he asks.

“I concur,” she says.

He grabs hold of me, and she goes ahead, as he drags me up back onto the boat and into the cabin and shoves me down onto a crate that's just inside the door.

“Wow,” Parker says, looking around the main cabin, “This is just...this is not my Duke.”

“The hell you talking about your Duke?” I demand.

“It's a Haven thing,” Wuornos replies, “Which takes us back to what we were here about. You piss anyone off lately, more than usual, I mean?”

I snort at him, “Business has been fine despite her best efforts to get in the way.”

“Who do you do business with?” Parker asks.

“Really? I'm just going to roll over and tell you that.” This is annoyingly ruining my buzz. Noise crashing the brightness out of the walls.

Wuornos moves around in front of me and starts tugging at the towel wrapped around my left arm.

“The hell are you doing now?” I pull my hand back.

“Let me check what damage you've done to yourself,” he mutters, “we wind up bringing you in you don't need to bleed out in holding.”

There's a strange noise from Parker's direction when the towel gives way. She comes closer and looks at my arm too, “Oh, Duke,” she says. Is that tearfulness? What the fuck? Why is she upset about me? “What happened to you?”

Wuornos looks over at her too, “Parker, come on.”

“I told you, Nathan. This time line is wrong. Simon Crocker was supposed to be dead as of 1983. The Rev should be dead too, but a little more recently. There's...and Duke should definitely not be like this. I've never even seen or heard of this boat. He owns the Cape and The Gull and he works with us and he's not...” she trails off.

“The Gull?” I ask her.

“It's a bar. Right over there,” she waves, “and yes I know that's just the dead Second Chance. I'm not even going to try to explain again. This time line is wrong and we need to find the Troubled person who caused it and put it back.”

My father...in 1983. He wouldn't...he wouldn't have been able to...

“Where's Julia?” she asks, “I can't believe that she would want this for you.”

I hit her in the face.

%%%%

The sunlight glitters and sparkles through the windows of the truck. Lights blur and trail by and there's music in the rumbling tires.

“That was stupid, Nathan,” I hear Parker.

“He hit you,” his voice is distorted. It sounds funny. If I'm actually giggling out loud they don't seem to notice.

“Yes, but I can't believe even in this screwed up time line--,” there's a long pause, “You knew about the Crocker Trouble, didn't you?”

“Yeth. We've been—there's been times...” he shakes his head, “Thith not the firth,” he pulls the thing away from his face, “first time we've been in a fist fight.”

I crane around trying to see. Parker is driving. Wuornos has something held to his face again. Details filter through in shards of light. Him hauling off at me. Me punching him too. I must have got him in the mouth. Then the brilliant glow of the tazer, making everything shine and Wuornos coming at me again because it did nothing. I'm cuffed now though and a dull ache is starting spreading from knees and elbows throughout the rest of my body.

“That's why it was a stupid idea. You should have just tazed him in the first place if it pissed you off that badly. What did happen to Julia that—that brought on that reaction?”

“She wath murdered,” he says.

“Oh, God,” Parker says, almost breathless, “When?”

Wuornos pauses then, mental counting I'm sure. September 1994. Sometime overnight the 9^th, a Friday. My mouth won't work, probably just as well. I close my eyes. My head is starting to hurt and the sparkling from the sunlight is turning into daggers.

“Thixteen yearth ago,” he answers, “Almotht theventeen now,” he pulls whatever it is away from his face, “Of course, there were tons of people in town who were wanting to point the finger at him, but...but I was with him when we found her. I knew it wasn't him. It was too—there was no way.”

“Oh, God,” Parker says, again, as she's pulling to a stop, “Did they ever find out who did?”

“From what Chief said there was a good bit of evidence pointing towards Simon Crocker...but he disappeared before he could be brought in for questioning.”

“Disappeared?”

“Yeah...”

Oh, fuck my limbs hurt and my head feels like a tiny gnome is playing the steel drums inside my sinuses. I'm gonna hurl. Please let this stop have been the actual P.D I daren't open my eyes the lids hurt too much. The door opens next to me.

“Come on, Crocker--” Wuornos tugs at my arms. Moving my body is tricky. It's like my limbs are syrup, pins and needles and breaking sticks. I get to the edge of the seat though with bare minimum of eye opening, “Crashing now, are we?” he inquires, without sympathy, until his yanking me the rest of the way out of the car causes me to vomit way too close to his shoes. Parker helps him get me all the way into the department.

“Crocker...” one of the cops in the department says as I lean against the wall, “back again? What's it this time?”

“Assault on a law enforcement officer, three counts,” Wuornos remarks, with tones of 'this should be obvious' considering the bruising on both his and Parker's faces. I got her cheek and below her right eye. His lip is busted and by his nose has bruised up too. I can't tell where I might be hurt, everything hurts. It's taking everything not to slide down the wall.

“The fuck? You son of a gypsy crack whore.”

“If...you're gonna insult my mother do it right...” I mutter, “Spic...Taco, say 'tu madre es una puta con una concha sucio'. My father was the gypsy.”

I'm yanked off to holding and lay down on the bench after the handcuffs are removed. Parker stays standing outside the cell. Wuornos disappears.

“You said 'was',” she says.

“Mmpfh?” I close my eyes. The lights are too bright in this room. My mouth is drying out but I know better than to ask for a drink.

“You said “My father was the gypsy”. Nathan told me Simon Crocker disappeared—skipped town. What happened to him?”

I cautiously open one eye and shift on the bench as best I can so that she's blocking most of the light, “Aren't you a smart police officer? Why don't you use your imagination?”

“Duke...”

“Stop talking to me like you know me. I'm apparently not your Duke? Or whatever the hell you keep going on about...”

“Right,” she says, “Sorry; but yes. You do know about the Troubles, don't you?”

I snort. This feels like deja-vu, “You were just asking Wuornos about The Crocker Trouble that I obviously have and thus I'm Simon Crocker's son. Simon Crocker—the man whose zealotry turned the Rev into a Troubled people sympathizer. Yes, I know about the fucking Troubles.”

“He what?” It seems like her brain shuts down for a moment, “How?”

“Why don't you ask the Rev?” I mutter, rolling slowly onto my back and using one arm to shade my eyes. There are three gnomes in my head now and they're having some sort of drum war. Unfortunately there's no way for me to wring their asshole necks.

“That still doesn't answer what happened to Simon,” Parker presses.

She's not going to let it go, is she? “I was lead to believe had an unfortunate meeting with a sledgehammer.” He ran into it a dozen or so times...

“Lead to believe?”

“Trustworthy source.”

“Who?”

“That'd be saying, wouldn't it?” He shouldn't have gloated. He shouldn't have fucking gloated.

She sighs and looks away for a short time. Go on. Go the fuck away.

“Anyway,” she says, “This Trouble—the reason I was asking. This...world...time line it's wrong. I was explaining about it a bit when we were on your boat. Do you remember?”

“Gulls? Capes? Something?” Not that I don't know what the hell the Cape Rouge is but really? Me living on Simon's boat? In what fucked up universe?

She sighs, again.

My arms are so fucking itchy. I have to sit up. The room goes sideways. I fall off the bench on to the floor. Man, the floor is so cool.

“Duke!” she's crouching down level with me.

“Can't you just leave me alone?” I mutter in her general direction.

“No,” she says, “No, because this is wrong. I know you don't trust me in. You have no reason to. Everything has screwed you over; but in the proper time line Simon dies when you're a little kid. He isn't around to do whatever he—I can only imagine what growing up with him your whole childhood must have been like, and just before is the most I've ever heard about your mother—if she's even like that in our time line, but he dies, and Julia,” I feel my fists clenching, “Julia is alive. You and she, anyway, but you work with us, like I said, and she—you and she, you're together. You're very much in love. You're sickeningly adorable, actually. It's kind of annoying.”

“Don't fuck with me.” I tell her.

“I'm not,” she stands up, and unlocks the cage door, steps inside and then closes the door behind her and locks it again.

What the hell is she doing?

She sits down next to me, “It's the truth. You—the other you was telling me and Nathan, just the other night from your hospital bed how if it wasn't for her you wouldn't have gotten off heroin when you were working together fixing up the Cape Rouge when you were twenty or so which I know you apparently didn't get in this time line, but I mean, gah...you are so cute and I was rooting for you guys, I was, and you'd gone and gotten together without my help or interventions, despite the drunken poker thing.”

“Surrrrre,” I drag it out even though it hurts my jaw.

“Parker! What are you doing in there?” I hear Wuornos.

“Hush, Nathan!” she calls, “There was this whole thing about trust and respect and stuff which is, you know, understandable and OH! Because, I mean, you knew she had a crush on you when she was just a “wee lass” but she didn't know you actually liked her too.”

I feel my chest go cold. How the Hell would Parker know about this shit? She wasn't in town when we were kids, and even though Wuornos—there's no reason he would have told Parker about the “wee lass” he doesn't give enough of a shit.

“And you guys have all these weird nicknames for each other, wench, Boss...there was some talk of a pitchfork allergy or something.”

I pull myself up carefully into a sitting position.

“I take it I hit on something,” Parker says.

“You have my suspicion,” I tell her. She's unfortunately shorter than me now so she can't block the bright light and I need my hands to scratch as well. Annoyances.

“You're going to make things bleed!” she says, sharply, trying to grab my hands I pull away from her and she flinches back at the same time.

Wuornos is at the door, “Parker—get out of there!”

“We're making progress, Nathan,” she retorts, “on the whole this is not the right time line issue.”

“But--”

“Duke might have an idea of who has done this...” Parker continues, “Don't the Crockers keep records of Troubled?”

“Of Troubled we've killed.” I snap, “I thought you know things.”

Parker sighs, “Simon Crocker being the zealot you say I thought he might have had a hit list plotted out somewhere with Troubles written out. Stop scratching!” She reaches for me again, “Do I have to hold your hands?”

“Don't touch me,” I pull back. My hands are clammy, but I feel overheated and cold, “It's possible, I suppose, but I haven't seen anything like that.”

“If whoever it is extended Simon's life maybe they showed up and sucked up to him?” Wuornos suggests, “Does—did he have any weird friends?”

I snort.

“Well, if it's someone who got themselves sent back in time by...” she clicks her fingers, “Stuart Mosely then that might be the case but then—there'd probably be something in the records. In our proper time line Vince and my former incarnation Lucy killed Simon because as Duke put it he was a “murder monster”. When Simon and the Rev came back as ghosts--”

“What?” both Wuornos and I say at the same time.

“Just—just—it's easier if you just go with it, okay? Please. There was a ghost Trouble, and Simon and the Rev both came back to chit chat and cause problems and it was clear they had both been very buddy buddy during their time alive. You say that's true now or was, at least?”

“When I was a kid, yes...” at least the stupid bed bench thing digging into my back is keeping me awake.

“Has there been anyone super pissed off that the Rev has started advocating for Troubled people?” Parker says, “I would imagine if they wanted Simon to stay alive longer it would be to be working with the Rev to keep doing what they were doing...and if the Rev isn't doing that I bet they're very unhappy. Duke, has anyone pestered you to take up your father's mantle?” she hesitates, “Ha-have you been--?”

“You really think I want to be doing things he did?” No matter that I am. That I have to for the damn Guard but not going at it independently like dear old Simon did.

Wuornos makes a coughing noise. I ignore him. Parker scolds him.

“I was tempted to burn or bury all his shit but...” but the gang of Guard in the house that I'm not getting in to.

“Stan!” Wuornos calls, “Who did we pick up for vandalizing the Rev's house?”

“Just a minute!” a voice calls back.

I curl my head up against my knees trying to keep all the excess light and noise away and if I keep my hands under the crook of my legs maybe I'll stop scratching and Parker will stop bitching at me. After a few moments I hear footsteps approaching.

“Andrew Pearson,” the “just a minute” voice says, papers rustling like rocks grating together.

“Thanks,” Wuornos answers. There's the sound of papers being handed off. When I look up he has a two pieces of paper that he's looking at, “Come on, Parker. Get out of the cell. We have work to do.”

“Nathan--” she says.

“In this other world Julia is alive and my father died eleven years earlier?” I ask Parker, lifting my head cautiously.

“Yes,” she says.

“Then I want in.”

“Hell no,” Wuornos says, “You're in--”

“What does it matter what I'm in here for?” I demand, “If this Trouble gets fixed it all goes back to Parker's other time line, right? I'm not on the hook for anything I'm this other Duke with this...other life...”

“That's not...”

“Nathan. Shut up.” Parker says, “The more help the better, and he is right.”

“What use is he going to be though? In this state?” He does have a point in the fact that right now I could barely stand.

“I can fix that too,” I point out, “You just have to get me back to my boat and besides if you let me at him...then he can never do this again and if any of his other relatives feel the same way they can't either.”

%%%%

I keep my eyes firmly shut on the drive back to the Ursa. Wuornos is driving and has been told to keep his mouth firmly shut too. Parker apparently has him well in line because he does as he's told. She, however, keeps talking to me.

“Are you sure you want to do this? My Duke he goes through hell when he absorbs a Trouble...”

“Time line reset, right?” I repeat to her stiffly, sitting on my hands.

I can feel her chewing on this, “Yeah...I suppose so. I just...I don't know what this...how this...”

Ugh. I have to open my eyes and give her a glare, “What are you going on about?”

“If the time line resets...will the Trouble still be gone? And if it is what will that do to him? He's in hospital in the proper time line...because of a whole horrible mess with a different Trouble.”

“Hospital?” This is an interesting thing.

“Yes!” she snaps, “Didn't you just hear me about Trouble absorbing hell? I was under the impression you knew about your family Trouble.”

Wuornos does that throat coughing thing he did earlier when I was talking about not wanting anything of my fathers but Parker doesn't do anything more than wave a hand at him. I would shake my head at her but I don't want to start trying to heave up bile.

“I don't--” Parker starts.

“I never saw--” It's my turn to start but she cuts me off.

“You never saw your Dad dealing with Troubled people, well, then I suppose that makes sense.”

Oh, she's so so funny, “if you let me finish. I never saw “Dad” go through anything but immense pleasurable joy after something like that. He was always pretty damn pleased with himself. It was one of the few days I could be guaranteed not to get beat over something. He was pissed as Hell when the Troubles ended; but then he found out he could go around outside Haven and keep at his Mission so things eased up a bit in the Crocker house, because he wasn't here or he was happy still.”

Wuornos stops the truck by the docks and the doors click unlocked. I carefully drag myself out of the back seat and up to the deck the promise of an end to the pains spurring me forward and making me ignore Parker's offer for assistance. I do hear her following me up on deck but I slam the door in her face and push the internal bars across so she can't come inside. She calls my name but I hear Wuornos saying something to her outside but not what it is. I had at least remembered to lock everything behind the couch back up earlier otherwise her poking around would have gone a lot worse.

I find a couple of knives and a gun to bring along and a pack of cigarettes, before I go to the other supplies. There's a moment of what am I doing believing in this bullshit of another universe where things are different, but what is there to lose? If it's wrong and the guy is killed for nothing he was murdered in front of two cops. I leave the panel open behind the couch. I write a confession to murdering my father because of things he did I ramble about on the paper connecting my thoughts to Andrew Pearson and how he also needs to die and leave that there too. It's only then I mix the dose, strap off my arm and stand up to lean against the wall and put in the juice; but then it doesn't matter I'm back in everything being shiny. I pull out the needle and drop it, unstrap my arm and head back top side.

Parker looks at me nervously when I open the door, that sparkling golden halo all around here. Wuornos is more severe more blues.

“Hey,” I tell them, “Good to go?”

“If you are...” Parker says.

“I'm fine,” I pat her shoulder, “Let's go,” I lock the door behind me and follow them back down to the truck, climb in the back and stretch out along the seat.

“We'll go up to the front and talk—see if we can find anything out.” Parker explains, as we drive there, “You okay with snooping?”

“Fine with it,” I wave a hand.

“Call for back up if you encounter him.”

“Yeah, I'll do that.”

“Duke--” Parker has this scolding, warning tone.

I glare at her.

“I mean it. We don't know exactly how this thing works. He could reset the universe and make it worse.”

I have to scoff at that, because sure.

Wuornos stops at the beginning of the street and lets me out and they continue on up to the house which is four down. I walk around the back of the first house, casual, lighting up, following the yards behind. They're small, postage stamp shaped gardens. The Pearson one has a plot of strawberries in among the flower beds and a small shed. I wonder if they have a sledgehammer or a spade. It's harder to get away when you have no use of your feet. I remember that with Dad.

I jump the fence of the neighbor's yard and then the in between fence so the shed blocks my view from the house. I almost spill over into a pile of limbs the second time, unsteady. They're the type that leave their shed unlocked I can tell and the front door is not at an angle that anyone could see from the house, but I'm not sure if anyone else is in the house—I try to listen. It sounds like it's a woman talking to them out front. So, if I am seen and dude comes out all the better. I open the shed door.

The shed is anally well organized; long handled tools hanging on a rack on the left side by the door, shorter ones on several racks by the window. A tool bench with drawers that I imagine are full of nails and screws, and then other things: nail gun, chain saw, hedge clippers on the right hand side. There are two bags of soil and a stack of plant pots as well. This is...

Noise!

