Ami-chan Writes

The bus slowing down wakes me up and I stretch as much as I can considering hands cuffed with the bar and legs on a chain. I hear the guy in the back complaining that if we're stopping can he at least piss. The guard with the driver is muttering about, “what the fuck is going on?” and I lean so I can see through the gap between them there's flashing lights on the cars in front of us but then for a moment there isn't and then there are again, and that itching on my back left shoulder in that all to familiar spot—people using powers.

Fuck.

Fuck me.

Calm.

Breathe.

I look around. There's a sharp edge on the seat across from me and I slice the side of my finger on it and wipe the blood against my other finger and I can feel it then and pull down to break the bar between my hands so that it will be long and then snap the cuff off me and then break the leg chains too.

“The fuck, man?” I hear from behind me, “You could do that this whole time and you've just been sitting here?”

They're approaching the front of the van now, and I slink down towards him.

“Do me, right?”

“If you shut the fuck up. These are not good people, and they will fuck with your brain. Get out the back and run because not just your life depends on it.”

He nods. I snap his leg shackles off first and then his arm bar. Two bars are better than one if it comes down to it, which I have a feeling it will. Then I make my finger bleed again and rub it against my palm break the lock and handle off the back door and we jump down to the ground. He bolts for the tree line and I'm about to follow when somebody steps between us.

“Garriden,” soft, molasses female voice. I don't recognize her, but obviously she's Watch, and I can smell the power on her, mind stuff, of course. They'll have had people by each door I realize now, because it won't have taken much to over power one guard and one driver. I'm not some murdering psycho as for as the prison knows so it's not like they have a whole troop in there keeping an eye on me. She must be pinging people to come here. Yeah, I can hear them moving now.

“You don't want to do that,” she pushes as I move to knock her out of the way with one of the metal bars, but I do, and I do, and while she tries to deflect thick metal against the arm is painful and she doesn't make much mental effort to stop me as I run, but then I can feel it tugging at me to slow down. I have to keep going though. I have to.

But it's difficult. I'm tired, but I slept on the bus I shouldn't be tired. I'm not tired. I push forward. The trees seem further away though. They're fucking with my head. They have to be. Gotta keep going. Get out of their range but my legs are so heavy.

Fuck.

I hear the sound of the metal bars dropping out of my hands and clattering on the ground before I realize what I've done and then I'm on my knees myself, and an overwhelming tingling is going through me and my body can't move for two reasons the second of which is being tazed. I forgot how much that sucks and I want to get back up once my limbs stop being on fucking fire but no I can't because there are three different voices in my head that aren't my own reminding my how my I want to stay still and how drained and tired I am, and how much I want to cooperate and I do.

“We got him,” I hear someone saying, as two others are dragging me to the cars which definitely do not have light bars.

I'm in the back seat of one of the cars, sandwiched between two Watch people. I'm not cuffed in anyway but I feel like I've been neutered.

“We'll stop prodding your brain,” one of them says, “If you don't try to fight us the minute we let go,” she's in the front seat, but is not the one I hit with the cuff bar. She is not in this car, “besides if you fight us it's not going to do you much good right now. We're going 80 down the interstate.”

“Miles to go before we sleep,” the driver remarks.

“So,” the woman says, “What have you been up to the past few years? Stephenson's been very worried about you.”

“I'm sure,” I lean back as best I can in the space I have and shift position trying to scratch the brand on my shoulder without being able to scratch the brand on my shoulder. I haven't been around this many people with abilities in a long time. There were maybe one or two in prison and they didn't really have any idea about themselves and it was easy enough to stay out of their way, “because he hasn't looked up what I was in for and neither have you, I'm sure.”

I expect a folder with my record on it to appear or maybe the Watch has sprung for her to show off and have an iPad to wave in my face but she just laughs and turns back around in the seat, “You got yourself a nice vacation that's for sure.”

“Oh, yeah. They let me out for walks once a day and everything. I'm going to leave harsh feedback about the view though, and they never said anything about having to share definitely not five stars. Transportation's pretty crap as well.”

“I'll be sure and tell Stephenson,” the driver remarks, “He was all up on the gas mileage.”

I can't help but roll my eyes.

The trip is long and dull. We're through Missouri and into Arkansas and they've agreed to let me out of the car for more than just to piss and change into something less conspicuous than prison dregs, which means we're out sitting in a restaurant like the most awkward family meal ever when one of the chicks who I've come to find out through their crappy conversations is called Joanna gets a call that appears both urgent and top secret because she almost trips bolting out of our vicinity and then out of the restaurant and into the parking lot to talk.

Doug leans over and begins to take her onion rings.

“That could end badly for you,” the guy whose been sitting on my left for the last several hours says. I think his name is Lucas.

Doug shrugs, “You could make her think she ate them.”

“Riight,” Lucas says, wiping his hands on a napkin, “We're just going to have a...what? Mind off?”

“You don't think you can take her?” Doug says.

Lucas shakes his head but more in the pity Doug's brain way than the I have no chance way. Joanna comes back around the same time that my other back seat companion comes back from the bathroom and sits down next to Lucas. She looks curiously over at Joanna.

“Change of plans,” Joanna says, looking to Doug, “We have to go to Kentucky.”

“Kentucky?”
“What the fuck for?” and various other complaints echo around the table.

“Where in Kentucky?” Doug has pulled something up on his phone which had been serving as the navigation for the trip so far, “No. No, cancel trip you bitch.”

“I'm not going to get into that here,” Joanna says, “and just plug in Summersville.”

“We're not doing that today,” Doug says, after a moment, “That's—another five hours.”

“No,” she says, “We're getting a hotel, and we'll head out in the morning. So, plug in the Hampton Inn and then we'll go over the rest of it.”

They slept in shifts so that there was always someone keeping an eye on me. I didn't sleep well. People patrolling and awake around me isn't unusual it was the fact I was sinking into the bed and the pillow and the place was so quiet.

Doug is sent downstairs to get food while others finish sleeping or get ready to go back on the road to Kentucky where I must find and kill someone. Someone who is apparently blighting fields and animals. Modern day witch hunt. Such fun.

“What did you think you were let out for?” Joanna says, when I protest, “This is what your family does. They cleanse they unfortunates and keep the rest of us safe. It was crops, now it's animals. You want to let them get on to people next?”

We make it to Kentucky by midday. Doug, Joanna and I are to be dropped in the town itself while the other two go off to make arrangements for a place to stay that's not in an area that “looks like it crawled out of the bottom of a muck spreader,” as Joanna puts it.

We stop on the way into town though because I can feel it, and there is the field one strip about three feet wide perfectly healthy crops and the rest withering and curling up. A couple of cars have stopped and people are looking on in wonder and horror too. There has to be something close, feel the pulsing in the shoulder and where it is in the air.

You know where it is? I hear Doug's voice in my mind and glare at him, especially as he's not got those abilities but then I see Joanna has her hand on his shoulder fingers extended towards his neck. I extend the glare towards her. Lucas leans against the side of the car, staring off over the field.

Answer the question her voice intrudes.

“Fuck you both,” I mutter.

Do you?