“Who's there?” a man's voice.

I don't say anything. I should have asked to look at a picture of Andrew Pearson but if his blood—then he has a Trouble which is a good indicator. If he thinks the world isn't right like Parker does then that'd be a good sign too, right? Man, my head's getting fuzz. I start tipping out drawers, rifling through things.

“Hello?”

I spin around putting up my hands. People tend to lower their guard to fearful pity when confronted with a junkie and just chase them off with threats of cops, “I—I'm not doing anything...”

“Oh, shit. Duke Crocker...” he shakes his head, “Damn...”

“What?” it's not hard to be pissy with whoever this is, “Who are you supposed to be?”

“You're on my property,” he counters, “And I—what are you doing?”

“Nu—nothing I just--” I shift around, and scratch the back of my neck, stumble back towards the door and the area where the spades and things are, “I needed something.”

“God, shit, and here I was hoping to find you and you would be useful.”

I take hold of the handle of the spade to steady myself, “Wha? What do you mean? You--” I point at him with my other hand, “You know me? Who are you?”

“Yes, I know you,” he says, “I was a friend of your father's. Andrew Pearson? Have you hear--”

I hit him in the head with the spade.

%%%%

There are so many things that could be done, oily rag, duct tape drag him off to Wuornos' truck—throw him over the fence and away with him...but I don't see these things working. People will see—could I even get to the truck in time? Besides does he even need his voice to use his Trouble? Too many factors. Too many things.

He's stirring already anyway it's not like in the movies. They wake up quick, son. Always have to remember that, and when they're awake they're going to scream. If you're not going to kill them right away, you have to have other methods to subdue them. There's times you're going to need to get information. Remember that pain is always good for that. Pain and fear, do so much better than just asking politely and work a lot faster too. I have my knee wedged firmly against his chest. Gun out. Knife against throat.

“Grmpgha?” He spits blood, but well in the opposite direction to me. I shift forward on his chest a little changing pressure and he sounds annoyed, pained. Good, “The hell was that about? If you were gonna rob me why are you still here?”

“Why indeed?” I ask him.

He notices the gun and the knife then as I lean down closer to his face, “How did you know dear old Dad? Were you—were you good friends? I was going to hobble you with the spade, but I have the gun out now, though I—I'm kinda twitchy as you might gather so I might not hobble you...I might shoot off something else...”

“What is wrong with you?” his breath is hitching, “You just broke into my shed are acting all—what drugs are you on?”

Fuck. Bad idea. If I shoot the gun the super cops are gonna come running right in here, but—wait a minute...

“Look--” I rub my forehead with the back of my left hand and then lean down on him getting in close to his face, “You haven't yelled out for help. Why is that? You have a fucking crazy junkie molesting you and you're not shouting for the cops...and they're right—they're right over there at your door. Were you trying to run away from them? Did you do something naughty, Andrew?”

“Please, Duke,” he says, softly, “For the love our families bear each other. Help me get out of here.”

I close the knife more to his throat, “What love? I don't know you. You say you know my father. How do you know him?”

“We worked together. I—I saved his life. Now, please, save mine.”

This is a different type of shaking. I must not cut him. I must not cut him. I must not cut him yet.

“He never said anything about you,” I say, careful, “but he was kind of arrogant, probably—probably didn't want anyone else getting credit. What did you do?”

“That's Simon,” he says, nervous, trying to move my hand away so the knife isn't pressed into his throat so tight, blood is beading there. I can smell it, like baked bread and—and—and cinnamon, and brown sugar. This has to be him, “I...it's hard to explain. I don't...but he should have died when you were a kid, and I got him out of that. It makes Haven, better, him and the Reverend but—” I dig the knife in more but not all the way, just deep enough to make him yelp, and then I lean in when he's stammering from confusion.

“So, Parker was right? This isn't the real world?”

“It is now!” he snaps, and then lets out another yelp as grab hold of his hair and pull his head at an awkward angle, with the hand still holding the knife. Sweet blood from a person so sour, “What the fuck are you doing?” I lick it, and then as that rush hits I pull his right arm out of it's socket before I bounce up quickly to grab the spade.

Hopped up it doesn't take much work to cut off the feet, but I know those screams will likely bring someone from the house. He's crying, but as I've told him, it doesn't matter. He tries to explain why. Something about the Crockers and the Driscolls and I'm not following his blood is roaring against my temples and with the hack and scream I drop down on top of him again.

“Please, please, please,” he says, “please.”

“Please, what? I just don't want to have to chase you. Running sucks, and I told you I don't trust my aim with the gun. It just—well, it looks cool.”

I can hear other people running though and a loud clatter as the spade falls over.

“Simon was a legend. He knew—he knew what to do with Troubled people. You—you don't do that. I thought if he was alive he would teach you—the Rev and he...and then things...and fee and...”

He's trying to push me away with his arms but it's rather feeble and he's coughing more blood from his mouth as I put my hands on either side of his head.

“Duke!” Parker's voice.

“Please--” he says, again.

“You know what Simon Crocker taught me?” I ask him as I put my thumbs on his eyes and start to press in. His left hand grips against one my wrists and tries to pull me off but he doesn't have enough strength left and then when the eyes pop back into the sockets and the blood pools across my thumbs that second bounce of rush gives me enough to completely crush his skull.

It's a very long tunnel that I'm crawling down but then it's up and up, careful to not pull out the precariously balanced wood and metal; have to get to the top, have to climb. Things are shaking. Where is she?

Falling.

I'm not sure if I startle Julia awake when I jolt awake myself or if she already was but just didn't expect me to move so suddenly. She's sitting by the side of my bed holding my right hand. My left has the drip in it and a weird clippy thing stuck on one finger. There's a beeping machine by the side of the bed giving the room a strange blue glow.

This is not the Cape Rouge. This is the hospital.

"Hey..." she says, kissing my right hand.

"You tricked me," I tell her. My throat is dry making my voice raspy but my skin doesn't itch and I don't feel like I need to rip my clothes off to cool down. That's something.

She gives a vaguely wicked smile, "I only trick you for your own good, remember?" she leans over cautiously, and kisses me on the lips but only gently, "No bitey vampire gypsy?"

"No. No bitey vampire gypsy," I answer, "At least not right now."

She kisses me more deeply and then feels my cheek and my forehead, "You feel more normal," she leans around me and looks at the monitor, "Definitely. That's good, see? How do you feel?"

I lean back, "Less like I want to crawl out of my skin."

"See? I was right. What would I have done with you if we went home, anyway? Locked you in the hold until things were right and listened to you suffering in horrible pain?"

I roll my head to the side and look at her carefully but I can't say anything.

"You know I'm right, don't you?"

I nod, carefully.

"It's not your fault," she cups my chin with her hand, "You weren't exactly in the best frame of mind for logical thought," she taps my nose with one finger.

"I suppose not. When can we get out of here?"

"Duke...we need to be sure you're stable before you leave. Everything's fine at The Gull I'm keeping an eye. So, you can't use that as an excuse."

"Fine."

"I know you're not right yet. You're staying here. I will get Nathan to cuff you if I have to," she says.

"Oh, please. Like I can't get out of hand cuffs."

She gives me a look, "Under any other circumstances I would believe that," she says, "but I have a feeling if you hold out your hands right now they'd be a bit too shaky to hold a fork let alone pick a lock." That's a rough truth to hear. I close my eyes again. I just...don't, "What's your problem with being here?" she continues.

"It's not home, and too many people and opportunities..."

"No one is out to hurt you, and thanks to your family's journal I've found nurses and orderlies who are very happy to work on a member of the family who is the reason their family isn't plagued by a horrible and deadly Trouble so you're very safe. Added bonus no assholes like that paramedic to deal with. Though he'd changed his tune by the time we got here. You'll be fine," she squeezes my hand.

"I don't like being like this again." I tell her, "Especially not where..."

"What do you mean--?"

Audrey saying "knock-knock" at the door cuts Julia's question off. She and Nathan are standing just outside. Audrey has a few covered scrapes on her face and hands. Nathan's left arm is in a cast and sling. He's also scraped up and covered with band-aids. Julia gets an odd smile which I think is in part that Nathan has remembered the rules for being around me and isn't just letting the cuts meet the air. I can still smell the blood but it doesn't nag at me quite so badly as it would have whenever it was I was last awake.

"Come on in," I tell them.

"Good to see you in the land of the living," she says.

"Well, I think Julia would fight Death itself if it tried to take me."

"Damn straight," Julia answers, "I didn't let the Barn keep you--and this is nothing in comparison," she pats my hand.

Audrey sits down. Nathan remains standing by the wall. His mouth is the usual straight line.

"Seems no one got out unscathed today," I point out.

"It's fine," he says, a slight smile twitches at the edge of his lips, "It doesn't hurt."

"Rub it in why don't you?" I mutter.

"Well, if you will do-it-yourself piercings of your foot with a giant piece of metal," Audrey points out.

"This is the last time I rescue you from a collapsed building," I tell her.

"It damn well better be the last time you're in a collapsed building." Julia warns.

I take her hand with mine and squeeze it tightly, "I will endeavor to comply with my lady's wishes."

"Well," Audrey says, softly, "There aren't any more building collapsing Troubles. So, that will help with that."

"Yeah..." I answer, looking off towards the wall. Julia takes a turn to squeeze my hand and run her thumb across the back of my palm.

I have to masochistically ask, "How's The Herald covering this one? Another gas leak?"

A look goes between the three of them.

"Weak foundations caused by broken plumbing lines leaking. House collapse." Nathan answers.

"You're in the paper though," Audrey adds.

I turn my head to Julia, "Please to explain why? And please tell me there are no pictures."

"The Herald thought it might be a good idea to let the town know that you risked your life and health saving Audrey, Carrie and well, trying to save Madeline," Julia says, primly, "and that subsequently you're in the hospital because of personal injury, physical exhaustion and what was it?"

"Adrenal burnout," Audrey adds, "I think there was dehydration, too. We can get you a copy."

"And no, there are no pictures of you, despite what Uncle Dave tried. Your wench wouldn't allow it while you weren't looking your best." Julia adds.

"Thank you," I lean over and kiss her.

"I still can't believe you lead us on with this trust and friendship thing for so long," Audrey says, leaning back in her seat, "I knew there was something."

"Yeah. Yeah," I wave a hand at her, "and the trust and friendship thing still stands you know. It is the most important, even if someone is conspiring with the hospital staff to keep me here."

"For your own good," she smacks my shoulder. I rub it and pout but she just sticks her tongue out at me, "I told him I'd get you to cuff him if necessary, Nathan."

"I am always happy to put handcuffs on Duke," Nathan remarks.

"Nice to know you have my back, Wuornos."

"You leaving would be a danger to yourself," he says, "Do you have that sort of hold on your record yet?"

"Not in Haven."

"That's what they had him on in Boston," Julia points out.

"But, I mean, I'd lost six months as far as they were concerned, and someone had quit the P.D. and pissed off a whole town so that didn't help some of my contact efforts."

"We're not going to rehash that again, are we?" he asks.

"I think someone's rambling through various distracting topics," Julia wheedles.

"He's the one who brought up psych holds," I point out.

"I still can't believe it spit you out in Boston," Audrey says.

"I'm just glad it wasn't the Antarctic or the middle of Death Valley. I really wasn't dressed for either. Though the second one would have offered a better chance of rescue, and that it didn't keep me twenty-seven years."

Julia shudders, "Yes. No. Not that," she kisses my hand again.

"You are doing okay though? After all that you had to do considering the other day?"

"Sure," I nod.

Julia squeezes my hand and when I look at her she's leveling a stern gaze at me.

"Well," I say, looking at her and then turning back, "yesterday? wasn't quite so good, but then someone had her nurse conspirators lay one on me," Julia starts to say something, "but—but I'm feeling a good bit better right now, so I have to admit that you were right on that and I was wrong," I direct at the tiny concerned girlfriend can't resist adding, "I still say that we should be able to go home now."

Nathan rattles handcuffs that are in his hip pocket.

"It doesn't matter that he's one handed," Audrey points out, "I have a pair too."

"That makes it all the better," Julia says, "Then we can chain your arms out like this," she spreads her arms wide, "Pick the locks then."

I glower at her.

Julia sighs, "Okay, make you a deal. Blood test to see how you're really doing and a solid meal for both of us while we wait for the result and if you're feeling good and the tox screen comes back good, we go home."

"Blood test?"

"Yes. It'll see how your body's doing. The doctor's found a way to see what goes on with your system when it's processing things—shows how the Trouble affects you. It..." she hesitates, looking at Audrey and Nathan.

"May as well. I already had it out with Audrey in the "hole" and Nate's going to make assumptions if he doesn't hear it straight."

Nathan's mouth returns to that thin line again. Audrey elbows him in the side not that it does anything to him but I imagine it makes her feel better.

"It...when the doctor got the results back he said it was like your body was processing it's way through a drug cocktail that was one part illegal drug, two parts highly restricted drugs, and one part something they couldn't even describe. He said he'd be worried if you weren't a Crocker and hadn't just...taken in a Trouble but that's why these things hit you so hard on the down swing."

I can't help but snort and shake my head, leaning back on the pillow. I take my right hand out of hers and put it up to my head, "Just brilliant."

When I look back down I see Audrey has a hand covering her mouth. Nathan's lips are pressed so tightly together they've practically disappeared. He's turned towards the wall by the door.

"Well," I muster, "This explains so much about my family, well, so much more about them." I shake my head, "It's a high, such a brief one, and the crash is just...shit...and..." I'm leaning forward again.

Julia scratches the back of my head, "So, you agree to the blood test?"

"Yes. Fine," I say into my knees, "If it'll get me out of here."

"It'll get you out of here if the tests say you're good enough. That's the deal, remember?"

"Right. Right."

She pushes the call button this time instead of going and getting someone.

"You've been doing well so far," Nathan remarks.

"It was just a lot this time," Audrey points out.

"That's all it can take at least this was for a good cause." I manage a laugh. Not some dumb celebration party in New Orleans that leaves you chasing a dragon for about a year.

Julia pushes the button again and looks towards the door irritated.

"Not youthful stupidity?" Nathan asks.

I give him a look. He returns it.

"What am I missing?" Audrey asks, "Is this a Haven Thing? or a growing up in Haven thing?"

"This is a Duke thing," Nathan says.

"So, it's a growing up in Haven thing," she says.

"Not entirely," I say, "It really depends on what he's talking about, because there were a lot of things said about That Crocker Boy while we were growing up that were not exactly true—people thought I was using..."

"And a lot of things that were," Nathan answers, "It didn't help that you kept disappearing and then they kicked you out."

"They'd been looking for an excuse for that forever. I wasn't exactly a model student," I clarify for Audrey.

"Really?" she jokes, "and I was so certain what with the snakes in lockers and all."

"One snake. One locker," I shake my head, "I would be surprised people actually remembered me my attendance was so poor, but I'm a Crocker, so...but I'm sure the staff threw a party once I was gone. Probably with what they "confiscated" from my locker. Like I was ever stupid enough to leave anything in there."

"So you did deal?" Nathan says.

"Weed, Nate. Don't get all on your high horse. And again not from my locker.” We're not going to talk about the bootlegging, “I'm not an idiot. You don't hide that shit on school property. But that was years ago...and I think I've done pretty damn well without their piece of paper."

Julia leans over to cuddle against me. I half expect her to stick her tongue out at Nathan. If she does I don't see it.

"You're a smuggler and criminal." Nathan mutters.

"We all have our skill sets." I point out, "and I have a bar now, which is completely above board. Thank you very much."

"Hm," Nathan remarks. The tone suggests he has searched many hours trying to find something about The Gull to get me on and been very, very frustrated. The liquor license was a mix-up when it changed hands and names, everything else since then has been fine. Must burn him something awful.

“How many of Duke's contacts have you needed anyway?” Julia points out.

“Let's not...” Nathan starts.

“Fine. Fine,” Julia mutters.

"And here you were complimenting him yesterday and everything," Audrey remarks.

"That was real?" I ask, "I thought I was dreaming."

Nathan grimaces. A nurse comes in then, apologizing for taking a while. Julia explains what we want done. She opens drawers to get supplies, takes my blood and leaves us. Julia also asks for some food.

"What was the this about being complimentary?" Julia continues.

Audrey says, “I don't know exactly he wouldn't explain said it wasn't his place, but now they're back to hating each other after Nathan had been being so mysteriously nice."

Julia laughs, "Well, that always happens when one of them gets hurt."

"That's just because he's not allowed to die on me," Nathan points towards his left forearm with his right hand.

"Yeah, yeah," I tell him, "You know you were lost without me."

"What exactly were you saying?" Julia asks when Nathan says nothing she turns to Audrey with an inquiring eyebrow.

"Only that Duke's strong and he's gotten through things like this before and--"

"Well, yes," Julia agrees, "We manage it every time he's had to use his Trouble before. We have a system...this time was just worse probably because he had to use the boosts first..."

"Then how wasn't I here back then?" Audrey asks.

Damn it, Nathan. Nathan looks away from me.

Julia looks at me and then takes my hand again and squeezes it, "What's wrong?"

"You did beat it though whatever it was," Nathan says, "and I'm guessing by yourself somehow, and now you have Julia so..."