“It'd be a lot easier to work without you poking at me,” I point out. I step on my shoelace to give myself an actual reason to stop and tie it and look around from a different angle seeing if I can better orient what the hell my brand is doing and where it's trying to pull me. It's not like I've—that way. I pull the knot tight and look up. I hadn't seen him at first but he's on the other side of the gray-green truck looking both pissed and uncomfortable and it's around him like a cloud. Then he and the other guy he's with get in the truck and drive off towards town itself.

Joanna clearly knows that I've spotted something. She spins one finger around. Lucas opens the rear car door and waves me back inside next to Lindsey who wakes up when I slide in next to her and follows me inside and closes the door and Doug speeds off after the truck.

The truck is stopped at the parking lot of a local bar which is at the end of a strip mall. Lucas takes over driving and I follow Joanna and Doug into the bar. They're off to the right hand side around the corner of the bar sitting at a table drinking beer and tequila. Joanna points us into a booth where we have a good view of them.

“So,” Doug says, “You wanna start a fight or something?”

I give him a look as Joanna sets down drinks in front of us. Doug gets a bottle of beer, as does she. I'm given a glass of ice water with a chunk of lemon.

“What?” Doug asks with a vague amiable smile.

“Well, if you want to have to clean up a huge mess and deal with a bunch of witnesses then go ahead, but if this has to be done I was figuring on something a bit more discreet.”

“This has to be done,” Joanna says, turning the beer around on the table, “Stephenson's orders. This situation can't continue. You saw that field. You saw the pictures last night. If it keeps escalating...”

“If. What about recruiting? Isn't that the thing to do?”

“That must have been tried while we were picking up your ungrateful ass,” Joanna continues, “We're not the only people in Watch, you know.”

Doug snorts, “Vastly underpaid if we are.”

“Whatever,” I drain the glass of water, seeing as the guy is teetering towards the bathroom. It's less fair if he's halfway plastered but fuck, “Alright. Gonna hit the head.”

Joanna nods, and Doug gets up to let me out.

He's leaning his head against the wall while peeing and doesn't even move when I walk in. There's one other guy in there who is finishing up and leaves and I wedge the door shut after that betting the guy won't notice which he doesn't. He does notice me when he zips up and turns around.

“You...were...” he starts, waving a hand at me, “I've seen you.”

“In the bar?” I ask.

“Oh. Maybe,” but he's nervous, and I can feel the energy wavering around him already, knowing that's not just it. I close the distance quickly because who knows how soon someone's going to realize the bathroom door is jammed aside from not wanting him to fucking destroy something else just because he's talking to me and freaking out. Shit, “I coulda...sworn,” he starts, looking over at me and double checking because I'm closer and putting his hand against the wall.

“Maybe at the field?” I ask, “The one that was dying?”

He looks towards the wall and then the stalls avoiding my gaze. My skin is tingling through and I feel as though there must be a hole burning through the back of my shirt. I realize he's about to shove at me before he does and stop him, and despite his attempts to fight me off I get him into the larger of the stalls, head butting him to make him more cooperative. 

He flails some, scrabbling at me half-assedly but I don't have to do much to keep him away from me and then push him against the wall. The power floating around is diminishing but...I know it's still there, and I have to...just...

I bust his nose up because that I remember the blood is needed as the death happens, and I can feel it absorbing through the blood in my hands and then the neck snaps so easily and I push him onto the toilet with my elbow and leave the room unblocking the door. Joanna catches my eye as I walk out of the bathroom and spotting a door in the back of the bar go out of it. I'm sure she'll be following soon.

I'm not wrong.

She's putting her cell phone back in her pocket as she does, “Lindsey should be here soon. She and Lucas registered us and then she turned around and headed back.”

“Great.”

“We'll have to check in with Stephenson once we get back to the hotel,” she adds.

I lean against the wall, “I'm sure that will be just as lovely as yesterday.”

“You did a good thing,” she says, “You were very efficient and blood clean up is easy for you, I guess.”

I give her a look for a moment, “If you took some Watch classes on communication skills and tact you should get your money back.”

“Hey,” she shrugs, “Focus on the positives. No more melty cows.”

I am so glad to see the car pulling around the corner. Lindsey pulls to a stop a few feet away and climbs out of the front.

“Go inside and help Doug,” Joanna says, almost before Lindsey has her feet on the ground, “I'll send Lucas back for you as soon as I can.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Lindsey says, with an edge of sarcasm that gets her a glare.

“Well, come on,” Joanna says, “Look at you, getting to ride in the front for a change. Be excited.”

“Woo,” I tell her, dryly, walking around to the other side of the car, “you didn't have to get your hands dirty. See how you feel.”

“You think I've never had to do something like this?” she retorts, as everything gets closed up and we drive off, “Don't get all pity me when you know jack shit of the work I've done here.”

“Fine,” I stretch my arms out, assuring myself, nothing is flaring up with red rash given it feels like it should be everything going hot and tingly like it is, “Sorry. Did you get abducted and forced or were you just yes sir absolutely sir may I lick your ass sir?”

“This is for the greater good, you know? You've saved this community from financial ruin.”

I close my eyes and just breathe slowly. I can detach from this. Just remember like before. Like when I was a kid.

“Kennick!” It comes at me from both inside and outside my head in Joanna's voice, and I turn to where she is, outside the car with the door open staring—glaring at me, “You, seriously fell asleep on a twenty minute drive?”

I feel less like my body is on fire now I'm just sore. I pull myself out of the car, “You handle things your way I'll handle them mine,” I tell her, “Stephenson wanted me to do that because of how...my family...deals with things it has side effects, right? I know you...mind people get headaches, nose bleeds and things, yeah?”

She ignores me and turns towards the hotel and I follow her onto the sidewalk and into the hotel. It's another snooty one. The Watch is allowing themselves no discomfort on this trip.  

We're apparently on the fourth floor so I follow her into the elevator. I wonder if she does have a headache too and that's why she's being a bitch, or if she's just that way in general. She'll probably have aspirin or something though, but what'll it cost me to get some from her?

I focus on her ass, which is not unpleasant, as we're walking down the corridor to the room to keep myself straight with where we're going which is thankfully not too far because the knock on the door feels like it's breaking off bits of my temple and sticking them into the back of my eyes.

Lucas opens the door and Joanna hands him the keys, “Go help the other two. Make sure everything's squeaky,” she says, “Pick up food on the way back,” she reaches into her pocket and hands over a credit card as well.

“I'll call in to check on orders?” he suggests.  

She nods, “Laptop?”

He points into the room somewhere, and gives me a half-wave as he walks by me and back down the corridor. I follow her inside and sit on the edge of the bed across from the television while Joanna sets up the laptop and gets back on the cell phone, talking to someone at HQ. I lean back on the bed and shade my eyes with my arm so the light from the window isn't piercing into them because it feels as though they might start to bleed.

“Here,” Joanna is suddenly offering a bundle of something towards my ear, when I go to take it I realize she's standing where she completely blocks the light from me and that it's something cold wrapped in a towel, “put it behind your neck. It'll help.”

It does, quite a bit. After a moment I hear the whoosh noise of the night before, which is the video conference software engaging.