I'm not going to be able to get rid of them and just tell Julia am I? "...actually I had Julia then too."

Nathan raises an eyebrow and then ponders this for a moment.

Audrey has a hand to her temple, "I'm so confused..." she murmurs.

"One of the idiotic things he did when we were growing up—well, it'd be just after high school, right?” he looks at me for confirmation.

"To be fair," I add, "I did various illicit things, and have since...but," I shake my head.

"You were using. I ran into you at one point at Valufoods when you were stocking up and you didn't actually recognize me and that wasn't the first time I'd seen you just the first time I'd--"

At Valufoods when, “Wait a minute...did you call your Dad on me?”

He looks uncomfortable for half a second, “Yes,” he admits.

“Thank you,” I tell him.

Now he looks confused. I feel Julia's hand having tensed on my arm. Audrey looks equally confused.

“So, you were hooked on something,” Nathan says.

I nod, “Heroin. At that point I was trying to...” I shake my head, but that sets things spinning, “You get stupid ideas when you're addicted though. Oh, I can cut back, wean myself off and it won't be so bad detoxing,” I snort, “Yeah. No. I was sort of realizing that was dumb and I need to quit-quit, and then I talked to him, and that gave me that extra...push.”

"Wait—that's what that was," Julia murmurs.

"What?" Audrey queries.

"When you were so sick while we were fixing up the Cape but you didn't want to come to the doctor in town. Oh, well, of course, Mom would have found out, but that stomach flu that not yet chief brought the meds to help you get through. You were detoxing..."

I nod. Just then an orderly comes in with a tray of food breaking the strained tension. Julia gives Audrey a look. Audrey stands up and puts her hand on Nathan's shoulder.

“Oh, yes,” he says.

“It was good to see you,” Audrey says, “Let us know if you get out.”

Julia assures them that we will as the orderly wheels a table around with the covered tray of food on it. Audrey waves from the door, following Nathan out.

“What have we got?” Julia asks the orderly, a burly man whose name tag says Meers.

He lifts the cover off with a flourish it's a pie, of some sort, baked into a bowl and french fries, and a small bowl of fruit. There are two bottles of water laying down on the tray as well and some napkins as well as a knife and fork.

“Anything else I can get you?” he asks, “More blankets? Pillows? The nurse said the blood results will be at least another hour. She's put as much of a rush on them as she can.”

Julia nods. She turns to me, “I think we're good?”

“How's your pain level, sir?”

“Sir?” I query, “Wow. I must look like shit. Duke is fine, please. I haven't started rapidly aging again, have I?”

“No,” Julia assures.

“Pain level, though?” Meers asks, again.

I shrug.

“Top him off,” Julia says.

“I'll send in the nurse,” the orderly nods and leaves.

“I told you they like you,” Julia says.

“Sir, though?” I query, shaking my head, “and what's with the 'top him off'? Trying to turn me into a drug addict?”

“You're in pain,” she says, “don't try to pull it over on me and this,” she waves at the bag, “is something that is okay with the doctor. It's what we've had you on this whole time. Well, as well as what we've been knocking you out with...” she ruffles her hand in my hair and then pulls the table closer on it's wheels, “Come on. Let's get some food in you, Boss,” she picks up the fork and cracks the shell on the pie to let some of the heat out, and then opens one of the bottles of water and brings it to my lips. I reach for the bottle but she puts my hand down, “Come on, now,” she says with a sly smile, “Just play like you're the Pirate King and I'm the Serving Wench.”

“Really?” I point out, “That's...that could...”

The nurse comes in then to adjust the pain medication and Julia stifles a giggle, “Did I interrupt something?”

“Just her being evil,” I answer.

The nurse laughs herself, and changes out the drip and makes some adjustments to things. She says she's working on getting the results back and will be in with them as soon as she can. Then she waves temporary farewell.

Julia gives me water and sips some herself, then she scoops up some of the pie, which turns out to be a chicken pot pie and carries it over to my mouth. I realize how hungry I am once I smell it, and am obedient to be fed a few bites, and drink the water, and eat some fries. She takes a few of those herself, teasing me with them before snatching them away to eat them, prompting me to kiss her for being an evil wench. The pirate/wench routine is tantalizing and frustrating because nothing can go further with it considering I'm full of tubes in certain places but if we can go home they'll have to take things out of me.

Despite having felt so hungry the pie is only half gone before my appetite dries up.

“It's okay,” Julia says. She's pensive though, and turns the fork over and over in the remains of the pie staring at it, "The day we went grocery shopping and I went home early...Garland Wuornos came by to talk to me."

I remember him stopping by the Cape a couple of times during the whole thing too. I have to think, but in the mean time I ask Julia, "Oh?"

"He asked me about you, how you were treating me. He asked me if I had any reason to believe you were on drugs, either illegal or misusing legal stuff. I said no. I didn't know back then, I didn't know until today. But he knew, didn't he?"

"Yeah...that morning you came up and he was leaving he was telling me he was glad I kept that shit away from you...I wasn't...happy with myself..." I find myself plucking at the blanket, "for being an...asshole drug addict around you at all..."

Julia shakes her head, “You weren't an asshole,” she assures me.

I snort in response to that, because I may have been high but I remember quite a lot of what I did.

“Well...not to me,” she continues with a slight grin.

“Yeah,” I point out, “If that guy in Valufoods was Nate...well...”

She gives an off hand wave, “It's Nathan.”

“But no,” I persist, “if he had been some of the other people I dealt with I could have put you in real danger which kinda brought shit home to me.”

She's quiet for a moment, “Duke...did I do alright, taking care of you? Was there anything I could have done better if...if I'd known...?"

I breathe out long and slow trying to think because how the hell would I know, “I don't know...I never got through myself before. ..not that I..." head-shake, "I wouldn't have been lying to you...I don't think I would have gotten through without you I'd have been diving through that dumpster...or trying, would have probably fallen off the gang plank and drowned."

"If you'd told me, I would have had to tell Garland and then he might have sided with Uncle Vince to keep me from seeing you. So...I'm glad I didn't know,” she takes a deep breath which has minxish overtones, “Besides, you weren't the only one keeping a secret back then."

"...I guess. He was very happy I had kept the shit away from you,” I say, my brain catching up then with what she's said. I look over at her. She's wearing a look on her face reminding me that I really want to know what this secret is, “and who what now?" back then I didn't know she was adopted, but I do now and her expression lends that this is something much more devilish, “Did you hatch from an egg?”

"When he dropped off the medicine for you, and you'd gone to hide in the bathroom,” more like had to rush there lest things explode all over the boat but okay, “and I had to drag you back? Your pants...stayed behind a little bit."

Oh, “So, you saw my..." suddenly I'm six and can only gesture towards my crotch, “back then?”

“And treasured the memory for years." She grins.

I can't help but laugh "You naughty wench -- no wonder you didn't want me to pay you," I put up my hands in a don't hit me gesture given I know full well, thanks to several heated arguments that is completely not the reason.

She blushes so red that it's fully adorable, "That's not why and you know it!"

“I know. I know,” I assure her, pulling her over to kiss her.

When the kiss breaks apart she's laughing too, "Can you imagine if my mom had ever found out that you gave me money after I saw your naughty bits?"

Thinking of the look on Eleanor's face is equally amusing, "Oh, man...I think that would have induced a brain embolism..."

"I'm glad you let me help you,” she says, her voice slightly smaller.

"I appreciate very much that you were willing; back then," I feel my voice catching and tears burning at the back of my eyes, "I didn't--I wasn't used to that at all. Every day you came back I was so surprised."

She leans close and hugs me. I kiss the top of her head, "I was afraid I was annoying you, that first day. But you put up with me crying on you, and then you..." a small laugh escapes her, "Couldn't keep me away with chains and wild tigers after that."

"You were never really annoying. Well..." I give a slight laugh now, "when you're being insufferably right about me being an idiot about something...but, no that was all me being too high for my own good." Insisting I was fine despite zoning out every ten-twenty minutes or so, snipping here and there. Yeah, I was great.

"If I'd known,” she says, “I wouldn't have let you go into town and risked being made to walk the plank for my mutiny."

I think about that for a moment, but imagining me who had just shot up and was in that nice smooth place where everything nasty and negative was just sliding away being confronted with something like that, “Yeah, I can't say how that would have gone. I would have been adamant I was fine, that I do know."

She snorts, "I know. How long were you...using...?"

I exhale through clenched teeth, "...that was July? New Orleans was...August...so almost a year."

She has an odd look for a moment and I realize she's possibly calculating something, "...and I never knew,” her tone becomes very stern then, "If you ever hide something like that from me again, I'm going to be very unhappy with you."

“I don't--” I start to say but then the nurse comes back in and she's holding a handful of papers.

Julia gets up to talk to her and I can tell I'm not going anywhere even before Julia turns back to me.

“I'm very sorry,” the nurse says to me.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Julia says, “We're definitely here tonight.”

I lean my head back against the pillow.

She sits back down next to me, “You can't,” she starts and then coughs, “Look at me,” I turn my head, and she's putting on a slightly muted version of the puppy eyes, “You can't tell me you're feeling anywhere near well. When Nathan and Audrey were here that was the first time you've cracked anything remotely jokey since you've been awake.”

I reach a hand to her cheek, “I'm sorry. I don't mean to scare you...”

She puts her hand on my hand, “It's not your fault. I know their visit and the air clearing just now has to have helped, but please stop talking about going home until we're told that everything is looking good in your system and you're actually feeling better not just trying to force yourself to feel better, okay? Now that I know what was going on before...I...just, please.”

“Okay,” I kiss her hand.

“Thank you,” she says, “Because worried your tiny girlfriend is.”

“I'm sorry,” I lean over to kiss her and she accepts the kiss, tongues tangling and I feel myself tingling which is both good and really, really, uncomfortable. I'm both disappointed and glad when we break apart.

“Don't be sorry,” she says, “I know you're stubborn, Boss. It's part of your charm,” then she points at me, “Remember what I said though. If you keep anything like that from me again.”

“What constitutes like that?” I ask her, “I mean...I'm not intending to go out and start using anything. The only addictive thing in my life is this damn Trouble and that's why I'm—I know I still get stupid and “I'm fine” it sometimes but—that got...drummed into me when I was a kid and it's hard to break, but that's why when I was more...”

“Sober?” she offers, “Sane? You are talking about the “take care of my dumb ass any way I have to” clause, right?”

“Yes,” I say, “That; but I don't want to be on anything, definitely not back on that and I don't want to be going around actually vampiring Troubled people, which I know you know. I'm just—I need to repeat that to myself right now.”

She takes hold of my hands which I was gesturing with and which are starting to shake, “Okay,” she says.

“Coming up, when we were getting to know each other there were a lot of things I didn't talk about because I didn't want to dump my shit on you. I especially didn't want to throw anything drugs wise on you. You didn't need anything remotely like that fucking up your life. I liked talking about the fun and good things that I had going on. I liked hearing about the things you had going on. Especially that summer it kept me plugging on to get and stay clean. I didn't want to be a fuck-up. I'd—I'd always told myself I wasn't going to be like my parents. It was Garland pointing that out to me that kicked the last nail in to things and made sure that I threw all the shit away. It's between you being here,” I pull one hand out of her grasp and put it to my chest. I know my voice is catching again. My emotions are all over the place, “without you through all this I don't know because...and—and wanting to actually be able to be a father to Jean that is keep--”

She's kissing me again, when we separate she brushes some of my hair away from my face and then kisses my nose, “It's okay. It is. I'm always going to be here for you. If you ever want to talk I'll be here to listen but you don't have to talk right now. If there's anything going on, let me help, you know I'll do everything I can to help you.”

“I know,” I nod.

She has her hand cupped round my chin, “but right now you should get some more rest if you're not going to eat any more of this,” she points to the pie.

“Have you eaten lately?”

She looks as though I just caught her trying to sneak out of class, “...I'm pillaging your lunch.”

“Then I should stay awake until tiny hungry girlfriend has eaten. It's is my duty...” That way she will have to eat more than a few french fries here and there.

She picks the fork back up and begins to eat the remains of the pot pie.

“Good,” I tell her, “Thank you.”

She scrunches up her nose, “I may have picked up some bad habits while you were away.”

"So, it's a good thing I'm not going anywhere else then? I can get you back to good habits?"

“You missed six months of employee evaluations, Boss,” she says, “I'm going to need lots of supervision.”

“Well, it's a good thing that you're so lovely to look at then,” I tell her, leaning over to give her another kiss.

By the time the nurse comes back to check on me and set things up so I can potentially rest for the night Julia has finished the pie and is curled up against me.

My left hand is itchy, and I'm stiff and sore. When I shift position my knees pop, my left leg throbs and my foot is aches and won't move properly; there's someone close. I can feel warm breath against my neck and I can smell a familiar perfume. I open my eyes. Julia is curled up next to me on the small bed, one hand under her cheek, the other against my hip. I carefully move my right hand so I can brush the hair away from her face. My hand is shaky, but she is not. Her presence is strong and true.

There's movement behind us and I tense. Someone by the door to the small room that we're in. It's not a nurse though—they would just barge right in.

"Found him...them..." Audrey's voice amends, speaking softly.

I hear Nathan join her, but keep myself still. They don't need to come barging in and disturb Julia. I can imagine how frantic she must have been. I have vague memories of her practically cussing out a paramedic.

"Doing okay?" Nathan asks.

"I think so," Audrey says, "Which is good," her voice is tight, "You didn't see him..."

"He's strong," Nathan says.

I might faint.

"I knew you two liked each other," Audrey teases.

Nathan doesn't say anything for a moment. I wonder what his face is doing, but I'm not going to turn. Nathan makes a slight noise.

"What was that?" Audrey asks, still speaking low.

"If it's like you were saying. He's gotten through things like that before. He can do it again."

"What are you talking about?" she asks.

"Nothing. Never mind," I hear him moving.

"Nathan!" she hisses.

"You weren't here back then. Don't. Never mind. That's not up to me--" I hear as Nathan walks off, briskly.

"Nathan Wuornos!" Audrey disappears too.

"What was that?" Julia stirs and looks over at me sleepily.

"Trouble in paradise," I kiss her nose.

"Good for them," she murmurs, shifting herself carefully closer to snuggle against me, "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, you know--" I shift, no point trying to brush it off there are so many things here she could stab me with, "Like a truck backed over me three or four times. They didn't amputate anything did they?"

"No," she says, "I wouldn't let them," she wriggles up, cradling my cheek and kisses me, running a hand through my hair which is loose from it's tie I was worried for a moment that it had been cut, but I can tell by how she moves her hand through it that it's intact too. She must realize my thought, "I wouldn't let them cut this either, not that there was any risk of that. This is mine," she tugs on it, gently. I still wind up wincing. My head's not quite right yet. I wonder how long it's been.

"Good. I'm glad I keep you around to stick up for me."

"It's what you pay me for," she teases.

"Best investment I ever made," I reply.

"Damn straight," she nestles as best she can into the crook of my arm.

"When can we leave?" I ask her, "I'd much rather be back in our actual bed. It's comfier."

"The hospital is not going to eat you," she says.

"Says you."

She doesn't say anything for a moment. Just toys with my chest after threading her hand under the hospital gown. It's tender, bruised, but her touch is gentle, "This was a bad one, huh?"

I kiss the top of her head, "Yeah...there were factors."

"I could tell it was hard on you. I mean, I know I can't...I can't ever feel it the way you can, but with the way I did these," she touches our wrists and therefore our tattoos together, "I could tell that you had to use your Trouble...a lot and that it was--it was bad." She's sat up slightly, looking me in the face.

I realize now why my left hand was itching. There's a drip of some kind attached to it. I move carefully when I put that hand on the back of her head and then cradle her against my chest, before kissing the top of her head, "It's easing up now though, and you're here which always makes things better."

"Flatterer," she mutters into my chest, but I know she wants answers.

"I had to take blood a few times to dig Audrey out," I tell her, "The beams would have slipped and crushed or impaled her depending which got there first, and they--they were way too heavy." I feel my chest tighten, remembering the taste, and her own blood so close now, but not something I need. Not. Something. She takes the hand of mine that's not on her back and uncurls my fingers and knots our fingers back together.

"It's okay," she says, kissing my chest through the fabric of the gown, "You're okay."

"Mm," I manage.

"Madeline," she says, "You...had to..."

"She begged," I admit, "For her siblings and nieces and nephews..."

She exhales slowly.

"She heard Audrey and I having it out about Nix given the great mental place I was in as you can imagine."

"Yeah."

She moves up and carefully, keeping her arms on either side of me kisses me. It's another of those deep kisses, and it tears at me. Just one bite coils from some deeper part of me and I have to break away from the kiss. Julia looks at me only a momentary flicker of hurt.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

"I--almost bit you." I start to pull myself up into sitting position. She climbs off the bed, and gives me a hug around my neck almost getting tangled in the drip line.

"It's okay. You didn't. You didn't."

"We need to get out of here," I tell her neck and hair, "Please..."

"I'll find someone," she says, "Do not touch that line," she warns me, pointing at my hand, "I will find someone."

I want to get out though.

Julia stops at the door, "Promise. Me." She says, sternly, "That you will stay here."

"I..."

"Duke."

"I promise." I lean back in the bed, and shade my eyes against the light because it seems to be boring it's way through my closed eye lids.

My arms are on fire. It doesn't help if I rub or scrub or scratch. I remember this feeling...to a certain extent. Trying to work my way through it, scrubbing and cleaning, stripping and painting working to clean up the Cape Rouge; and failing, falling back, and then the days in bed with the “stomach flu” when everything was boiling out, but now I'm just stuck here lying in this stupid hospital bed.

If I walk...I have to stay here. I promised Julia. I can't go looking for anyone.

I mean, I could.

I could walk without taking the drip out of me. They move. They're on wheels, but I promised. I promised. That's why she did that. She knows. Tricky wench. This is a hospital here. Here in Haven. It's just full of the stuff. It's everywhere.

I can...

No. No. I don't need it. I don't want it. That's the trick.

I stop myself. Already sat up and hug my knees.

I'm staying here. The trick is what my body is making me think. We've been through this before. Your body lies to itself. It doesn't need it. Not going to die. It doesn't. It doesn't. Too hot. Too cold. Hot. It's all over me. All over. Got to get it off. My fingers are too shaky to undo anything. I can't get the shirt thing, stupid thing off me.

"We're back!" I hear Julia, "What are you trying to do?" She hurries over and takes my hands away from my neck.

"Too hot," I tell her.

"Okay. Well, calm down. There's no use strangling yourself." She takes my hands.

"When do we leave?" I ask her, "The Gull's not going to run itself..."

She puts a hand to my forehead, as she does so the nurse steps forward and sticks something in my ear. Someone else has followed into the room, wheeling something. None of them smell as good as Julia, the combination of perfume and...and that. There is no that with them, probably just as well.

"We definitely have a fever," the first nurse says, after a moment.

"No," Julia says, sarcastically, removing her hand and wiping it on the nurse's shirt where it leaves a sheen of dampness.

"What are you doing?" I ask her as she offers him my left hand. It's simple enough to pull away. My hand is slippery and I've always been stronger.

"Duke!" she scolds, "Come on now. You trust me, don't you? You said you felt like you'd been hit by a truck--"

"Hmm-mmm..."

"This will help with that," she looks, urgently towards the nurse, who jabs the needle into the port as soon as I offer my hand towards her. She rubs her hand across my forehead as I lay back against the pillow, "Is that helping?" she asks.

"That wasn't painkiller..." I hear the nurse pointing out.

"I know that," Julia mutters, "Got him to take it though."

"What did you...?" I ask her, the pain is floating away but so am I.

"You'll thank me later..." she says, kissing my cheek, “Do what I have to to keep your idiot self okay.”

Why did I tell her that?

We're sitting round a table in the The Gull: Audrey, Nathan, Julia and me. Cards were shuffled the intent had been poker but they were never dealt. A half eaten plate of wings is still being picked at though.

“I can't imagine,” Audrey says, “Not having your children for that long of the year they're just out to sea like that. No way of getting in touch.”

This promises to be a fun time if I can't find a new topic. I drain what remains of my beer and try to drag my thoughts away from where the Hell Jean could be right now and who the Hell even has her. It's not like it would do me any good being her father for all of the half a day it'd take before I crumbled to dust, but—if I could at least see where she was, know what was going on with her—I need another beer.

“Anyone else want another?” I ask the table, standing up.

Nathan raises his hand. Audrey shakes her beer experimentally and decides no.

“I can get them,” Julia offers.

“I'm up, already.”

I grab two from the bar and have Kerry behind it note it and come back to the table handing one off to Nathan. Thankfully they're now on Chris Brody and Nathan is the one looking uncomfortable.

“I'm not the only one who came over all man crush,” Nathan points out as I sit down.

“Spreading the love of waffles is a civic duty I take most seriously,” I counter, “Your vile pancake propaganda must be stopped.” Not that pancakes are that terrible but this is not the point right now.

“Aren't they fairly similar when it comes down to it?” Audrey inquires.

“Oh, no,” Julia murmurs.

“Get out of my bar,” I instruct her, pointing towards the door as dramatically as I can, “Officer Agent Parker: You are banned.”

“Seriously?” she asks.

“Apologize,” Julia hisses, urgently, “Save yourself.”

Nathan might actually be cracking a smile.

“Duke, I am truly, sorry,” Audrey says, putting her hand on her heart earnestly, “Please educate this poor soul.”

“Alright,” I say, magnanimously, leaning back in my seat, “You can be forgiven because there are a few ingredients that are the same but seriously those ingredients are also in cake itself and even pie crust so really, Audrey, really?”

“It's not like I cook all that much,” she says.

“It's the ratios primarily,” I explain, “But then to get a good light airy waffles as opposed to your stodgy pancake,” I give Nathan a look, “You separate your eggs and fluff up the whites before adding them back in.”

“I see,” Audrey says, though I'm not sure she does.

Julia just laughs. I get the feeling she has maple syrup on her mind again.

“Stodgy?” Nathan asks.

“Yes,” I say, “Pancakes are dense, thick, stodgy. Waffles are light and crisp.”

“I think we should stop there,” Audrey says, “Don't want to have the world's first bar fight over baked goods.”

“Duke,” Julia says in warning tone before I correct Audrey.

I let it drop, partly because there's something going on at the door. After a moment I can see it's Evi kicking up a fuss because Little Mike won't let her in. Finally she hands something off to him and stalks off. Little Mike brings me the thing, which turns out to be an envelope. I tear it open, pull out the contents and then write on the envelope a note to Kerry that he gets two free drinks as a thank you.

“I've had the psycho ex before,” he says, “You sure you want to read that—might be written in blood.”

“Morbid curiosity,” I say with a grin, “Besides I have cops right here.”

It's two sheets of paper. The first is a note from Evi, saying that she went ahead and got into the Rev's office because it was important even if I couldn't see it and just knows I'll be thanking her after I read it.

We'll see.

The other paper is a list. It looks like a photocopy, something that was clearly added to overtime sometimes typed, sometimes handwritten by a couple of different people, most of it is between '81 and '83 but at the very bottom in the right hand column there are a few recent additions whose names I recognize.

“People Killed by The Cursed” is the title. About halfway down the first column Evi has drawn an arrow and written “see” pointing to the name SIMON CROCKER with the date May 1983. When I scoff laugh the table turns to look and inquire exactly what's going on. I double check the names though, the recent ones are people who have died during issues with Trouble fighting. James Lester, who died right before Audrey arrived, Phil Reiser who I remember all too well given his fate could have been mine too. But then there are ones like Darlene Lewis, Johnathan Masters from the 80s and I have no idea who they are.

“What is it?” Julia asks.

“I'm guessing it's supposed to insight me to riot or something,” I drop the paper on the table, “Grand revelations that my Dad pissed someone off enough that they offed him, supposedly; because I immediately trust information that came from the Rev via Evi.”

Nathan reaches for the paper, for a moment I debate snatching it back but whatever. He looks it over, “Ah, yes, I forgot that I'm Cursed. Well, we know Lester and, uh, Reiser,” he looks at me sideways for a moment, “were...”

“But that's classic con, Nate, put just enough true information on something that the rest which might be true is easier to believe.”

Julia rubs her foot along my calf.

Audrey reaches over and takes the list from Nathan, “Well, we can look into these others easily enough, and surely there's a cause of death on your Dad's certificate.”

“Accident on boat,” I tell her. Of course that would mean he was damn clumsy on boats the entire time he was doing work given the state he generally came home in. I shake my head, “but what they tell kids and what actually happens...so that might not be what's actually on there. I've not gone back and looked.”

“You don't sound like you believe it.”

“I lived with the guy,” I wave a hand, “One thing he was good at was boats, but he was not good with people. If some Troubled person did kill him I'm sure he deserved it.”

“Duke,” Julia says.

“And what the Hell point is there in them giving me that,” I wave at the paper in Audrey's hand, “Are they figuring I'm going to go on some rampage about it? He's dead and gone and it's damn good riddance.”

Nathan gives me an eye.
“If your Dad was still here he could tell you some things. I swear some times he was up at our place once a week,” I drain the beer, “Anyway, enough of that bull shit,” I lean slightly forward and drum my hands on the table top a couple of times, “If we're not actually going to play poker I'm going to turn in.”

“Can I keep this?” Audrey asks.

“Have at it,” I tell her, moving away from the table towards the door, “I'd probably just light it on fire or...do something else with it.”

“I better go make sure he doesn't fall off the dock and drown,” I hear Julia behind me and wait just on the other side of the door away from line of sight until she catches up.

She links arms with me which is good in more than one way because I realize after I stood up that I was getting kind of dizzy; drank that last beer a little too fast and we walk the short distance back to the Cape.

$$$$

( NSFW behind the cut )

"That is an interesting...woman," Julia says, as I climb back aboard. She takes the bag from me and I pop my back.

"Oh?" I say, "and no one else has shown up looking for me? Of the female persuasion?"

"Should they?" she asks, with an inquiring eyebrow raised.

"No. God no! I just...I half keep hoping she's some Trouble manifestation...I guess not though. I guess she's the real thing."

"Your real wife?" Julia looks amused, walking ahead of me to stash the money.

I almost fall over, "My...wife?" the word catches and I choke-laugh, "Oh, wow. No, I just meant really here in person making things difficult."

Julia has a bemused look, "No, I mean, she actually tried to tell me she was your wife and so I should let her aboard."

"Maybe a couple of times to pull jobs as cover. I don't think we ever, that I was ever drunk enough to sign anything..." I genuinely have to think, "besides if something like that had ever come up in anything. Nathan would have been blasting my ass with it long before now." I scratch both sides of my head, "If she has something to do with this box bullshit."

"She does know some things about the Cape." Julia teases.

"Well, she would," I admit, "We were together for a few years, Evi and I. You know how long the old girl and I have been together."

"You shouldn't call her old," Julia says, "She's just seasoned, well-traveled."

"And soon to be good as new." I check over the sheeting that I was cutting earlier. There's probably not going to be enough daylight to finish up with everything else that's gone on today, "Though this is going to have to wait until tomorrow to finish up."

"I'll check the patch," Julia offers, "But I should say it's got a good four days left in it," she disappears further below.

I'm startled by my phone ringing.

Karl agitated on the other line, "You're a slimy one."

"That's not very creative of you. I'm disappointed."

( Make it so )

The Cape's almost entirely dried out below decks and things are coming together. The sheet metal is nearly trimmed to the right size when I get the sinking feeling that something else is going wrong. I stop the torch. Someone is walking up the dock but it's not anyone who should be.

Haven't seen her in years, and she shouldn't be here in Haven. She looks so very pleased with herself when she stops and looks down at me.

"She looks in good shape!" she calls as I pull the goggles up and survey her. What are the odds some sort of Trouble is summoning ghosts of girlfriends past? Because that would be extensive, brutal and very damaging for me.

"What are you doing here?" I walk to the edge of the boat and put my hands on the rail after putting down all the tools.

"Wow!" she puts a hand to her chest and rocks back on her heels a little, "Most people return a compliment with a compliment, you know? What happened to your manners?"

I tip an imaginary hat, "My apologies. What are you doing here, Evi? And how soon will you be gone?"

"After all this time that's all I get?"

"You think you deserve more?"

"Anyone would think you were mad at me."

I just level her a look.

She says nothing for a moment but surveys me too, "I didn't expect to track you down here. What kind of game are you playing?"

"One that doesn't involve you." I climb back to land. She looks solid enough from here, but there's no one around paying enough attention to see if it's only me who can see her or not.

"It's got to be something for you to not only come to a small town, but your home town. You lead me to believe you wanted nothing to do with this place."

"What business is it of yours to be in my life?" I ask her, once I'm on the dock, "I have things to do. Go pester someone in Derry." This is the perfect time for her to show up, really, if this is really her. All this bullshit with the box.

"I owe you. That's why you're pissed isn't it? Still. Even now."

I snort and shake my head, "As much as I'm sure you'd like me to give you the satisfaction that you matter in my life..." I tell her climbing back on to the dock. I do link arms with her though to turn her away from the boat, and make sure she's physically there, which she is but with Troubles that doesn't always mean anything. She leans her head on my shoulder, trying to sucker up.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Not even for a score better than Macau."

I'm about to say something when my phone rings, and I check it. Of course it's business. I put a finger towards her and answer the phone, "Yes?"

"They're not going for it," he tells me.

"Uh-huh," I answer.

"For some reason they don't believe your story."

"Uh-huh," I repeat, "For some reason I don't believe you tried your hardest. I'm going to text you a location. You're going to meet me there."

"It's not--it's not convenient."

"Convenient? Oh, come on. Like you've got other things to do."

"Duke--" I hang up and look towards The Gull.

I can see in the windows from here, so they can see out.

Contact: Julia

Can u see n describe chick standing w/me?

>>Black chick in dark jeans, jacket and white shirt? Looking like she wants to mount you?

Damn it Ok In in a few

Evi follows me towards The Gull as I text the address to both, Karl, the contact and Julia. There's buzz throughout the bar that a boat's been pulled up and I feel a slight chill when I hear the name Fisherman's Honor.

"Is Tracy on today?" I ask Julia as soon as I see her.

"Not 'til later," she says.

"Her husband was on The Honor. Call and see if she's okay. If she still wants to come in. I have a meeting to go to. I sent you the address. You know who's allowed to know where I'll be at."

She nods, "Sure thing, Boss," she winks.

"I need you to guard the Cape too."

"No problem," she flashes me one of those brilliant smiles and I salute her before heading out the back door so I can slip back on to the Cape stash tools and supplies and retrieve Business money before heading off. I'm sure Julia can deal with Evi. More than deal with.

$$$$

The way Karl's acting you'd think there were snipers in the area somewhere ready to knock us off just for being there, but the place is clear I checked before pulling up.

“I don't know what you expect me to do,” he says, “I've already told you...”

“I expect you to take the money and arrange the meeting.”

“You do understand who you stole from, right? How pissed Stoney is?”

“I didn't take anything. That is why I need this meeting sorted out. To get to the bottom of this whole mess...”

Vehicle tires. It's a distraction which is good because it means I can grab him because he was trying to run away. It's Nathan's truck. Nathan who cannot open his mouth and screw this up. He opens the truck door.

“Hey!” I yell towards Nathan, “When I tell you to be somewhere—you need to be there on time!”

“Sorry!” Nathan answers.

“Who's that?” Karl asks as he cranes to try and see Nathan I'm able to hook him more tightly, around the neck and draw him close.

“Don't worry about him. Worry about doing what I've asked you!” I slip the money into his shirt, “Make it happen and there'll be more for you. Go!” I release him and he scrambles off.

“What was that about?” Nathan asks.

“Asks me no questions. I'll tell you no lies,” I answer, walking towards him.

He cocks his head on the side for a moment, “I doubt that somehow.”

“Well, then, let's call it charitable work and leave it at that.”

Nathan's scowl is returning.

“What did you need that you sought me out down here?” I ask.

“You know The Honor was found?”

“I am aware of this, yes.” I answer, leaning against my own truck and waiting for the accusation.

“And you sold her parts.”

“Non-essential parts.”

Nathan levels the cop gaze that would probably be intimidating if I wasn't me and he wasn't him, “Non-essential parts?”

“Yes. You know things that if they break people aren't going to die.”

There's that the scowl, “I know what non-essential parts means.”

“Then why did you ask it with a question mark?”

“Do you know who might have sold them essential parts?”

“I do.”

“And?” he raises his eyebrows and nods a few times, expecting me to fill in the blank.

“And I will tell if you do something for me first.”

"You're going to hold the information hostage?" Nathan demands.

"Yes," I tell him, seriously, "Why are you looking so surprised? I thought I was an untrustworthy...fill in whatever adjective you want I'm not in the mood."

Nathan gives me an angry look.

"Besides if I'm dead you can't call on me to help whenever it's convenient for you so I'd think it's in your best interest to help out. Plus you get a fancy arrest. Added bonus for you. Look how charitable I'm being."

"Oh, yes. You're a charity now."

"I don't bill you every time you and Audrey call on me at a moment's notice, but then I like Audrey. I'll give you a stack of paper's to sign come tax time."

"Do you even do taxes?" Nathan asks.

"Are you developing a sense of humor?"

He doesn't say anything.

"Seriously, Nathan. This is some deep shit. I happen to like living."

He sighs, "What exactly...?" he waves a hand.

"The guys who took over the Cape you will recall, I presume?"

He rolls his eyes, "The small-time poker crooks? I assume you're now going to explain to me what they actually were doing."

"They were after a box I was...transporting."

"Smuggling?"

"Conveying."

"Smuggling."

"Whatever you want to call it."

"We arrested them, so, obviously they didn't get it. I'm not understanding how this is a problem?"

"I'm illustrating the apparent interest in said box."

"What's in it?"

"Hell if I know. Apparently nothing."

"And they think you stole it."

"He gets it."

"Did you steal it?"

"Nathan!" I do my best affronted.

"Did you?"

"No. That's why I'm trying to get a meeting with Stoney. I think their crew stole it before it was even handed off to me for transportation."

"Smuggling."

"Are we on this again?"

"Fine. Transportation." He looks away.

"Plus, as I was saying, fancy arrest." I pull the bag out from the back of the truck, "because this is what I was paid with."