“Stephenson will be on the line soon,” Joanna says, quietly, “You'll have to talk to him.”

I sit up slowly, putting the towel wrapped bundle down behind me, just as the thing starts beeping and then she and Stephenson begin talking to each other, customary pleasantries.

“So, all went well?” I hear Stephenson say.

“As far as Kennick reports to me,” Joanna looks over.

Stephenson's dark brown, graying at the temples head turns to me with the question he doesn't repeat.

“The guy is dead in the bar bathroom and I'm the only one who was in there with him,” I answer, “I'm not sure what else..?”

“Transference,” Stephenson remarks, with much annoyance, “Joanna leave us,” he says, turning his head, “I'll have Allbright text you when you can come back.”

“Very well,” she says, and disappears into the bathroom. I hear another door open and close. This must be like the other hotel where we have two rooms connected through the bathroom.

Stephenson turns back to me waiting for my answer.

“Transference?” I repeat back, “Are you...the power thing?”

He sighs.
“You do remember that I wasn't exactly taught this stuff, right?”

His expression darkens, “and whose fault was that? You could have stayed where we were able to help you rather than running off in the middle of the night and abandoning your post. You see where that got you, don't you?”

I shake my head.

“Anyway,” he continues, “What did you experience physically? What did you see?”

Ugh, “The blood it was like it burrowed it's way into my skin and then I felt stronger like I do when I—when I bleed myself,”just keep going you need the information. You need to know what the fuck you are. May as well be honest, “but then by the time I got outside I was tingling and it was burning through my veins, within about twenty minutes just really achy and a bad headache and sort of feeling sick.”

Stephenson's nod says this is both expected and good, which is annoying, “There was transference of power then. That's excellent. It's come to you and not stayed in his familial bloodline.”

“There's a chance I could have killed him for nothing?”

“Highly unlikely. You remembered the blood.”

Go me.

“So, you shouldn't have a problem in future situations.”

“What...sort of future situations?” I can feel my chest tightening.

“I thought that had been made clear yesterday,” Stephenson's words are clipped and he adjusts his position so he's sitting further forward at what I'm assuming is his desk I don't have full view of his upper body but I can make out his hands now, “You'll have to perform more of these...tasks whenever there's someone whose powers are out of control. You'll be compensated, aside from the fact that you'll remain out of prison.”

“I'm not that concerned about prison...”

“I imagine you'd be more concerned if there are added murder charges. We have already cleaned up after you twice now, considering the matter of your father, what is that, four years ago now?” He shakes his head, “and then you went and fled the state.”

There are noises going on in the bathroom.

“You're doing a service, Garriden. I'm sure you remember the hurricane several years ago. There are still places rebuilding from that. It wouldn't have gotten nearly so out of hand if your father had been able to get to things more quickly, and there are times where there are people with equally terrible powers. They can cause holes in the earth, vaporize people, horrible sicknesses...”

“That's all well and good but...”

“When you get back we're going to set you up with an apartment,” Stephenson continues as I hear Joanna come back through the bathroom door, “you'll have a day to day job, nothing like you were occupying yourself with while you were by yourself. Something much more above board. Do you think you can tend bar? Or would you rather work for the local paper?”

I'd rather you suck my dick.

“That's not very nice,” Joanna remarks.

“I'd also rather you stay out of my head,” I point out.

“That was pretty clear,” she says, hands suspiciously out of sight, “I wasn't trying to read you. Strong emotions and all.”

“We're going to set you up with a blocker. The telepaths helped design one. We can't have random mindreaders over hearing things or probing you when you're on mission, some times groups of powered people band together after all,” he waves a hand as though this is something minor, “You still seemed annoyed.”

“Randomly murdering people doesn't sit well with me. Today was bad enough.”

“How many times do I have to remind you that it's for the greater good?” Stephenson says, tiredly, “Aside from the fact that it's your family's mandate and has been for centuries.”

“That's wonderful,” I tell him, “but I didn't ask for that, and I don't...”

Joanna is closing the distance between us rapidly in a way I don't like. I put my arm up to block her hand which she anticipates and we wind up rolling across the bed until she's underneath me. There's a needle in one hand, and I can feel her power surging angrily forward pushing at me to stop resisting, but there's only her this time and not Lucas and Lindsey as well so it's easier to shake her off. She tries to knee at my groin but she can't at the same time though she lunges and head butts at me, which works to fuck with me given my head's still not doing so well especially after we rolled around. I slip to the side and she comes at me with her hand again which I block but it's not the one with the needle. That jabs into my neck, and I can feel the liquid surging in.

“That's it,” she says, “No more fussing.” Calm down. Take it easy now. Sleep. 

What time is it? I feel so...fuck...I've been through...

This could be from the blood and the power, right? Though even as I think it I'm also in this don't kid yourself thing. I remember fighting with Joanna and the needle in my neck and the way this feels is too familiar, and I know I'm lucky I didn't puke, though it would have served her right if I threw up all over her.

She's sitting in the chair by the desk watching me, “How are you feeling?”

“What time is it?” my voice is hoarse.

“You slept through late lunch,” she says, “and it's almost late dinner time if you're hungry. How do you feel?”

“Why don't you just poke around in my head and see?” I mutter, slowly pulling myself up into a sitting position and trying to keep my head as still as possible.

“Because you don't like me poking around in there,” she retorts, “I'm being polite.”

“Polite like stabbing me in the neck with smack polite?”

“From what I understand you used to love the stuff,” she opens the drawer next to her and lifts out something I can't quite see in the dimly lit room.

“Used to,” I echo. We're not going to talk about all the random times it chewed and gnawed at me through the last couple of years especially when I would see other inmates who'd clearly gotten their hands on it somehow.

She turns slightly in the chair, and I hear something unrolling and things clinking, “Lucas was suggesting just ordering in for pizza or Chinese or something. We are back in civilization enough,” she turns the table lamp on, “that they might actually have decent Chinese.”

“Whatever. Am I allowed to use the bathroom or do you have to watch?”

“Go ahead,” she says, things rustling, and I have a sinking feeling as to what she might be doing.

I can smell it when I come out of the bathroom all it's sweet vinegar promises and I stop in the doorway. If I don't go any further maybe I can resist. By the strength of this doorway...

“What are you doing?” she says, turning around to look at me.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I really think you know though,” she says, and she holds up her hand with the syringe and I can feel my heart pounding and my skin is chilling down all over.

I sit down right there because I'm not going to go over to her. I'm not. I don't care how good it is. Was. Was. Not again. No.

It wafts towards me across the room and makes my fingers twitch. No.

I'm sitting right here. I'm not going over there.

“So,” she says, turning the chair more fully around and rolling closer to me, “What's your vote? Pizza? Chinese? Or is that really what you want?”

If my stomach sinks any further someone on the second floor is going to be wondering what the fuck is in their bathroom.

“I can see it in your eyes,” she points out, “and in the fact that your fingers are clawing into the door frame...”

“Fuck off,” I tell her, turning away. I want to get back up but I don't know that I can. I should fight her off and leave but I remember what happened last time and I might not give it my best effort. I'm already wavering. It's so close; and all of this ache will slip away, all of the memories of yesterday too and the feelings turned into softness and warmth and...