He looks through the bag, "Everything under the top layer here is counterfeit."

"Bingo."

"Hm," Nathan says.

"So? Do you want to catch a counterfeiter? It's a good plan. Trust me."

"Do you remember 3rd Grade?" he asks me.

"What?" That's left field. What could he? "What are we talking about? You really liking the Pet Shop Boys?"

He shakes his head, "When you and a bunch of your friends were waiting for me after gym class..."

Oh. Shit. I know when he looks back at me he knows that I know what he's talking about.

"You're all smiling and congratulating me," he carries on.

"Do we have to get into this right now?"

"I think we do," he says.

"Alright."

"Okay."

"I--I told you Carla Rose had a crush on you."

"I felt like I'd won the lottery," he says.

Really? It was third grade, "Nathan it was 25 years ago..."

"You guys were all smiling and slapping me on the back. You slapped me on the back, remember? 'Go on, man. Go talk to her.' I went down the hall, heart beating out of my chest, and when I opened my mouth to say something."

"She screamed..."

He nods, "She screamed, because there was blood dripping down my back," he looks at me with a piercing stare, "From?"

I sigh, but I manage to meet his gaze, "The tacks we stuck in it."

"When you were 'congratulating' me. You had a pool going about how many you could stick in my back before I noticed!"

"Sixteen."

"Sixteen? Wow."

"Yeah. It was sh--"

"I didn't talk to another girl for two years after that."

Do not point out the Troubles were well over by then, "Nathan..."

"I was eight years old, Duke!"

"So, was I--and I was a shithead. You're going to hold that against me? I'm sure there are tons of other..." I shake my head, "I am sorry I did that, Nathan, and that I roiled up a bunch of other asshole eight year olds to participate in it."

He doesn't say anything, just stares out over the water.

"Are you going to seriously leave me hanging out to die over something that happened in 3rd Grade?" With everything I've done to bail you guys out since then...

"When's the meet?"

"As soon as I hear from Karl I'll let you know."

Julia keeps her arms around my neck and her head nuzzled into my shoulder as I carry her towards the truck. I don't ask her anything as we walk the short distance—the others are making their own ways to their respective vehicles—I just sing softly and keep a tight hold of her in case at any moment the universe goes sideways again. It shouldn't because if Julia is one thing it's bad-ass, but paranoia runs through me, probably because of the memories I just...is downloaded the right word?

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

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

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

“You just got his memories though.”

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

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

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

“Baby...” she murmurs.

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

“No, Boss...” she says.

“You fell asleep after one go.”

“I said no!” she whines.

“One?”

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

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

“Damn right I did.”

$$$$

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She looks down at it and then up at me.

“May I?”

She nods.

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

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

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

She presses my nose with her index finger.

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

“Your token?” she looks amused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nods.

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

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

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

“Yes,” she says, softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I pull a face at her.

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

“It would be nice,” I tell her.

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

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

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

I have to bring my lady home again though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

$$$$

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know. I know.”

“There's later,” she says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was definitely my plan.”

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

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

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

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

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

“No problem.”

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

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

She gives me a look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?” she says.

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

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

“Others?”

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

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

$$$$

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

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

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

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

Dwight pops the cap off and takes a drink.

“Or the Raging Bitch,” I point out.

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm morbidly curious,” Nathan remarks.

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

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

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

Probably best.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I squeeze it, “Just murkier?”

“Something like that.”

“Full of paranoia sharks?”

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

“Chief?” Nathan asks.

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

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

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

“Carver heirloom?” Audrey asks.

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

“Can it help us?” Nathan asks.

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

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

What sort of pictures does she think Julia has?

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

“Oh, that one's cute!” she says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, he was--” Audrey starts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don't like it?” I ask him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dwight sighs, “What's it matter?”

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

@@@@

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You need one, Duke?” he offers.

He would take one, “Sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm,” Parker says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I shake my head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All I can really do is nod.

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

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

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

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

“I...suppose?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh,” she says.

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

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

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

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

I nod.

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

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

I'm supposed to be here, right?

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

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

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

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

“Feeling better?”

“A bit.”

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

I shake my head.

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

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

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

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

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

I find that hard to believe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why would I?”

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

“That sucks.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I threatened Vince for you,” she says.

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I shake my head. .

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you--?”

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

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

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

“Yes, tiny mistress.”

“Right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I shake my head, “What do you mean?”

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

“Vaguely.”

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

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

“Oh,” she giggles then.

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

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

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

She looks at me, slightly curious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My finger tips and feet are tingling and I'm floating, the powder puff patterns of the clouds and the wind swirling I can see it's trails, all around into the trees, gathering leaves and making birds glitter as they sing. Then something cuts through, jarring red lines through.

“Crocker!” Wurnos.

I turn to where the voice is coming from. It rumbles from a blue shiny box, then there is creaking and slamming and slamming, rattling my ears and eyes and he walks towards me from round the nose of his box—his truck takes shape as I blink and all of his tall brown haired-ness coming closer with angry purpose.

“What's going on?” he demands.

“I'm going back to my boat?”

“You don't need to be out here right now.”

“What? You're...pulling me over for...walking?”

“It's called 'public intoxication',” he folds his arms.

“Seriously?” I fold my arms back at him, and just...what? “I'm just--” I point down the street, turning my head in that direction, granted that does make me a little dizzy but..., “the hell?”

“If you seriously try to tell me you're 'just tired' or something I'm gonna be really tempted to hit you,” he says, “because that didn't fly back in '96--”

“Oh, so you're going to take me hostage again?”

“That wasn't--” he sighs.

“Just leave me alone,” I walk away from him. He's...things...just no.

“Stop moving, Crocker, I order you.”

Order me, right.

“I suggest you listen to, Wuornos.”

Where the hell did that cop come from? Does make me stop for a moment. There's another one in front of me, blue uniform, some sort of something pointed at me. I could probably take him. Probably. Wuornos behind now though. Grabbing hold.

“Don't do something stupid like resist,” Wuornos says, “Stan just got a new tazer and he really wants to try it out.” I feel more than hear the click of the handcuffs as he goes through Miranda and pat down, disappointed that all I have on me is cigarettes I'm sure. Though the gun and knives are met with speculation.

“You know I have concealed carry,” I point out.

He grumbles something.

Fuck it. I let him push me towards the back of his truck and awkwardly stumble inside and lay down. Police Department's not far. Wuornos and 'Stan' get in the front.

“What have you taken today?” Wuornos asks.

I don't say anything; because oh, hey my high re-upped because I killed a chick and absorbed her blood and her Trouble is not the thing to say to two police officers. That makes me laugh. I can't help it.

“Is it still just the Big H with you or have you added anything else to the mix? No speedballs? Moon rock?”

“Don't try to act like you're know what you're talking about,” I tell him, “You just sound like an idiot,” it feels like the seat covers are melting in to me. That I'll be stuck in here when we get to the P.D and they won't be able to get me out of the truck. Some twisted tug of war but at least the handcuffs will have cut my hands off. Guard will probably stick blades in there and expect me to still do the Jobs anyway. The bouncing of the truck is lulling me back into the air, and I can feel the hands of Nicole grabbing onto me trying to stop herself from floating away too, and Ruben I had to drown off New Carlisle so that he wasn't randomly causing peoples' lungs to blacken and char, leaving a trail of destruction...walking lung cancer.

The truck stops and they drag me out I'm not stuck after all, but walking is...I can hear sounds with every step, echoing pew noises like shooting a gun in an arcade game and it's making my head heavy as I'm lead to booking. I just want to lay down but something's pulling on me.

“Stand up straight, Crocker,” the voice sounds like it's coming through a glass bubble.

“It's been a while,” another bubbly voice says.

“Well, he just got back in town today.”

“Short work then.”

“I said 'stand up, Crocker'!”

Something else grabs me from the other side and I feel like I'm going to fall instead being pulled every which way. There's scraping as my hands are uncuffed and I feel one being pressed into dampness and try to pull away in case it starts to melt. It's a pile of black ooze dripping everywhere.

“Put your hand on the paper. You know the drill.”

“Chief!” Wuornos sounds, nervous.

“What's going on?”

One side lets go of me and I can hear chittering and whittering, and there's something cool against my forehead. Something wraps me on the shoulder and I swing out against the attack and am caught by another hand and someone else.

“Just get him to holding and let him sleep it off,” a clear voice near my ear says and I feel bending and sliding and colors melting around me before there's another clanging red shattering door.

“No. Keep the jacket at the desk, I said. Who knows what he's got hidden in there. Need to finish searching it. Leave him on the floor so he doesn't fall off the damn bench. Last thing we need.”

That's fine. It's like a cool pool. Red clanging. I try to turn but everything is sludge; but why turn. There is icy cool around, soothing and I can see through the beige to the stars underneath.

%%%%

It's cold on the floor and I'm aching. My head feels like I ate ice cream full of glass too fast, the throbbing dullness but sharp pointy bits scraping inside my mouth. Everything outside myself is cloudy. I'm facing a ceiling and one hand has bashed itself against a bench that's attached to the wall on my left. I grip that to help pull up and push off the floor with the other hand. Then lean against the bench and scrub my eyes until things become a little more clear. It's a cell at Haven Police Department. That's what it is.

Wonderful.

How long have I been in here?

I won't have a phone on me. Things are still blurry every other time I blink so I can't see the clock that should be across on the other wall. I pull myself up again to half standing, leaning against the bench and sit down on it. A small group of timpani drums start up across my sinuses. I lean forward for the moment resting my head on my arms which I've folded across my knees. Deep breaths.

“Oh, Crocker, you're awake.”

“Don't sound so disappointed,” I mutter, slowly lifting my head. Stan, that's his name, he was with Wuornos earlier, appearing out of nowhere. Now he's unlocking the cell with a rattling that jars through my teeth all the way down through my ankles and gesturing me to get my ass out.

“Someone's here to get you out,” he says, “so you don't get to spend the night. Lucky you.”

“I was just starting to get comfortable,” I slide down the bench and pull myself up on the bars on the wall. I'm aware he's watching me closely, probably worried he's going to have to prop me up. The room rights itself though, “Who is the someone? Can you tell me that?” I can't really think of anyone.

“Vince Teagues.”

Well, that's given me enough fuel to walk with; but, of course, can't leave me in there. I might have to off someone else tomorrow. Shit...what time is it? I have a prospective client to meet. I follow Stan up the corridor back to the front desk, and there's Vince talking with Wuornos. All my favorite people. I should be nicer he is busting me out. Makes me feel sick. No, wait, that's just me...down the other side and the spinning head.

“Over there,” Stan waves with 'as if you didn't know' tones.

I go over to where Vince is standing.

“There you are,” he says, mildly.

“You need to sign here to get back your things,” Wuornos remarks, offering the pen over.

My signature is a mess. After it's done Wuornos reaches under the counter and pulls out a couple of sealed plastic bags with my phone and gun and the various other things that they took, and then the folded jacket. When I reach to pick it up my head, my stomach, both roll over.

“Am I allowed to go to the bathroom?” I ask him.

“Yes,” Wuornos mutters, “You know where it is.”

I carefully head over there keeping my head straight, and head into the stall as quickly as I can because my stomach is trying to climb out of my body. I just have time to wrap my hair around my hand to keep it out of the toilet before the retching starts but there's nothing. It's just my stomach fighting to expel things that aren't there. My throat burning as bile comes part way and then back down when I cough and finally manage to get things a bit calmer.

“You okay?” someone asks from outside. It's a fairly deep voice. No one I know. I look around, black shoes, dark pants. Must be some new officer who hasn't been appraised of the evil Crocker.

“S'Fine,” I answer, “I'll be out in a moment if you need the stall.” I pull myself up and flush it.

“No. I just wanted to check...” feet moving away and the door closes.

I leave the stall and rinse out my mouth from the sink before following suit. Vince is impatiently waiting at the desk. That's a more familiar look. My head is thrumming now with the lights in the room. Lovely.

“There are some things to fill out,” Vince says.

“I know the routine.”

“I'm sure,” he says.

“We can't just photocopy an old one and white out the date?”

Wuornos rolls his eyes and taps the form with the pen and then holds the pen out to me, “Your part is mostly signing and initialing and writing out your name. Do you remember how to spell it?”

I glare at him.

“I have to check,” he says, “Earlier you didn't remember how to do fingerprinting and I would think that's like riding a bike.”

“I wouldn't know.” I point out, moving on to the second page, “Simon was more into boats than bikes.”

It seems to be forever before the pages are all signed, but at last they are, and I'm putting on my jacket, stowing the weapons, phone and all the rest of it back in it's various places and getting ready to leave.

“I don't want to see you again,” Wuornos points out.

“It's not on my to do list either,” I tell him.

“Good.”

I really want to flick him off, but it's probably not a wise course of action. Vince is glaring a hole through me anyway.

“Alright, alright,” I tell him, and follow him out of the door.

He turns towards the parking lot, “Come on.”

“What?” I ask him.

“I'll drive you back to your boat.”

“Seriously? I can walk.”

“Previous efforts suggest otherwise,” he counters, “and Nathan released you into my custody which means I'm responsible for getting you back there.”

“Fine.”

“It's lovely to see that you're so grateful,” Vince says.

Grateful, really.

“Me, grateful?” I ask him, “What about you? After what I just did? Considering...I mean. Do you know how long I've been back?” I ask him, “What time is it?”

“One thirty,” he says.

“So, four and a half hours. Four and a half hours, Vince, and you've already had me do a thing.”

“You're ranting about that, but you're not thanking me for getting you out of there?” Vince mutters.

“They would have had to let me out eventually,” I retort, “You didn't have to come get me.”

Vince sighs, “Get in the damn car.”

I do so, “Why did they even call you to come get me?”

“I was the last person in your phone that you'd talked to...”

I snort, “Lucky I didn't have my other phone on me. They'd have been calling Russia,” neither of us say anything for a while but I have to ask, “So, when did the Troubles start back up?”

“When I got in touch with you we'd had confirmation for two days. I wanted to make sure...these things are tricky. You're the one who took your time getting back.”

“I had a job to finish. I told your flunky that when he radioed. I'm not going to bail on a client. That's bad for business,” my head is pounding which isn't making my mood any better. Neither is the fact the fucking client's flunky never actually showed up.

“You know what the Troubles starting back up means for your business.”

I lean forward, trying to focus on something else so I'm not scratching at my left arm but it feels like something is burrowing it's way through the skin, “That doesn't mean I want some pissed off client tracking me back here.”

Vince doesn't say anything for a moment, “Fair enough.”

I try leaning back in the seat but I can't get comfortable. I close my eyes against the sun, where the hell are my sunglasses? but it doesn't help, “I don't want any more of this bullshit for at least a week if not two.”

“That's not up to me,” Vince says.

“You have how many Guard? You can't find someone who can talk people down from their crazy so they don't have to be dealt with?” Why is this chair so fucking lumpy?

“I don't like when we have to do these things any more than you do.”

“Yeah, but you don't have to do it.”

Vince sighs. I swear he is the slowest driver, “If I haven't said it before I do appreciate that you are not like your father though.”

I could get out and walk faster than this. Why is it taking so damn long?

“Whatever.” I can't sit in the car much longer. I am going to wind up ripping my arm off. This chair. His slow ass driving.

“It wasn't a conspiracy to bring you back here and immediately have you—have a job for you. That just happened.”

“Just stop and let me out, okay?”

“We're not back at the dock yet.”

“I can walk. Just stop.”

“I'm not--”

“Just stop the damn car or I'm going to get out right now.” I pull at the lock.

Vince pulls over, “I told them I'd get you there.”

“I know where my fucking boat is, and since when are you beholded to the cops?”

Vince just looks disgruntled, “That's...I'll be in touch.”

“I'm sure you will.”

He drives off. I would flick him off if there wasn't something fucking with my arm. I stop trying to get to it through the layer of jacket and shirt and slip my hand up the sleeve instead as I continue to walk. The docks are...wait...which way were we driving? Left, down the street here. It's left and down from the Police Department, they're always left and down.

Ugh, my head is going again. Fucking marimba band, and the crumbling street, making it tricky to walk. I lean against the wall of the building and it feels as though it's going to come away in my hand, all chalky and sticky at the same time. What do they make these things out of? Is the whole town falling apart? This one crumbles. This one is a sponge.

Maybe if I go this way I can find something more solid? You can get to the docks like six different ways anyway. I can hear the water rushing backwards and forwards close. If my arm would just stop itching I could concentrate more but it refuses to cooperate.

Is this the same street I was just on? The building with blue edging and the round fish sign? No, that's a life saver. Fuck, my head. If only I hadn't been so pissed earlier and smoked all the laced ones might have a better time of it.

Let's just keep going.

There are people, too many, I need space, quiet. I need to be away. The docks are supposed to be quiet. Towards the sound of birds, and away from the other noise and the keening, and keeping my hand against the wall, though it seems to be sucking me in. I can hold myself. If I just wait for a moment things will clear up. It's supposed to be clearer by now, isn't it? Usually? I can't make out the time on the phone. I'm not going to call Vince back even if I could see his pompous face on the sign.

I can stand back up if the wall would let me go but it's too spongy and the floor is sucking me down.

%%%%

There's a feather tickling my head, bee raw mess flows towards me over the waves, as I bob over a gray stormy sea flecked with white swaying back and forth.

I haven't seen it this stormy in a while. Not since coming back from Barbados.

Clouds and cloth. I can feel things battering at me. Pulling. Darkness in and out.

Creaking and clattering.

Thasonyoulltaykeeminther

I'm being pulled this way and that but I can't pull back nothing wants to work. My feet feel light though, and then there's rain, warm rain. So tired. I feel as though I'm resting against something soft and warm, and being massaged.

It's the most pleasant dream I've had in ages.

My head. My hair. My whole body.

Even after the rain ends.

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...

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

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

This can't...

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

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

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

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

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

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

I give her a look.

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

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

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

“I can't do this...”

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

“I--”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And that I wasn't listening...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You were there though.”

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

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

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

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

@@@@

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

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

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

“Okay.”

“Only okay?” she says.

“I'm just...words...”

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

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

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

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

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

“It's okay,” she says, “It's okay.”

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

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

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

“Why are you stopping?” she asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@@@@

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

“Are you okay, baby?” she asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, tiny mistress.”

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

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

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

“Yeah. They're good.”

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

Julia blows me a kiss.

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

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

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

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

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

“Baby?” she asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure.”

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

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

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

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

She just laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wow,” is all I can say for a moment.

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

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

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

“Debriefing?”

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

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

“A what, baby?”

“Euphemism,” am I blushing?

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

I drop the fork I'm holding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I nod.

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don't...this isn't—this isn't me.”

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

“Okay,” I tell her.

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

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

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

@@@@

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?” I ask.

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

“Breakfast is still...”

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

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

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

I lean my head against her shoulder.

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

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

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

I feel my own tears coming though.

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

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

I kiss her cautiously and she gives a slight laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

“Mostly.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course.”

“I better call Uncle Vince.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's not entirely up to me though.

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

I nod.

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

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

@@@@

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure.”

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

“Of—of course,” Vince says, shakily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That's awesome,” I tell her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh,” he says, “Garland.”

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

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

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

“Oh, dear.” Vince remarks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I can only muster a “Hm” in response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just like calling an elevator.”

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

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

“Boston?” I ask.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmmm,” I say.

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

I stare at him.

Julia giggles quietly.

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

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

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

He nods, “As I said, think about it.”

I nod in return.

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

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

I flop back down on the couch and exhale slowly.

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

“Hm,” I tell her.

“No, you did. How do you feel?”

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

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

“Excited,” I add.

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

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

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

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

@@@@

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

“Yeah?”

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

“Huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

I suppose.

“You okay?”

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

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

“That would be...nice.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright...”

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

“It is just Nathan, right?”

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

The second day in a row I'm being drug kicking out of sleep by someone banging on the cabin door yelling my name. I suppose I better get out there, but this time I'm at least grabbing cigarettes before I go to the door. It's not Wuornos though. I peer out of the door, cigarette in hand. It's Mike Gallagher.

He looks relieved.

“What do you want?” I demand.

“You are alive.”

“Yes,” I mutter, “Now, what do you want?”

“Vince asked me to come up here because you didn't check in...properly after yesterday.”

I snort.

“Well, you just called to say the job was done and then we didn't hear from you. He...” he at least looks apologetic, “...needs the report.”

“Really? What the fuck does it matter? The guy's dead. The Trouble is done. I'm not writing shit up for him.” I light my cigarette.

Mike gets this look I could swear it's a smile but what do I know?

“You could just tell me what happened and I'll turn things in.”

I sigh the smoke out. At least the aching will be going away soon, “Fine. What the fuck ever. If it'll get you gone and I can go back to sleep. Sit there.” I point to the crate by the door, and come out onto the deck and close the door behind me and sit across from him. He pulls his phone out of his pocket.

Now, then. Fuck. How to tell this, best leave certain people out of this, I suppose. I rub a hand down my face and take another drag of the cigarette. Mike shifts a little. He's looking out towards the town and then coughs a little probably afraid he's lost me.

“Okay,” I say, “So, yes—well, day before yesterday I heard this old high school “friend” of mine might have some sort of “connections” you know?”

“I can guess,” he says, dryly.

“So, I was figuring I could check it out yesterday. Extra sources are always good.”

Mike shakes his head. I give him an appropriate glare.

“If I could find out where he lived. So, I was making my way into town given I was actually up trying to think of how I could find this out when who should call?” I give him a look given he knows damn well who called. Of course all of this is complete bullshit. Given what actually happened is that I was woke up by Wuornos hammering on my door.

%%%%

“What the fuck?” I demanded as he's standing there on my deck for once not actually looking pissed with me but...nervous? Worried? Either way it's fucking weird. Though when I yank open the door he does stop banging and shouting mid, “Crocker!”

“Uh...yes...” he manages.

So, there's me glaring at him, and him with his fist in the air looking uncomfortable now.

“Yes?” I return, “I didn't ask for a wake up call so what the fuck do you want?”

“I...I need your help.”

“Sure you do. This is some really weird new police harassment—wait, where's Parker? You guys are usually attached at the hip.”

His expression darkens then.

“That's,” he sighs, “That's why I need your help.”

“I'm in no way going to fix some relationship trou—difficulties for you.”

Now he glares at me. This—this is more normal. This I can deal with.

“Duke, please,” he retorts.

My stomach freezes and knots itself up. This—this I can't fucking deal with. We stare at each other.

“Du--” he starts again.

“Don't,” I tell him, “Don't you--”

“She's been taken—and--”

“And what? How the--” Shit. Why am I even? I close my eyes for a moment. Fuck.

“Please I need your help to get her back.”

“I seem to recall you having an entire fucking police force.”

He sighs and looks at his feet, “Yes, but I doubt they could get anywhere near where I'm pretty—where she most likely is. Do you remember Nick Fletcher?”

It does sort of sound familiar. Wuornos pulls out his phone and messes around with it for a moment and turns it towards me. There's a picture on it but I can't make out the details. He is fine handing the phone over to me so I can get a better look though which is also fucking weird. Now I know who the guy is though.

“Yes,” I say, carefully, “I remember him.”

“We were looking into him, and she's been missing since yesterday. I'm—I'm hoping he's just got her somewhere and—and not...” Not dead. Right, “he's—well he's got connections to some drug people,” he's sounding more awkward, “which is why I hoped that you...might be able to track him in ways my “entire fucking police force” can't hope to.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, “Just because he knows drug people doesn't mean I automatically know where he is.”

“I know that,” Wuornos snaps, “but it'll be a lot easier for you to weasel your way into there and track him down.”

He does have a point. Some junkie trying to make a connection with a drug guy is a lot less suspicious. Fuck, I'm getting a worse headache than normal in a morning. Oh, and now I hear Spit on your grave from inside the boat.

“What's--?” Wuornos asks.

“It's a phone, genius.” I mutter, and go and get it, “What?” I demand though I somehow doubt it's actually Vince he hasn't spoken to me directly on the phone in ages, or in person really either and lo it's Mike.

“There's a job,” he says, at least sounding apologetic.

Of course there is. So now it's desperate Wuornos or kill some poor fucker.

“So, what's going on?” I ask him.

“Meet me at--” he starts.

“Just tell me. I'm sure it's urgent. It's always urgent.”

He sighs, “There's a Fletcher.”

“Nick Fletcher?” Well isn't that just...

“Yes,” Mike sounds slightly surprised.

“I went to school with him,” I explain, “You went to school with him,” I can't resist adding.

There's silence for a moment and then, “...well, he's been--”

“Just tell me where he is.”

Mike gives me the address and I hang up on him and turn the phone off. Wuornos is looking at me. I'm shaking my head at the phone.

“Should I ask who that was?” he asks.

“Do you really want to know?”

He shakes his head.

“What's important is I know where Nick Fletcher is,” I have to snort, “I'll just need a minute or five.”

“What?”

“To get my shit together so that you can drive me up there.”

“If you know where he is then just tell me--” he says.

“I can't,” I tell him, “and you know why. You'll get your Parker back. Isn't that what's important?”

I go back inside and get knives and my coat, put my boots on and check for a pack of cigarettes and lighter. I close the door and light up.

"You're not smoking in the truck," he tells me as soon as I turn around.

“Fine,” I suck down the cigarette and drop it on the deck and grind it out under my boot, “Happy?” I ask exhaling the smoke.

“Fine,” he answers, “Where are we going?”

%%%%

“So, your call was extremely helpful,” I tell Mike, having left out all of Wuornos' involvement, “Given you gave me Fletcher's address so I didn't have to try and wheedle it out of anyone so I could just get myself a taxi to the area.”

“The area?”

“I never have anything drop me off right in front of someone's property that's just ridiculous.”

“Right, of course. I wasn't sure if it'd be different though,” he says, typing on his phone.

“Well, it's not,” I snap, “I went went up the road slowly, walking my way back and forth as though I was more out of it. For some reason I know how to pull that off,” I tell him.

He gives me one of those looks. I flick the spent cigarette over the side of the boat and toy with the pack for a bit before setting it down between us.

“As it happens guy's property is kind of a farm, but I imagine you knew that even before everything was finished.”

He nods, “Yeah. We did.”

I nod too. Of course they did. Maybe they'd have told me that if I'd not hung up on him. Never know now, “He's out in the front screwing around with something and sees me stop to lean on his wall. He's all 'Duke? Duke Crocker?' and comes scurrying across the driveway. I'm all 'Wait...wait...I'll get it. Mi—no...' and I stop and think for a minute, putting my hand on his shoulder and searching his face and he's egging me on with his expression, but kinda wanting to fill me in too. 'Neh...no. Nick?' 'Yup,' he says all happy.” I shake my head, because that didn't last of course, “and he's all how he'd heard that Crocker was kinda into 'it' pretty deep, but it didn't look like I was into the stuff he was doing, just like that, but I mean whatever, and what brought me out this way? And I tell him I'm trying to get as far away from the PD as possible because they just let me out of the tank, and then he's like well, you know I don't have any smack connection that would open me up, I just have coke, and I'm like fuck? Really?” I shake my head, “The idiot drags me right on up to his barn to show off his stash. I mean, seriously? But he probably figured I wouldn't remember.”

Mike's just expression of mind-blown, and shakes his head. He's not typing at the moment, but it really doesn't need to be in there.

“So, he's babbling about what dealers do I know and I'm all I don't know if Beck or them will trust any random guy I bring to them they like to find people themselves, and as we get in the barn side I stumble towards some of the hanging tools hoping he'll try to catch me which he does and I can lean him into something so he'll cut himself and I can check, you know?”

Mike nods.

“And well, he scrapes himself and bleeds and I'm like, 'Shit, man, sorry,' and grab his hand, and the blood and yeah, the fucker's Troubled, and then he's all, 'what the fuck?' because of course my eyes light up like they do, and that's—well, that's when it all goes really freaking whacky because then there's shouting from the other side of the barn.”

“Oh?” Mike says.

“Yeah,” I pick up the pack of cigarettes again and tap it a few times until I'm satisfied and then take one out and put it in my mouth, “Yeah, this voice calling out 'Hey! Hey! Is someone else out there?' fucking Officer Detective whatever Parker.” I cup the cigarette to light it.

Mike whistles, “Really?”

“Yeah. Don't ask me what he was doing with her, but I guess. I mean the PD stumbles into Trouble shit all the time, so I don't know, but I was like '...what the hell, dude?' and he was just 'Fuck. Shit. Fuck.' and well, wouldn't you know, I guess he felt so guilty about that he just got these chains from the barn and hung himself and me being the junkie spazz I am just fled the scene because I don't want to be found in that mess.”

“Of course,” Mike says, typing again, “Is that all?”

“Well, I did almost get hit by Wuornos' truck on my way down the road. Guess he found out where his partner was, but I mean him trying to kill me or shit happens like once a week anyway, so that's nothing new.”

Mike shakes his head.

“Is that enough?” I lean back against the outside cabin wall, trying to scratch an annoying itch on my left forearm, “Will Vince be off both our asses now?”

“Come on, man,” Mike says, setting his phone down next to my cigarette packet, “We were concerned. You hung up without even asking what the guy's Trouble was.”

“I don't care,” I tell him.

Mike stares at me for a moment, “You...need to put it in the book.”

“Why?” I ask him, “You're writing all this shit down. You put it in the fucking book. You take the fucking book even. Why do I even need the damn thing?”

“I...” he trails off.

“Just go back to Vince,” I stand up, scooping up my cigarettes, “I need sleep.”

Mike stands up as I get to the cabin door, “I can't take the book,” he says, after a moment, “and you know why.”

“Whatever,” I open the door and start to go inside.

“Do you need anything?” he asks.

“I need you to go and leave me the fuck alone,” I close the door and lock it behind me.

%%%%

I gave Wuornos the address and climbed into the right side of his truck and stretched against the seat for a moment before closing the door. I didn't want to think about how long it was since I'd been in the front of the truck.

“Don't take me all the way there,” I told him, after a good few minutes of awkward silent driving other than the radio dropping in and out between two channels, “Drop me off at the middle of the next street down, and I'll walk up—see what's going on.”

“I need to--”

“You asked for my help. It's going to go down my way.”

“Thank y--” he starts.

“Don't.”

I can feel him looking over at me but I keep my eyes fixed on the road in front of us and the struggling shrubs in people's yards and the street parked cars here and there.

“But Duke--”

“Stop with that too. Please,” this time I do turn to him, “and don't fucking try to say you owe me or some shit. I happen to have to go this way too and you're driving me. There. You don't owe me shit because I'll happen to find your—Parker so it'll be even.”

“Fine,” he mutters.

The rest of the trip is blessedly silent until he stops the car and I start to climb out he reaches out for me and I pull my hand up.

“Fine,” he says, “Call me when you find her so I can come and sort things out.”

“Sure. Whatever,” I tell him, like I have his number, and get out. He'll realize that soon enough but hopefully he's smart enough not to risk anything by following me.

I walk up the road putting on a “drunken” type weave and stopping every now and then to look around as though I have no idea where I am, and rub at my neck or head. This is one of the few times I haven't actually tied my hair up for a job. Needs must. Feh.

“Duke?” I hear suddenly. There's a guy across in the yard of a house—farm house I see the barn behind and a cluster of trees and expanse of fields behind that. He's wiping hands off on pants where he's been messing around with soil strip that runs next to his paved walkway, and some sort of long handled tool clatters onto the paving stones as he walks towards me, “Duke Crocker?”

I turn and stop and lean against his wall and he closes the distance, “Wait,” I tell him, waving a hand which winds up on his shoulder and I peer at his face, “Wait—Mi,” as though I was going to say Mike or Mitch or something, and I lean back a bit and squint, “No, no, Ne,” like maybe Neil, and I can tell he wants to help me out but at the same time he's eager to see where this goes, “No...wait. Nick.”

“Yup,” he says and he's so fucking happy you'd think I just gave him a hundred bucks.

He pats the hand of mine that's on his shoulder, “How are you? Sit down. Sit down,” he sits on the wall facing towards the house and I sit facing towards the street, and he stabilizes me so I don't fall backwards. Okay, good sign for another idea I had, “I heard you were back around, and you were...” he trails off for a moment, “that you were pretty heavy into some things.”

“Eh,” I shrug, “People say what they say. They don't know me though.”

“Right,” he says, “Right, of course.”

“They don't know what's going on. They just...” I let it trail off and unfocus on a tree just behind him for a moment.

“Duke?” he asks.

I wait until he says my name again, “What?” If there's one thing I can do it's be high. I have enough practice. Though I don't need to pretend to be fucking itchy.

“What're you doing out this way anyway?”

“Oh,” I say, “Oh, well, stupid cops put me in the drunk tank and I wanted to get as far away from the PD as—as possible, so I was...I was just walking, you know? Getting some air...” I wave a hand around in front of me so I almost clonk him in the face. He dodges and laughs a little bit.

“You know by the looks of you I don't think I carry what you need,” he says, sounding a little upset about that, “You're on the smack train, aren't you?”

“Hm?” I ask him, as if I'm trying to make out innocent but completely failing.

“Oh, come on,” he says, “We're friends here, right? I want to be able to help you out, but I only have crack and coke back there,” he waves a hand towards the barn, “I'd love to be able to get my hands on some heroin though. Maybe you can hook me up with a contact?” he gives a nudge towards me, “I'd give you a much better deal than you're getting now, of course, and, you know, I don't think there's anyone dealing this local. It'd be a lot easier for you.”

I give him a hopeful look but then go to fearful, “Oh, I don't know,” I tell him, “I mean Beck,” because that's totally his name, “he likes to sound out his own people, and who is going to trust anyone I recommend to them? I'm just some--” I wave a hand, “and you—you're just full of—I just saw you again for the first time.”

“Oh, come on,” he says, “No, seriously,” he tugs at my sleeve, and helps me turn around, “Let me show you. Come to the barn. Come on,” he pulls at me again.

I stand up and follow him cautiously; but while the ground isn't frozen hard it's not slippery squelchy either which is something. He's also already moving now that I've stood.

“You can take a picture if you want. Show your contact I have this stuff and I'm trustworthy.”

“I don't know that's how it works...” I tell him, but it's not like it really matters.