“Stop,” she says, pulling my head away from the door frame, where I've been rubbing it, “You're going to hurt yourself. How's that going to look the cleanser rubbing his face raw?”

“How does the rest look then?” I demand. Maybe if I can stab her with the thing and then she'll get it. She doesn't have anything else weapony on her and it's not like I have telekinesis that and finding snapping people in half more fun would certainly make this “cleansing” job easier.

“What's so funny?” she demands.

I try to grab the needle from her while she's confused by the joke she apparently did let herself in on but she pulls it easily away from me.

“Oh, interested are you?”

Not for why you think.

Mostly. Fuck.

“I think we should see what the others have decided on for dinner,” she says, and pulls up from the chair, and steps over me towards the other side of the bathroom and that door, “There's not an orgy going on in here is there?” she calls as it opens, “because if there is it's the world's quietest and saddest one.”

“There has to be more than three people for it to count as an orgy, Jo. This would just be a threeway.” I hear Doug's voice clearly.

“I didn't think Luke was your type,” Lindsey remarks, “Sleeping Beauty's awake then?”

“Mostly,” Joanna answers.

I pull myself up against the bathroom door. What else is in the room here? Are there empties I could use to stab her with...of course then there's the three others, but only two of them have mental powers, and then there's Doug. Doug. Doug, what can he do?

My arms are shaky so I lean against the table carefully after I've made my way over. The laptop isn't there any more unfortunately, but there is the roll, which does have supplies with it, okay, needle, needle. I pull one out.

“What are you doing?” Joanna's voice from the doorway behind me, “I have it right here if that's what you're looking for and you know it, or don't you think I made the right mix?”

“How do you even...?” Do I want the answer to that?

“You think you're the first junkie we've encountered?” she's coming closer. I grip my hand around the syringe tightly and go for her but she blocks my arm with hers and they syringe is stopped my fist several inches from her chin, “You're not operating so well right now,” she remarks, pushing me backwards. I manage to roll so that when I bounce off the bed and onto the floor nothing is too damaged and the syringe lands on the bed and doesn't get stuck in anything or break off anywhere as far as I hear, “Nothing on par with your record or witness statements.”

Whose fault is that?

I stay where I am half laying-half crouching but don't move.

“If you've stopped being an idiot,” she says, “They've decided on pizza. Easier to handle leftovers after all,” less sticks for me to try and stab you with? “Do you have any topping requests?” she kneels down but she's just out of reach. I don't see the needle anywhere either, though it feels like the smell is everywhere crowding me with it's promises of false eternal bliss. Her question seems to have amused her greatly based on the expression on her face.

“No,” I tell her.

“I suppose any non-cafeteria food is a step up for you, huh?” she says, standing back up, “Are you going to eat with us or do you want to stay in here and plot ways to try and stab me with needles?”

I sit up some and glare at her.

“Maybe you should get some more rest, Mr. Cranky Pants?”

“I'm not tired. I'm just...”

“Just what?”

Pissed with you. Itchy. Fucking itchy. Don't scratch.

“Well, then, why don't you come and be social?”

“Hm, be in a room with the three mind readers all at once? That sounds bad for my health.”

“If we were going to do that, don't you think they would--” she trails off regret on her face. They don't know she's doing this. This was a thing between her and God before they even got back...

“So, what you're saying is they don't know? How would they react to--” they wouldn't believe me regret is probably on my face now.

“Who are they going to believe on this though?” she confirms, “You could have had this shit on—in you going between prisons and taken it while I was in the can. Resourceful drug addict full of murder remorse. Once an addict always an addict isn't that how it goes?”

I lean back, trying to swallow, “You're a bitch, you know that, right?” My mouth is so fucking dry and my head...you can get past it. You can. Just climb up on the bed and sleep it off, right? I pull myself up to standing and then sit on the edge of the bed.

“I've been called worse things,” she says, “Well, you do what you're going to do. Rest. Take a shower maybe. You're sweating and nasty,” whose fault is that? “There's some other clothes in that bag,” she points, “I'm sure the pizza is here by now,” like someone hasn't telepathically told her, “We'll save you some. I promise. If you don't eat it now. I'll bring it in here and you can have it whenever you wake up and feel less cranky,” my hand has found the syringe on the bed and picks it up to throw at her but it's weight is wrong because this one is not the empty one from before.

It's full of brown, tantalizing, right there in my hand which is shaking now because there it is right there. Right. There. And everything will stop hurting and itching and...it's in my arm already, nothing is tied off but my fist is clenched and my arm is braced against my knee making it easier for the needle to slide in the vein, so simple, so familiar, so easy. Why have I not done this sooner? Make everything slip away?

And there it shines as I lie back on the bed the gentle thrum of the overhead fan guiding me as the warmth spreads from my arm deep into my chest, last time I didn't feel it so well because I was being pushed past into darkness, but this time it blends and I'm in the mellow soft that I was stupidly ignoring for so long because I apparently like to punish myself and deny myself good things—great things.

My head is light and wonderful no more ache and nothing is itching. I could just lie here for hours—with the vines tangling through the curtains.

I feel the bed shift and Joanna is lying down next to me when I turn to see who it is, “Hey...”

“Hey yourself,” she says, “I'm just gonna,” she draws the needle from my arm and moves it somewhere I don't see and then lays back down, “feeling better?”

“Yeah...” I turn over so I'm facing more towards her, shifting further onto the bed.

“Thought you might,” she smiles at me, and reaches towards my head, but then puts her hand back down, “I was gonna go eat with the others. Did you want to come with for pizza? They apparently got some wings and cheese bread too, or did you want to stay here?”

“I'm...kinda...” I wiggle my hand in her general direction.

“Yeah. I figured, but it's rude not to ask,” she sits up, “I'll leave the door open. Come through when you want. If you don't I'll bring something back with me,” she stands up and picks the bundle up off the desk and moves it to the cabinet next to the bed, “This is here when you need it,” and she disappears through the bathroom door with a short wave.  

I take my shoes off and move further up into the bed's embrace given I can spread out across the whole thing like a giant starfish instead of being cramped up in a small cot. There are waves of light sparkling across the ceiling ushered by the rippling off the fan's humming song, and I listen to it until I must drift off after a while.

Noise.

It's not Joanna like I expected though. It's Lindsey.

“Sorry,” she says, with sheepish expression, “I was trying to be quiet. Jo asked me to come check on you real quick.”

“Okay?”I sit up on my elbows, “Well, I'm good. Probably should...shower though.”

Her expression changes then and she kinda looks down, “Ah...well...” she looks back at me. She's chewing on her lip, “...that's through there.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

I go into the room and lock the door to the room on the other side. The one I can hear Joanna, Lucas and Doug still talking in and then realize that I possibly should have let Lindsey back through but there was that expression...I come back to the other door. Joanna had said something about clothes in a bag, maybe?

Lindsey is sat on the bottom of the bed swinging her legs backwards and forwards she looks over curiously when I reappear, “What's...up?”