He practically runs ahead of me into the main barn building. Is he taking his own shit? He seems to have way too much energy? Or it could just be who I'm used to being around.

Hm, right by the door here there are a bunch of hanging tools several of them look kinda sharp. Good. He's pulled a hay bale off of a stack and is waving his hand at what was underneath. I can see at least a dozen wrapped clear bundles of white powder. Oh, holy shit. And the way the bales are around it. There's got to be at least another layer if not two.

So, is this what the Siamese Twins were investigating and they stumbled upon a Trouble or were they looking into a Trouble and stumbled across a wannabe Drug Kingpin?

He moves back towards me given I haven't come any closer than by the doorway, “So, what do you think? You think your Beck guy would be cool with me?”

“I don't know,” I say, “Like I said he's kind of a closed...um...” I make to stumble backwards again towards the stuff hanging on the wall and he reaches to grab me I pull us into the stuff so that he jams into it and he curses a bit, “Oh, shit, man!” I say, “Shit!” and I grab him where he just got cut, “I'm sorry!”

“It's okay,” he says, “It's not your fault,” except it totally was, and there's that rush. Fucker's Troubled alright.

“Oh, what the fuck?!” he yells, “What the fuck is going on with you?!”

“Hey!” I hear what is most definitely Parker's voice calling out from the left of us as I grab for Fletcher before the strength burst goes away, gotta be careful not to break his arm, “Hey! Who's out there?! Is someone else out there?! Help me!”

“Is that that lady cop?” I ask him, softly, like I'm going holy shit what are you doing? Even though I'm clearly trying to take him down.

“What the fuck?” he struggles against my hold but there's no way. I cover his mouth.

“You didn't see anything. You didn't see anything,” I babble out, hopefully it's high-pitched enough and freaked out enough it sounds like him, “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.” I grab the heavy chain that's nearby and drag him on the hay bales, “what am I going to do? Oh, fuck,” he's still struggling some as I wrap it round his neck by one end and throw the other over the rafter then kick one of the haybales down in front of him so he'll be swinging free once I let him go. Gotta break his neck first though. I grab his arm where he's still bleeding and there we go.

Done.

And swinging.

“Hello?” Parker calls, warily given all the noise has stopped, except the creaking of the chain.

I bolt out of the barn and over the wall, and down the street back towards Nathan's truck. He looks surprised to see me as I catch my breath next to his window for a moment and he rolls it down.

“Parker's in the barn,” I tell him, “Left hand side away from the hanging suicide guy. I just...” I put up my hands, “...he freaked out. I don't...” don't lose his face. Everything is really starting to...

“Why didn't you call me?” he asks.

“Like I have your number? Are you crazy? With your...” no, those aren't there. Those aren't there. Stop looking at them. Fuck.

“Duke?”

“I told you to...not...” I pat the window frame, “Just go get her, okay?”

“Get in the truck,” he says.

“I gotta--” I point.

“I'm not going to the barn until you get in the damn truck. If I have to carry you myself I--”

“Fine. Fine. Fine,” I mutter, “You are gonna be really mad when I throw up.”

“What was that?” he asks as I climb in the passenger side.

“Nothing. Just go with your green swirly clock.”

“The hell?” he asks, but the truck lurches into gear and he speeds off around the corner, everything swims and blurs, green and red with the bubbles around, and the truck frame is melting down the sides, and I feel the bounce as he goes over the driveway and around towards the barn.

Then he calls it in, “Witness claims to have heard Officer Parker shouting for help. Am investigating the location.”

The crackling static of the radio going on and off hurts my ears and I open the door to lean out given my stomach's started churning with the Nascar racing audition Wuornos was doing the two minutes up here.

“Stay here,” he tells me.

“No problem,” I'm trying to get my phone to turn back on anyway, “Go do your daring rescue,” I think he's already gone. Some message thing starts beeping at me but I ignore it and just hit the call “Uncle Asshole” button, of course it's Mike that answers and not Vince as expected.

“Duke?” he asks, “Are you okay?”

“The job's done,” I tell him. Fuck, I can feel things starting to come up now. I pull myself up to standing so I can lean over.

“Uh...okay...what happen--?”

“It's done. Fletcher's dead.” I hang up and drop the phone, and lean against the truck and scrape as much of my hair back as I can to hold behind my neck before the puking attempt starts. Mostly I just wind up with a burning throat and spitting a few bits out onto the grass. I sit back against the step on the side of the truck entrance and lean my back against the side of the seat for the moment. My head is spinning now and my mouth tastes real crappy. I should still have some cigarettes somewhere. I scrabble around to find them in an inside pocket of my coat. I don't remember how many laced ones I have left though I didn't exactly get to prep anything this morning with all this fucking drama.

A small gust of wind blows through as I'm trying to light up which is just perfect. I set my hand with the lighter down for the time being. The waving trees gives me distraction though watching things sway through and the clouds blending with the branches and buds.

“Crocker?” Parker asks, suddenly and I blink at her. She's standing with a hand leaning on the side of the truck next to me, looking down, “You found me?”

“He did,” Wuornos answers from the other side of the truck, “He's the reason you're out here now.”

“Thank you,” she says, reaching a hand towards mine and patting it.

I just stare at her. This is just getting weird now. What does she expect from me?

I pull myself to my feet and move to the side, “Have your spot,” I tell her. There's no wind now I can light the cigarette, hopefully. My hands are getting jittery.

“We'll take you wherever it is you need to go,” Wuornos says, as I pace back and forth a bit and then go lean against the back of the truck bed.

“I can make my way back,” I tell him, “I told you we're even.”

“What's that--?” Parker starts.

“Don't worry about it,” Wuornos cuts her off, quickly, “I'm not leaving you,” he says. It takes me a moment to realize that he's talking to me and not Parker.

“Why?” I ask, “We're done,” I take another drag of the cigarette, grateful I can feel somethings easing up a bit, but I'm still shaky. If I call a cab I should--

“Stop being stubborn,” he snaps, “Just get in the back of the damn truck. I'll throw you out near the harbor. No one has to know.”

I'm about to say something else when he cuts in again.

“I will taze you. Do you really want that right now?”

“Fine,” I climb in the back of the truck and sit down after stubbing out the cigarette. Parker gets in the front.

Wuornos is verifying something on the radio with the police department and I scrub the sides of my head trying to ignore the hash noises of the radio. When the radio stops and I look up Parker has turned around in the front seat and is looking at me.

“I know I said that,” Wuornos is saying to her, “but I know I also told you it would be pointless,” he turns to me, “buckle in.”

“Seriously?”

“You're not in cuffs you can do it yourself,” he says.

“That's not—”

He just fixes me with a serious look until I snap the strap into place and fold my arms and meet his gaze, “Okay?” I demand.

“Yes. Thank you,” he answers and puts the truck into gear and backs out onto the road. There are other cops around now I see. They're moving in and out of the barn and there are flashes of photos being taken which pull me into fireworks.

I lean back against the seat and close my eyes. It's more normal being in this part of the truck, the lulling motion, the limited view of the outside world. Parker's hair is glowing against the top of the seat in front and flickering with red, orange and green. I can hear them talking but it's so much Charlie Brown, and I try to let it wash by and just focus on the movement of the truck as it rolls along and lean my head against the side. I float on flickering colors and follow the trails and listen to them babbling along the occasional word makes it through here and there but I don't pay any real attention until the truck stops moving and the rolling becomes just a dull vibration.

I open my eyes just slightly. Parker is mostly out of the front seat.

“Stay there,” Nathan tells me, pointing in my direction, “I'm just dropping her off here, as it was on the way and taking you to the docks now.”

I lean forward slightly, as much as the belt will allow before digging into my neck and burning, and there's the red brick wall of the police station. Is the town going to crumble now that Wuornos is driving away from the department with me still in the truck and Parker not?

I lean back scratching the belt away from my skin and close my eyes thwup-thwup thwup-thwup cobblish streets, not a flat tire.

“We are going to the docks, right?” I ask him after a moment where it seems like things are taking too long. We're apparently stuck in a weird amount of traffic.

“Yes,” he says, stiffly, “We're going to the docks.”

“This isn't--”

“This isn't anything.”

“I'm not gonna--”

“I'm taking you to the docks, Duke, okay?” he turns around for a moment and then turns back and it's quiet.

“Okay, I just don't want to wake up strapped to some cot at Gloria's.”

“I said I was taking you to the docks,” he mutters, as we start to move again.

“Fine. Okay,” I tell him, leaning back and shifting about trying to get comfortable, “I think you'd understand why I might not trust bei--”

“Why—what now?” he asks, like he didn't call his Dad to help kidnap me before, “I'm sorry,” he turns back to look at me again, “You don't trust me is that what you're going to--” and then he stops and turns back to face the road once more and just waves one hand at me.

“Yes,” I tell him, “I don't trust you.”

He makes a noise but doesn't actually say anything for the moment, drumming his fingers across the top of the steering wheel and resting the other arm against the edge of the truck window so his hand is somewhere against his face. It's getting too bright. I shift around trying to block the angle of the windows and move my hand to block the sun from my eyes as well as pulling my hair more over my face trying not to aggravate my itchy head, because it's just this one spot in the right side in the middle there so if I ignore it—and the fucking—Nate's still drumming his--

“Duke!” his face his leaning over the back of the seat.

“You're gonna crash the damn truck,” I tell him.

“We're stopped,” he says. He leans back a little, nodding towards the window, “We're at the docks. If you really want to stay in my truck now I'm going to be very confused given everything else you were--”

I push at the door and he opens it with some smarmy ass look on his face and grabs my elbow as I come out of the truck. I miss when I try to push him out off me. Fuck. The ground isn't quite where I thought it was, but I don't hit it because Wuornos does have a hold of me.

“See the boats?” Wuornos says.

I look about but everything the way I think he's pointing is blurry, but it's blurry blues and bluish-greys with splashes of color, and I can hear keening gulls and smell salt and something sort of fishy so I have to admit we're here.

“Hrm,” I tell him.

“What was that?” he asks as I push up from him to be more upright, “Where are we?”

“The docks,” I tell him.

“You're welcome.”

“I am breaking one thing I said though,” he says.

I knew it.

“I'm not throwing you out here,” he says with this tone that's very similar to the one he had when he offered to taze me, “I want to make sure you get to the Ursa. Don't need you dropping your keys in the water or something. You might drown trying to get them back and I'm sure as hell not diving in for them.”

I am not going to say thank you even though I cannot tell the difference between any of the boats around here right now. I just make a grumbly noise and grudgingly allow him to help me along the harbor side. I reach into my pants pocket to find my keys. Wuornos, I guess, hearing them jingling holds his hand out to take them as we turn suggesting we've reached the slip where the Ursa is. I reluctantly hand them over and he leads me up the boat ramp on to the deck. I feel like a landlubber because as we make it on board everything starts spinning even worse and I'm being held over the side rail all of a sudden as I try to puke but there's nothing more to come up than there was earlier so it doesn't happen.

“How about you stay there for right now?” he says, “I'll get the door unlocked.”

“Whatever,” fucking boat getting revenge on me now. Great.

“Come on,” he says.

“What?” He's got his hand on my arm again, “The door's open.”

“Already?”

“Just come on.”

I give up and brace myself against him and we cross to the cabin door and inside. Once through the door he stops looking around.

“It's fine now,” I tell him, pulling away to lean against the kitchen counter, “...thank you.”

He makes a sigh noise but the way the shadows are moving I think he's nodding, “If you say so. I'll—okay, fine.” There's a clattering thud of my keys landing on the counter, “Thanks, again,” he says.

“I told you--”

“I know, but thanks anyway, for Parker,” and he leaves.

“Hey, honey,” I feel a hand wending it's way down my lower chest towards my groin, and Brent's voice in my ear.

My head is muzzy and I'm slightly dizzy, “I had you sleep over?” I ask him, what was I thinking? Apparently that's out loud too though given his tone shift.

“You slept at my place,” he snips, “Like you have the past two nights. You're welcome,” he throws back covers and gets out of bed. Walking around to the other side while I try to work out where the hell dope might be here, and trying to remember something of the past two days so that I can make nice because he is my source and I...

Okay I was on the phone with him outside the Historical Society. Mighty need. I had money but he wanted sex because it's him. But fuck...the whole point was to forget that weirdness. I'm trying to remember the past two days, not the shit before. Fuck you, brain.

“Oh, wow,” Brent continues in those pissed off tones, “Was our 'partying' that terrible for you? Why don't you just take your shit and leave?”

“Fine,” I mutter, dragging myself to the edge of the bed, “I'll get dressed.”

While I'm finding clothes Brent is shoving things into the duffle with my other clothes, muttering to himself and throws a bag of supplies onto the bed at me going, “You're welcome,” again with that same inflection. Once I have pants and a tank top on I shoot up with it, and then finish getting dressed, throwing everything away in the trash can by his bed and lay back for a moment. The duffle gets dumped by my head, “I called you a cab,” Brent says.

When I look over at him he's wearing pajama shorts and a long silk house coat thing and has his arms folded. His posture is sulky with his arms folded but I can't make out his expression.

I push myself up into sitting position, “What is your--?”

“No,” he says, “No, don't you even.”

“What?”

“You come up here after how long? It was just going to be a 'smash and grab' but then you bring the things and you want to forget some bitch and spend some time and I was all 'hey this could be fun' and you brought some stuff I'm in to because I'm not about to do that shit, that's all you, but you brought booze, and I have booze, and you do you and we do other things, of course, but--” he's waving his hands around so much he might take off, “UGH. I can't with you right now. I shouldn't have even let you back in after so long.”

“I'm not going to come back from Europe just to get dope from you.”

“Right, and where did you get what you were on the other day? Talking about people being eaten by a Lighthouse and shit, and all this 'I love you, baby' just get in the cab when it arrives I don't...” he waves his hand.

“Whatever.”

“Whatever?” he kicks something, “You're going to whatever me now?”

I flop back down on the bed. I'm nowhere near high enough for his bullshit.

“Well take more then. You've got plenty. I'm not going to stiff you. I've got integrity on my deals. We may have something fucked up going on right now but a deal is still a deal. Just take it to the fucking bathroom. I've got phone calls to make. I'll tell you when the fucking cab gets here.”

I'm not sure how long it is later that I'm being loaded into a cab. I push the bag across the way and lean back against the seat. The cabbie says something I don't catch.

“Haven,” I hear Brent tell him, “You know the harbor down there? That's where.”

There's a back and forth for a moment and then Brent hands him money. I pull door the shut and he bangs his hands on the window twice as the cab pulls away.

I flip him off and then lean my head against the frame next to the window.

“Fuck you too, Duke!” he yells, flicking me off in return as the cab pulls away.

I'm feeling the movement of it vibrate it's way through my temples for a while before leaning back again.

“Come on! Out on the cab!” I can smell the salty air outside, and feel the breeze, but it's comfy, and I wave him away, “Duke—come on!” Strong arm and being drug to one side. I'm just able to grab the duffle, and then my ass hits the ground, “You brought that on yourself,” Wuornos mutters at me.

“They called you?”

“Cab, harbor, belligerent junkie, possibly called Duke. How could I resist?” he retorts.

I start to pick myself up. I realize he hasn't gone anywhere, “What?”

“Pay the man,” he says.

“He already got paid. Brent through money at him before we left Derry.”

“Is this true?”

The cab drives off.

“I should have known you'd keep track of money no matter how wasted you are,” Wuornos remarks.

I pull a face at him.

“I wondered where you were at,” he continues.

“You were worried about me?” I snark, “How sweet.”

“Well you disa—weren't getting into any trouble after the initial welcome back,” he says, “it's not like you.”

“Riiight,” I pick up the duffle, cautiously. I'm not going to ask him how long ago that was. Brent acted like it was just a couple of days since—since the lighthouse. Where's my phone? I don't see any Guard around so I can't have missed another lovely job. I'm not about to go searching through the bag for either of my phones in front of him though. That's all I need. Yeah that is totally a packet of talcum powder...yah.

“Let's just get you on your boat,” he says.

“I think I know how to--”

He grabs my arm, “You don't see you,” he says, “Haven P.D takes the safety of it's citizens very seriously. If I walk away and you fall in to the harbor and drown what kind of crap is the Chief going to give me?”

“Fine,” I mutter, moving the duffle to my outside arm and walking with him towards the Ursa's gangplank and then up onto her deck. My keys are in my pocket at least and I manage to unlock the door without too much difficulty and I stop before I push the door open because he's still there, “Okay. See, I'm fine. You can go.”

“Well check,” he says, “Gotta make sure you're safe on board.”

“Are you shitting me?”

“No. Do you--”

“I don't want to hear about the Chief again.”

“Well, then. Let me in.”

Fuck...did the Russians ever pick up their shit....? It's downstairs anyway. Well check doesn't mean the hold. I put the duffle down on the couch, and don't look at it. Did they ever call? If they called over the weekend...well, fuck them. They've left me hanging, how long? That's Russians though. Maybe I can find out how she did it and make the lighthouse eat them.

“Duke?” he asks, turning back from the middle of the kitchen, one hand resting on the table top. He probably wouldn't want it there if he knew.

“Nothing,” I shake my head.

“Didn't seem like nothing.”

“Well, you're nuts. I'm going to dump this in my room and piss is that okay with you?” I lift up the bag again and wave it at him.

“Okay,” he says, going towards the sink, and lifting up the tap to turn it on. Fucking weirdo.

I put the bag on my bed and dump it out to find everything so that I can stash things under the bed and in the bathroom given someone is traipsing around the rest of my boat. There's both phones in the mess too, and I put them on my dresser and toss my clothes in one corner, and dump my jacket on the bed.

Dope, needles, dope, needles, tie in the bathroom, along with a couple of caps I've used when mixing things, that have been rinsed out. It's a little easier in there, water source and all, and spare lighter.

I sit down by the side of the bed and rearrange things in there so I can put things away and have easy access given this is where I go in the morning half awake.

Fucking asshole, Brent. What the hell? But I was the one who went there knowing he probably wouldn't really understand, but where else? Can't go find a client in that frame of mind. Whose going to...? Well, there'd probably be some people willing to fuck me in that state but I needed dope anyway.

Hi, yes...there was just some weird...what...portal? Are you high? No. No, not nearly enough.

Fuck.

Supposed to be forgetting this shit. Fuck it. I make myself another dose, and soak up the rest in some cigarettes. I don't know if I already laced them. I don't remember, but whatever. I put the packet on the dresser. I can't shake the thing and it's annoying me. Why would she...? Why would she say that to me? Crazy lady. It meant...nothing. She was just nuts. Take the money and run that's all you had to do and that's what you did. That's what you did.

“Duke?”

Fuck. I didn't even notice him open the door and there he is like two feet from me.

“What?” I ask him, leaning against the dresser, keeping myself facing away from him, “Are you leaving? Please tell me you're leaving.”

“You...” he stops, for a moment, and sighs, taking a step back, “I don't care if you give me shit considering how your come back to town went but I was worried when you disappeared the past couple of days. I...know you can't like being back here, and then you were gone and the Ursa was still here that was...odd.”

I snort.

“But this whole week has been odd.”

“Even for Haven.”

“The Troubles are back. You better get used to it,” I release my tight hold on the dresser, but I don't think I manage to act casual enough about that so I turn around.

“They...are..? Are you...sure?” but he doesn't sound so hopeful about that.

“Believe me,” I tell him, “I know they're back.”

He looks like he wants to ask something, but then he changes his mind, and instead just sits back on the bed. Why are you not leaving? I slide down to the floor with my back against the dresser, dragging the pack of cigarettes with me.

“You didn't realize they're back?” I ask him, as I light up, “You're still all touchy feely?”

There's a long pause while he processes what I just asked him, “...yes.”

“You weren't sick. We've been through--”

“So, you're going to talk to me now?” he asks, leaning forward, “You hate me and you want me to leave and what the fuck am I doing here? But now, now—the me being sick as a kid is a Trouble bullshit? That you want to bring up,” he waves a hand in my direction and then slaps it on his knee and slaps it again with a weird expression on his face.

For a moment I can't breathe.

“No. I'm fine,” he snorts, “Were you actually worried?” It's a parrot-back, but I deserve it. I don't have anything to throw at him. Not being able to feel anything...that's not enough for Vince to want me to kill someone over is it? That's not a dangerous Trouble. That's not giving people deadly plagues or irradiating towns. Now you're just being a paranoid junkie.

A paranoid junkie with a cop staring at him. Remember that.

I shake my head at him blowing out smoke, “Fuck you.”

“You're not my type,” he replies, “Am I yours?”

“You're about as whiny as my last,” I tell him, “he does give me cab fare.”

“That's still riding in the back of a vehicle though.”

“Careful,” I tell him, “You say things like that and you're talking yourself into things. Though if your Trouble comes back on anyway you go it's probably not going to matter much. You should have fun while it lasts,” I pull the last of the cigarette and stub it out on my shoe.

“Duke...” he says.

“Don't say I didn't warn you then,” I say, “Does Hannah still live around here?”

“Have you gone from hating me to trying to get me laid?” he asks, sliding off the bed to sit closer to me, “What did you put in those cigarettes?”

“Someone should not get fucked over by this town. Maybe if you get with someone cool your Trouble won't turn back on,” I flick the butt over his head to the other side of the room.

“You trying to set your boat on fire?” he asks, “If she sinks you can't leave.”

I laugh, “Leave? The Troubles are back. I'm not going anywhere.”

“Really?” he cocks his head to one side, “I would have thought that would have been the perfect time for you to bail,” he sighs, “That's kinda what I thought you'd done...” he shakes his head, “shit. If we're going to do this I need beer or something.”

“Beer? Aren't you on duty Officer Wuornos?”

“Who is going to believe you if you tell, junkie?” he shakes his head again, “I didn't expect you to have any in your fridge.”

“What?”

“There's Budweiser in your fridge,” he stands up, “It'll do.”

No, I took...no, like Brent would drink that. I took him wine like Dave sometimes buys locally. I'd thought about it. I was just going to throw that out if it was still here and I hadn't imagined the whole thing after all. I guess I didn't.

He comes back with the remains of the six pack of bottles and sets it down next to him popping the cap off one and taking a swig, “It's not yours?” he's very hopeful.

I shake my head, “No. It was...the Dwight's.”

“Who are they? Or shouldn't I ask?”

I shrug, lighting another cigarette, “I'm not even sure, and it was just one really...” I hold the cigarette in my mouth as I hold my hands apart demonstrating how broad he is..was? …is? “...not exactly body guard brick wall guy. Really solid too.”

He gives me a querying look and then a don't want to know head shake, but there's some thoughtfulness that follows in his posture and he drinks away some tenseness that creeps in.

“What's wrong with you now?” I ask him.

“Nothing,” he takes another drink, “Just like I said. It's been an odd few days. Are you gonna tell me where you were?”

“I was visiting a 'friend' in Derry.”

“Brent?”

“The great detective rides again,” I mock toast him with my cigarette, “Though I think that bridge is burned now.”

“At least he still gave you cab fare?”

“Are you making jokes?” I ask him, “How much of that have you had?” shit, am I getting him contact high? That's going to be some explaining.

He looks at the bottle which is only half empty, “Should I ask what happened?”

“Probably not. Stupid outsider drama. Focusing on the wrong things,” I take a long drag, remembering before he started drinking and I had a nice long snort because it was faster than prepping a needle and I didn't have any cigarettes laced either, and we moved onto other things again. The freak out about what she said instead of the...freaking lighthouse, because, of course not from Haven so how could I expect him to get it? Stupid. Stupid.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” I can't look at him for a moment though, because if he isn't even up on himself having a Trouble will he get it either? But he is willing to accept that the Troubles could be back. He's afraid about it even, even if he's not...but that could just be fear. I mean, not being able to feel anything. That's got to be terrifying, “I went up there to—because of what happened when they—and I should have known that he wouldn't get it, because how could he? You start talking about weird portals, and thrumming things...and how the world went sideways and people kinda...suck-popped out of—well, the world and...” none of the hand gestures I'm making good possibly be helping my explanation at all but they happen anyway, “...and what he picks up on is that the weird crazy lady told me she loved me when she gave me the money I paid him for dope with because I was a rambling idiot and I am again...aren't I?” he's staring at me. Fuck, “She was apologizing to me, Nate. What the fuck is with that? Why would she do that?”

“I...couldn't tell you,” he says, edging slightly closer. I can hear the box of beer scraping across the cabin floor until it's sorta wedged between us.

“Who apologizes for giving someone money?”

“Someone weird,” he says, “but apparently generous.”

I snort, “Thanks for the great insight.”

“You're welcome,” he drains the bottle and puts it back in the box with it's full partners, “but a lighthouse portal?”

“Yeah, kinda portal thing. She called it a door. Not really any door I've ever seen, but well...”

“Haven,” he says.

“Yeah. Exactly.”

“No wonder you said you knew the Troubles were back.”

“Yeah,” I nod. That's the reason. Sure.

He's staring at me.

“What?” I ask him.

“That's not the reason?”

“I'm not getting into that with you,” I tell him, “It's best you don't know.”

He's staring but it's more a quiet look now, “I know there's stuff that goes on with Vince Teagues and the Guard and everything...” he says, “...there was that whole mess before...with—with,” he swallows and doesn't finish the sentence he just pops open another beer but then stares at it for a while and doesn't actually drink from it. Hm, right, when he and Chief, because we were supposed to go fishing and—that was when he first found out, for sure anyway, that I was using.

I shake my head, but I know I'm sorta smirking because it's just so fucked up. His Dad has to know what Simon used to do...does that mean he knows the “Crocker thing”?

“Duke...” he says again, “...we seem to be in this weird place right now where we're...talking about things, and I don't want to screw it up because it's the first time in forever...”

I can't help making a grumbly noise at him because this means he's going to be going on about truth, justice and the American way any minute and expecting me to vent whatever made me smirk.

“Seriously though,” he says, “You have a boat. You didn't just come back for...whatever you were doing that I won't ask about and are turning around again like you've done so many times? You can't just make it like that?”

“If I could I would...” I turn the cigarette pack around in my hands against my leg. I probably shouldn't smoke another one right now but this conversation is so not good for maintaining a high.

“You're going to let someone stop you doing something? That doesn't seem like you.”

“What do you know?”

“I remember you broke your wrist to get out of handcuffs in the back of Chief's car...” he says, “and broke out of rehab...” the last part is more of a mutter and he takes another drink of beer.

I lean my head back against the dresser because that was the stuff he stopped himself saying before and now he's mad, again. I pull another cigarette out, ignoring the look he's giving me but then he swallows.

“Why are you letting Vince push you around? I...” then he stops, “...wait,” he sits forward, close enough to me that I back up a bit.

“Why...are you looking at me like that?”

“That—that whole thing in Derry?”

“What whole thing in Derry?” I slide to the side a bit for good measure.

“Dad was really pissed at Vince when we found you, after...after, anyway, but before rehab. Did—did you think that was the only way you were going to get away from him? What the hell is..?”

“Just don't Nate.”

“No,” I pull my knee out of the way when he tries to put his hand on it, “Duke, come on. If Vince is...I don't even know, surely we can do something. You could have come to me—to Da—Chief—Dad...grah...really...I mean...”

“What? What do you mean?” I light the cigarette, cupping it in my hand.

He sighs, “That's not...”

“I wasn't trying to be helpful.”

“No shit,” he sighs, “but really...100%. Why do you feel like you—not owe, but have to be here because Vince says? I realize even when you've been gone you've come back to do stuff for him no matter where you've been...”

Why do you get smart now? This was much easier when I was sure you didn't give a shit.

“...Crockers work for the Guard...” maybe that's a safe way to put it.

“So, your Dad...”

“...to start out with, but then he went kinda off the rails. Well, he was always kinda off the rails, but he went more off the rails...he just...” I put down the cigarette packet so I don't crush it in my hand.

“I remember things you would say,” he says, putting the half drunk beer in the box, “and well, the way you would—things that would happen—have happened to you sometimes.”

“Mrrr...”

“Bruised ribs?” he asks, “Your--”

“You don't have to--”

“I was going to say the trips out of state,” he says, “though the first time you went after you came back...” he shakes his head.

“What?”

“You were so banged up Ju--” he stops for a moment, “Julia and I thought he'd tried to kill you.”

Fuck it, “Well, not far wrong,” I snort, “Except he's not going to kill the heir whose Trouble he just activated. He was...he was just pissed I wouldn't use it,” Nathan might be looking a little green, “hm, you don't know about the Crocker Trouble?”

“I...I've heard some things about Crockers,” he says, “but I thought that was just because Simon...is a psycho and the town is well rid of him, but I...”

“Yeah...”

“Where do you suppose he is? I mean he's never tried to come crowing back, but it was all but proved what he did to...” he goes for the beer again and drains it, “...bastard.”

Oh, he did it alright.

“Sorry,” he says, looking over at me, “but she was my friend too, and...well, I mean you know he beat you before he left, didn't he? Sorry,” he says again.

“No, I know, and I mean...I...it's just,” I wind up hissing, “I know he did it and--”

“And you didn't—but how—there wasn't enough evi--”

“He bragged to me,” I shake my head, fourteen years ago but it's just so...clear, despite the bedroom getting fuzzy now, “after you dropped me off...”

“Duke?”

He's gotten closer again, what the fuck ever, “What?”

“You were just staring...” he waves a hand over somewhere in the corner.

“Sorry,” but I've smoked how much since...what were we, “I got drunk on his favorite vodka, and he kicked my ass about it but he also bragged about what—what,” I don't have enough to stop him from grabbing my hand which I was apparently flailing around, “he'd done to her but I was too drunk to beat him and I crawled out of the house.”

“And then...he ran?”

I shake my head, “No...I waited in his truck until I figured he celebrated his ass,” there's a slight touch on my knee and I jolt.

“Celebrated his ass?”

“What?”

“You lost your sentence.”

Fuck, “Right. I knew he was going to celebrate his ass into almost oblivion...what was I ever able to prove against him before? But then he and I finished our discussion but...I had a sledgehammer this time, and he didn't make it.”

“Good.”

I was...not expecting that. Fuck, how long have I been crying? But is—is Nate wiping his face too? He puts his head down to his knees for a moment.

“No,” he says, “Really. You're right. He'd have probably--”

No, because the Guard. Oh, fuck am I laughing like a crazy person?

“What?” he says, “What?”

“No, the Guard. They showed up the next day on Vince's orders to do him in. If I'd just...or if I'd...but I'd already...”

“Sentences?” he says.

“What?”

“Never mind,” he says, “You don't have to. I think I get what Vince did,” he's still wiping his face, “he's got Simon on you aside...”

I nod but, “aside?”

“What?”

“You were saying something else?”

“No,” he says, “You're hearing things. Shit...” it goes dark in front of my face for a moment and then light again, “...I feel like you should sleep this off but I really don't want to leave you by yourself either.”

“You're drunk,” I tell him. What's this giving a shit thing happening now?

“A bit, yes, but not as drunk as you are high,” he is trying to tug me up but I don't want to move and don't work with him, “Come on,” he says, “you have a somewhat comfy bed over here.”

“Shut up.”

“How much is in you?”

“The what now?” I am on my feet, mostly, leaning back against the dresser more than him, and he's to my side, like he's doing some weird blurry dance.

“I'm not going to search the boat, or throw you in jail...or anywhere else,” he adds, “but how much have you taken today...? recently?”

“Why?” why is he asking this all of a sudden if he doesn't..?

“It's an important thing to know right now. Come on, Duke, please.”

“Fine,” man, this...when I woke up...in the bathroom...got back here...was that all?

“Duke?” a hand waves in front of my face.

“Three...three...shots,” I've counted on my fingers but it still doesn't look right.

“And it's in the cigarettes, right?”

“Yeah,” how many of those have I smoked...there was when we were...

I almost hit him when he puts his hand on my shoulder, “Hey—was this full? The pack?” the blurry red mass passes by my face, “Okay,” he says, “How many were in here, before you got home? Was it full?”

“No...not full, two?” two yesterday...was that?

“Okay,” he's got it open I realize.

“That's not...”

“I'm just counting,” he pushes my hand away, “Come on. You're laying down. Over here.”

“No, I'm...” but I realize that I'm moving anyway, “...stop it. Weren't you supposed to be leaving?”

“I know you think you're saying things to me right now, but you're really not. Which is more proof that I'm right.”

“Stop it,” I say as clearly as I can, but I swear he's just laughing, and he pulls my sweater off, and I'm already on the top of the bed, “Are you trying to..?” I can't finish the thought though because just, no.

“I know there was a question there...” he sounds frustrated, “I'm just gonna guess...I figure it'll stop you from overheating if that's a thing that might...I'm winging it here from what happened before and I mean...why am I even talking?” he's messing with my arms and I pull away, “Just go to sleep, idiot, and please don't freak out when I'm still here later on.”

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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Ami-chan

June 2022

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Fear Trouble
Haven: Coffee Mug? Trouble
Haven AU: Youth
Haven AU: Q&A (or Kill Simon)
Haven: Collapse: 6: Reality Deviance
Haven: Collapse 3: Revelations
Haven: Collapse 2: Hospital
Haven: Deep Secrets NSFW
Haven: Returning Evidence 2
Haven: Returning Evidence 1
Haven: After the AU, pt 1
Haven AU: Vistors, pt 2
Haven: New York Deal
Haven: After the AU
AU: 2011 Help Wuornos
AU 2008: Counting
AU 1994: Stolen Memories: Spring Break Clean Up

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Style: Dark Purple for Funky Circles by ninetydegrees
Resources: Smoke Curl

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Ami-chan Writes

Entries tagged with nathan wuornos

Fear Trouble

Haven: Coffee Mug? Trouble

Haven AU: Youth

Haven AU: Q&A (or Kill Simon)

Haven: Collapse: 6: Reality Deviance

Haven: Collapse 3: Revelations

Haven: Collapse 2: Hospital

Haven: Deep Secrets NSFW

Haven: Returning Evidence 2

Haven: Returning Evidence 1

Haven: After the AU, pt 1

Haven AU: Vistors, pt 2

Haven: New York Deal

Haven: After the AU

AU: 2011 Help Wuornos

AU 2008: Counting

AU 1994: Stolen Memories: Spring Break Clean Up

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June 2022

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