“Joanna said there's a bag with clothes in for me?”

“Oh, right,” she stands up and goes to the other side of the desk where the laptop was and pulls out a backpack, “I think they're in here,” she brings it over and offers it to me, rubbing my hands when I take it. Maybe I wasn't—and it's been... “Are you alright?” she asks.

I nod, “Showering, yes,” I turn, taking the bag in with me and close the door. I turn the shower on to heat up because that's a luxury I can wait for now. No risk of shanking or violation, which leads me back to Lindsey and a wonder of if she's going to wind up sneaking in here to the shower given her expressions and whether that would be so bad. It's not like it was co-ed prison.

Let's just examine the clothes which are simple enough, two pairs of underwear and socks, dark jeans, and a t-shirt which I think must be for a band but I haven't heard of it but at least they're not giving me things with Barney or something on them. I lay them back on the backpack and start stripping my own clothes off and dumping them in a pile by the toilet.

There's hotel soap, shampoo and conditioner on a shelf in the shower that I saw which will serve and probably be much better than what I used to get from commissary anyway. Oh, man decent temperature water. I slide in the shower and just stand there for a while letting it wash over me, letting it soak into every part. I'm not in a downswing yet and so it feels extra awesome not just because I can probably take as long as I want.

I'm reaching for the shampoo when I hear a noise from the right. I didn't lock the door to that room...only the one where the trio was. Too late now. I lean over to peek out of the shower.

Lindsey gives me a shy smile, hands on her shirt that's half way up her body, “So,” she says, drawing it out a little, “I was kinda...well, you can see,” she draws that out too, “hoping to join you?” She laughs a little, “I was going to say something like 'need help with those hard to reach places?' but that's kinda out now.”

“Yeah...kinda jumpy around sudden noises,” I point out.

“Should have figured,” she says, rueful, “but I got the impression you might be interested in things happening in here...just a thought.”

“There was a...thought or two...” I admit.

“Yeah,” she moves one hand from her shirt to point to her head, “didn't intend to pick up on it but it kinda involved me so it sorta...telegraphed. So,” she says again, nodding towards me and the shower.

 “Come on in,” I tell her.

She whips off her shirt and shimmies out of the pants and her underwear at the same time, tossing her bra off into the corner, and does a sort of wiggling-walk towards me and then into the shower, and takes a moment to douse herself in the warm water and wet her auburn hair before moving close to me and pressing her body against mine. Her breasts squashed against my chest and, the way she's moving, her lower body rotating slightly over my crotch. She leans up to kiss at my mouth and then slides down arms wrapped around me, a mischievous smile on her face as she does so which I understand when one of her hands moves from being around me to holding my penis and lifting it towards her mouth and then it's inside her mouth and she's sucking back and forth, her head bobbing, and I'm glad that the shower has hand rails because I might slip down the wall otherwise.

She's laughing around my shaft now, the giggle sending vibrations down my length and I know there's a moan sorta merged with an exclamation to a god I don't generally honor.

She pulls back still giggling slightly, water splashing off her shoulders and against me. She hasn't finished things, and she raises up slightly so that it's resting on one of her breasts, “Fancy giving him a better home? I imagine it's been a while,” she gets a teasing look, “or do they let you have conjugal visits?”

I shake my head, “Not the sort you're thinking of or that will keep things up.”

She moves her hand against me a few times, “Well, then, come over here,” she gently tugs on my penis and I release the hand rails and lower myself. She leans back avoiding the spray from the shower and spreads her legs to me. I crawl forward and she wraps her legs around my hips, and I use one hand to guide my penis into her and she pulls me deeper with her legs against my back. I can't brace on the wall behind her because it's too slick so I wedge one hand against the place where the wall and floor meet and use that as a point to thrust from as well as my knees against the floor. The other hand wrapped against her back. Her hands are on my shoulders and her legs around my back and we push against each other struggling with rhythm on the slippery floor until we mostly collapse into a heap of laughter things not properly accomplished.

“They make this look so easy in movies,” she mutters against my shoulder.  

“It's not like there isn't a bed in the other room,” I lean back away from her and she slides off me and I help her up to standing and she turns off the water and we wend our dripping way into the bedroom. She bounces backwards onto the bed, and I jerk myself for a few moments restoring full hardness and then re-enter from standing position. She grips around my butt with her legs again but I run my hands up her legs to pull them more towards my shoulders to help with leverage as I stay standing. We pound and grind each other growing more desperate and urgent as things go and then...release and she knots her feet around the back of my neck which pulls her to a slight angle against the bed and she wiggles from side to side pulling me deeper and trying to entice me back to hardness.

I'm honestly not sure it's going to work.

I bend myself down, and she slides her legs back around my lower body, our faces are closer together and I can nibble at her shoulder and her neck before she takes my mouth with hers and sends her tongue on a search for my own—that helps. It sends current down through my body energizing everything and she moans into my mouth as I fill her, everything tightening together. We continue kissing as I thrust against her and she pushes her groin up against me. The kiss breaks as she's moaning with each push and I spur faster and harder at her command as her fingers scrabble at the bed covers and then grip my own hands that are holding down at either side of her head.

Her grip relaxes and a kiss resumes and I push a last few times to release my own and then disconnect and lay down next to her.

“Now you really need a shower,” she jokes.

“Who's fault is that?” I ask.

She goes to smack me lightly on the arm and I reflexively catch her wrist and then let her go, realizing what happened, “Well,” she says, “I was going for playful.”

“I'll just go get that shower,” I tell her, sitting back up, “I'm sorry.”

She reaches more slowly for my hand, “It's okay. I should have...” her sentence dies then and she looks as though she's fighting her facial expressions for what's going to show through. I didn't notice it before the scent of mind though it's not directed my way. It's just around her own head.

“Should have what?” I demand.

“Expected you'd be,” she turns one hand around in the air almost as if she's not quite aware she's doing it, “your family wasn't...” she trails off again, “...and then.”

I stand up, “Yeah, whatever.”

“What?” she says from the bed as I make my way back towards the bathroom door.

“Just tell Joanna I enjoyed the pity fuck or whatever you need to say to keep her off your ass.”

“But--.”

“I'm going to shower.”

“Fine,” she says, shortly.

By the time I get out of the shower “clean and sparkling” Lindsey and her clothes are gone from the bathroom. I drag my stuff back into the bedroom and lock the door from my side while I dry off and clothe my lower body and then sit on the side of the bed facing towards the window to run the towel through my hair a few times to get most of the wet out. I have no idea even what time it is. Joanna had said something about food...hadn't she?

There's a tentative knock on the between door and then a more forceful one. I'm about to say come in and then remember I locked it so I get up and fix that. Joanna.

“I heard the shower stop so I gave you fifteen,” she says.

“Okay,” I tell her.

“You never did say what you wanted really,” she continues and I realize she's carrying a box, “So, there's a couple of different slices of pizza, some cheese sticks and a few wings.”

“Oh, right.”

She sets the box down on the desk, “One's just pepperoni sausage. The other's some special thing the guy's decided looked good so I figured, you know.”

I put the towel on the back of the chair and take a piece of cheese bread out of the box and munch on it as she watches. She seems relieved that I'm eating but then it has been since breakfast and I'm not sure what time it is now, she said I'd almost slept through late dinner, and that has to have been a while ago.  

“How are you doing?” Joanna asks after I finish the cheese stick and investigate the pizza. The other slice has large chunks of sausage—different than the grounds on the pepperoni pizza, colorful peppers and onions and...is that chicken?

“Fine,” I tell her.

“About before I meant--” she says, “Lindsey was...”

“Is she okay? The drive back is going to be awkward to say the least if--”

“I think we got things smoothed,” Joanna cuts me off, though she has a strange expression for a moment, “You're fresh from the joint that's not prime for touchy feely.”

“No...” the pizza doesn't look appetizing but the wings don't either. It's not what I'm hungry for, is it? I I'm being honest, “How early are we on the road tomorrow?...later today?”

“Does it matter? You're not going to be driving.”

She has a point, “Are you on Watch duty now then?”

She puts the food in the mini fridge apparently guessing I'm not going to eat any more.

“Just for now. Lucas will be in in a bit. Though I told them I felt things were settling down since you'd talked with Stephenson about his offer.”

“Right...” the drum is beginning to beat I can hear it from the bedside table, “but still protocol.”

“It is what we're paid for: why we make the medium bucks,” she gives a slight laugh, “I'm going to pee and check on the others. I'll be back in a few.”

I don't kid myself about why she's giving me space and get it sorted quickly. It's just like riding a bike getting everything mixed and ready. You don't forget. And there's that sweet spot. I loosen the tie and set things back on the dresser leaning back against the headboard. I should have seen if there was something that would have looked really interesting on TV. Ah, well it's not like I've watched much of that lately. I can feel myself sliding down the pillows as the weight shifts next to me on the bed and Joanna appears by my side.

“Doing good, huh?”

“Mmm,” is the only answer I can really give her.

“Mind if I watch a movie? They're playing cards in there, supposedly with no powers to make it fair to Doug. I'm sure there's going to be an argument in about a half an hour.”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

I hear the TV flick on and snippets of sound as she flips through channels and roll onto my side. I can make out some of the screen over her leg as the picture changes. She says something but I can't quite decipher it as I let myself drift. I hear her giggle, and then it's just rocking in a swing.  

It feels like it takes forever from the announcement that we can leave until actually getting out the door, between paperwork that has to be filed, the damnable catheter to be removed (they refused to let me bring it home to burn it), final checks from doctors, adjustments to bandages on my foot, crutches issued and adjusted, medications being dispensed and re-dispensed because, “What part of non-narcotic pain medicine does your pharmacy not understand?” tiny angry girlfriend on the warpath as I'm putting on my shirt.

Eventually though, as it's going dark, supported with her on one side carrying one of the crutches the hospital gave us and the other crutch under my arm I'm on the deck of the Cape and it's glorious. I haven't felt quite so free in a long time.

“Doing okay?” she asks, fumbling in her purse for the keys.

“I'd like to be doing you,” I point out.

She laughs and tugs on my shirt until I bend down so she can kiss me, “Soon enough,” I hear the keys jingling in her hand, and we're inside.

I lean down and kiss her. For half a moment I worry things might be too bruised from the catheter being removed to actually work but I needn't. A few moments of deep kisses is all it needs for things to be stirring down there. My next port of call would be to lift her up to the kitchen counter but I don't have enough support and the crutch clatters to the floor.

“No, no--” she pushes my hands away, “You'll hurt yourself,” and while her hands work to open my shirt she carefully guides me towards the state room and down into the comfy wide arm chair.

“What are you doing?” I ask her, coyly, as she pulls down my pants.

She just gives me a mischievous grin as the pants come free of my legs and get tossed into the corner and she delicately tickles the tip of my penis with one finger, sending shivers through me.

“Naughty wench.”

“Naughty wenches walk the plank,” she says, leaning closer and wrapping her tongue around and licking slowly up the shaft bringing me to full attention, “I am a very naughty wench,” as she wriggles out of her own lower clothing, and turns around so that I get a view of her back and gives a little butt shake.

I start to ask her what her plan is but she shushes me turning around and putting her finger to her lips before backing up and carefully situating herself over my cock and sliding home. She grips the arms of the chair and I put my hands over hers as she leans backwards against my chest. She turns her head and licks part of my shoulder, my shirt coming the rest of the way off and falling behind me, as she moves up to my mouth, pulling her lower body up slowly, further and further a painful teasing without fully disconnecting as she kisses me.

My complaint of, “Wench,” dies, buried in a groan as she thrusts me deeply back inside her again by sitting back down.

“Naughty wench,” she corrects, rolling her cheeks slowly from side to side across my groin.

“That you are,” I assure her, pushing to meet her.

She bucks me down into the chair, scolding, digging her hands into mine, “Stay still,” she says, with a wink, “The wench is walking.”

It's a slow rhythm and it's wild-driving. I pull my hands from underneath hers, despite her attempts to stop me and run my hands up under her shirt. She pulls her lower body up away from mine as punishment but as I remove her shirt and nibble at her shoulders she drops down again, moaning as that drives me deep into her. The pattern repeats then, me squeezing her breasts, teasing her nipples, nibbling at her shoulders when she's lower on the ride and then her pulling herself up again and dropping down, occasionally in between there's a quick stolen kiss, or a much deeper one, promising more passion.

She holds sway for a while then, wiggling back and forth above me, half my shaft exposed to air, despite the gasps as I fondle her breasts to the point I'm wondering if she has something else in mind now she doesn't move. Then she slams down so hard I see stars for a moment and the full grind begins, down and round, a rhythm some part of my brain manages to connect to a truck and a canter despite being on the edge, after a moment, it speeds up evenly, expertly and I feel myself pulling the rest of my upper body closer to her back, as my brain becomes focused on the point of explosion and the hope that she will get there too.

Soon I'm thankfully falling backwards into the chair and not forwards out of it and knocking her to the floor, considering angle and slippage and loss of body control. She carefully detaches herself and spins around in my lap to lean against me.

“See,” I tell her, tilting my head slightly to kiss her forehead, “This is why I've wanted to come home. Nurses can't make me feel that good.”

“They damn well better not!” she punches me in the shoulder, “There I was apologizing for tricking you in the hospital and you go and do that.”

I rub my shoulder, putting on the pout though I know it's not going to do much for me, “There's no need to be abusive about it. Considering nothing actually ever happened!” I retort.

She puts her hands on her hips. Tiny naked mock-angry girlfriend it is so this could easily go interesting places anyway, “Sure,” she says, “You say that now but I've heard countless stories of Duke Crocker, you know. I don't think a bum leg and horrible detox could stop you.”

“Yes, delirium and puking are so sexy, don't you know?”

There's no immediate snappy retort to that which has me looking across at her curiously. There's the slightest hint of a blush across vaguely guilty features. My brain crashes for a moment half of it singing “She lurrrrvs me” and the other half going “since when?”

The, “Since when?” wins out and therefore comes out of my mouth.

Her whole body warms against me as the blush deepens her body red, “When I didn't know I was helping you get off heroin. Told you: you didn't steal my heart, I slipped it into a hiding spot on the Cape when you weren't looking,” she pokes me in the nose.

I touch our foreheads together, “You did say that and you would have had ample opportunity back then. My tiny savior,” and kiss her nose, “That's...” oh, holy fuck. How much did I ramble back then while I was delirious? I never really put much thought until now about things I might have said about, not so much emotions but things I did, “I was a mess.”

“Yes, you were. But you let me help you. I would have worked on the Cape free for a month to be able to take care of you like that, to hold you while you cried. Trust like that is very sexy.'

I wonder how much extra credit the penis flash added to that free work, but the humor is hit and miss given I still feel strange over all because of everything that has been downloaded into my brain, I guess that's the best way to put this alternate universe Trouble and it's memories, “Julia...I think I said the other day how much it meant to me that you stuck around...but I'm gonna say it again anyway, because with other Duke's memories I...it just really brings home...”

She wraps her arms tightly around me and nestles into the crook of my arm, “If I'd come back to town and you'd been shooting up for years while I was gone? The only thing that would have changed is that I would have helped you get off it again if you wanted me to be there with you.”

“Julia, I--” I can't form a sentence. There have been so many things I've dabbled with that I haven't really cared about but the heroin has always been a source of shame because it could have caused her harm given stupid actions and then because of all the times I lied to her because of it.

“You think I didn't know at least some of the things you were doing back then? Trust me, I had no illusions you were a wholesome and upstanding citizen.”

“One of the many reasons I tried to keep you out of the loop on things. I just...” I shrug, “and I know it's you and you've been around and done things, but I think it's still in me to keep that shit away from you, and there's still parts of me that are afraid that you'll disappear...”

“You needed me,” she puts a hand on my arm, “You don't need to be ashamed, not to me. If any of that was going to drive me away, it would have done so by now. I wanted to be someone you could trust. The more I learned, the harder I worked towards it.”

I'm overwhelmed then with gratitude because of all the other people who decided they'd rather run away when they found out the slightest thing about me and I kiss her trying to project that thanks into the kiss that I give her then. She kisses back, hands tangling in my hair. It's a mark that things aren't quite right that I'm not fully able to perform again just yet.

She kisses me on the nose, “I am sorry that we lost touch for so long. I was avoiding Haven, and my mother, and it meant that...”

“It's okay,” I tell her, “Eleanor was...Eleanor was a cunt. We had some interesting run ins when I would blow through town throughout the years.” It was at least fun to realize she actually didn't have any idea where Julia was either and work out it was most likely Eleanor's fault that Julia was gone, but...

“I...” Julia toys with part of my shirt that's hanging from behind my back, “I was kind of afraid that if I actually came back before the Troubles did that I'd not be able to get out again.”

“That's the peril of clingy family,” I brush her hair behind her ear. It's still short, but it's cute and the ends curl around my finger as I move it, “I suppose that's one of the benefits of the townsfolk actively trying to keep me away. I was guaranteed to not get stuck.”

She sighs, “Yeah, but I lost out on time with you because I was avoiding them. I did disappear on you. After everything I did to be something you could trust, I left you hanging. I'm sorry, Duke.”

I take her chin gently and turn her face towards mine, “I seem to recall someone saying something about doing what you have to too survive. Right?” I cock my head to the side and make a magnanimous gesture with my other hand and make my tone lighter, “Not to say I will not in my benevolence accept your apology because I did miss you, but things happened...that would not have otherwise,” then I move her head to make sure I can kiss her nose, “and you never lost my trust.”

She wrinkles her nose and then buries her face in my neck, hugging me tightly and rubbing her face back and forth. I wrap my arms around her tightly and kiss her on the cheek when it's exposed and on the top of her head, and then just hold her until she's ready to say something again.

“So,” she says, eventually, “...the things that happened that would not have otherwise...do I need to apologize for not having been there to knock Evi off the boat sooner?”

“Psssht,” I tell her, waving a hand, “I'm going to look at that two-fold. I learned important things about my temper that will be useful i-when we get custody of Jean,” I notice her giving me an approving look when I catch myself and change “if” to “when”, “and I can appreciate a wonderful woman in my life all the more having been around a shitty poisonous one on and off for...three? Years. Plus she was back long enough to thoroughly burn away any lingering affection,” I allow myself a slight shudder.

She brushes my neck with her lips, not quite kissing me, “So, is there anything I should apologize for leaving you to face by yourself?”

I shake my head, remembering things which happened with the skinflayer Trouble, “Anything I faced by myself was my own stupid at not talking about it.”

“That sounds like you're talking about things that happened after I got back,” she says, tracing her fingers over the tattoo on my wrist, “and not anything else.”

I nod.

“Well, if you want to talk about things now I'm here to listen, or if you,” the mischievous grin returns, “want to be punished for not talking we could do that instead.”

Punishment is tempting, of course, very tempting, “Perhaps we can schedule punishment for after I've recuperated a bit more?”

“Good point,” she says, “I don't want to break you more. We just got you out of the hospital.”

“Exactly,” I inhale and exhale slowly, “but talking, that would be—that would be good, to finally...”

She kisses me gently on the lips and then leans against my shoulder.

“So, the stupid that I was thinking about in particular was something that messed me up but in order to talk about it...there was so much else that I already hadn't gotten in to because it dealt with the heroin and lead back to New Orleans...” I shake my head, “It...that night at The Gull before the Porn Wife helped us out,” I should probably clarify that more.

“Not when Evi?”

“No, that fucked up Trouble. There were things...I don't know if the Uncles ever told you anything? Or?”

She shakes her head, “and I never asked. It was bad enough that Nathan was worried for you; I figured if there were going to be nightmares, it would be better if one of us didn't get them and could comfort the other.”

“This is why you're the smart one,” I manage a smile, “There were,” deep breath, “children involved. Dead...dead children.”

She runs her hand through my hair, stroking tangles out.

“and—and the second day I found out how they were dying was like a thing that—that I encountered in New Orleans, that I'd convinced myself I just remembered because it was something I hallucinated while detoxing because the Troubles weren't happening in the 90s.”

Julia is very somber when she says, “Only in Haven. The rest of the world doesn't have that protection.”

“Yeah,” I nod, “I realize that now. I just still...convinced myself that thing didn't really exist. I didn't want it to exist. It—it rips your skin off...”

She freezes still for a moment, eyes wide, before hugging me tightly. When I move to wrap my arms around her I realize my hands are shaking.

“I don't blame you for not even wanting to think about that,” she whispers into my chest.

I pull back a little, needing to finish the words. I really want to have alcohol with me, but I also don't want to move, and with this I'm afraid if I stop to get something or even just to ask her to get something I'll stop altogether, just crawl back in a hole and bury things, go some place else, besides she's right here and she's not going anywhere, “and—and it had this shriek,” There's no way to put it into words and I'm not going to try and imitate it. I can still remember the piercing, not human, not animal but so much pain, “...at least when we were in New Orleans it did,” I never heard it here, “I can't descr—it broke up the job I was working,” killing half the people involved will do it.

She gives a shaky laugh, “I think something like that could break up anything.”

“Yeah...probably; but, that's why I was...not in a good place; and then I got angry with myself because I was craving heroin desperately for the first time in ten—more than ten years.” I can feel it in my chest now.

“Because it helped you deal with the horror the first time,” she says, softly, kissing my shoulder and then my chest.

I nod, “It stopped the nightmares.”

She reaches up to kiss my forehead before cuddling back against me, shifting to pull my head down against her breast as best she can.

“Yeah, we went to this get together after we got out of the swamp: Jody, Gavin and me. We'd planned to celebrate my freedom from debt anyway, after we got done with that job, but it turned into a crazier thing because we were fucking alive and you can get all sorts of things in New Orleans,” I shake my head, sarcastically, letting out a bitter laugh, “So, then I wound up back working for those same people because I could take a cut of the stuff I was transporting, sometimes anyway, or well, get it other ways.”

She brushes a hand through my hair and kisses my forehead again. I move my head so I can take her mouth with mine and kiss her there instead. Relief and thanks that the tiny point of doubt that still niggled despite me knowing that she wouldn't go anywhere was proven wrong and she didn't go anywhere. She understands and accepts. She will always be here.

The kiss continues and she rearranges herself in my lap, so that she's more kneeling on my knees than sitting. She leans in to kiss me more deeply, burying her hands in my hair which drives me to lean my head back and her to pull up so that her face is above mine. My hands run up her back and find their way to her breasts squeezing one breast and find the nipple of the other and I can feel myself rising to the occasion which brings with it much relief that the penis is not broken.

As my erection brushes against her leg she lets out a little gasp and breaks off the kiss for a moment to glance down. She winks at me then and adjusts so that she's straddling me and leans down to take my penis with her hand and guide it inside her. The moment of connection is always a spike of bliss and I let out a gasp of my own and strive for her mouth with my own as she wriggles into a secure sitting position pushing me further inside her. I scoot myself ever so slightly down in the chair and she lets out a satisfied moan as our connection goes that little bit further and then she begins to move up and down, slowly.

I move my hands from her breasts down to her buttocks and squeeze them as she moves and she knots one hand into my hair and grips one onto my shoulder grinding against me faster and faster as I push against her. It gets to the point rhythmically where I almost feel as though we might manage to take off from the chair and then I'm letting that final moan out into her mouth and we're falling against each other back into the seat as she pants into my shoulder and I kiss her sweaty cheek, wrapping my arm around her back and absorbing her closeness, her heat, her breath even as it feels that she might be stealing my own.

She kisses my temple above my left eye and then above my right, curling my hair behind my right ear before bringing the same hand under my chin, “There's some plot on that pirate face of yours.”

“I object to the implication.”

She laughs.

“Though it's completely accurate. I still object. I would like to take you into the bedroom, wench, but unfortunately you'll have to take yourself because I don't think I can spirit you off in my arms or over my shoulder.”

“My poor peg-legged pirate,” she teases, climbing off me with a kiss on my nose, “I'll go get your crutches.”

“They do so ruin the mood,” I point out as she hands them to me, though there's a nice view the way she leans over and presents them. I brace myself out of the chair and follow her wiggling butt into the bedroom.

“Oh, please, Boss,” she jokes, “It didn't keep you down for long, and it is very piratey. We can get you an eye patch.”

“A headscarf too?” I ask, sitting down on my side of the bed. She takes the crutches and props them against the side table, “Parrots are very noisy and obnoxious after a while, just so you know. I'd rather go straight for the doubloons and the booty.” I reach for hers but she dances out of the way and around to the bottom of the bed, but then climbs up and around behind me and puts her hands on my shoulders beginning to massage, working deftly with her fingers. I lean back and kiss her. She kisses me back but breaks the kiss fairly quickly, by her expression something is clearly on her mind.

“What's wrong?”

“I've been thinking about why you remember the dead wish time line.”

“Ah,” I say, “That's pretty heavy.”

“Yeah. When I first saw the Pearson Trouble had been absorbed, the bubble it was in was...blue instead of red. I put it down to it having been the other version of you that absorbed it, and that's why you remembered that time line, but the blue was coating the bubble and it...sort of slid off. It's like the part of you that lived those years is still there, kind of, merging but not dissolving. So those memories might be...more active than memories usually are.”

“Like nightmares, you mean?”

She sighs, “Maybe. I don't know. If there's a manual for the Carver Trouble, Uncle Vince doesn't have it and, well, this is the first time a time line Trouble's been absorbed, right?”

“I...think so,” same problem really, “I don't exactly have the Crocker book memorized.”

“I don't know what it means, or if it's anything out of the ordinary, but it's going on in you so you deserve to know.”

I turn my head around so I can give her another kiss, “I appreciate it. I know you keep an eye on my idiot self.”

“That's what you pay my bonus for!” she jokes, “Just let me know if anything is different, okay? You said you were craving heroin after what happened to those kids, and you've got a bunch of memories of your other self who never got off it, so...if there's anything you need me to do, let me know and I'll do it. Okay?”

“Yeah...” I nod, “I don't need to be back on that horse.”

She giggles then, cute and bubbly, “I could stand to be back on your horse, Boss.”

I return the giggle with a mischievous grin given the plot which prompted me to bring us in here in the first place, “I'd had some other ideas, actually, but...I'm not quite sure how to arrange things given I would like to,” I lower my gaze towards her mound, “have some words of thanks...”

She wraps her arms around me tightly and lays her head on my shoulder, “You don't have to push yourself, Duke. You're still injured. We can wait until you feel better.”

“The mouth does most of the work,” I point out, “and I think we can agree that's not injured. It's just a matter of positioning.”

She ponders this for a moment, rubbing her head against my neck, and then says softly, “Will you let me thank you for thanking me? Just a little? I don't want to take without giving something back; it feels too much like using you.”

“Julia--” the you could never dies on my lips as she hugs me more tightly.

“Please,” she draws it out.

I wind up biting my lip, and in tones that infer just how badly done to I am that a beautiful woman is volunteering to suck my cock I say, “Okay.”

“Okay,” she agrees, taking a deep breath, “Let's get you onto the bed and on your side where I can get at you and you can get at me.”

We arrange ourselves cross ways on the bed. I have to curl slightly because of our height difference and do so carefully because of the bruising, and she maneuvers my injured foot around with one hand and teases my penis briefly with her hand before she lays herself down next to me and scoots around so that I have access to her as well, nestling my head between her legs and carefully moving her lower lips apart with my fingers, massaging her clit with my fingers as tease gently with the tip of my tongue. She gasps for a moment, and then puts her own tongue around the head of my penis and licks around making me moan slightly myself and release my tongue from it's dabbling for a moment before probing further, moving my face slightly deeper into her.

I can feel the long slow up and down motion of her on my shaft, lapping around here and there, teasing the hole, massaging my balls with one hand.

I fondle that button between finger and thumb, tracing shapes inside with my tongue and working from side to side, moving up to take the clit with my tongue and tease gently with my teeth before sucking on it and returning to work inside with my tongue. I said I would say thanks and I spell that out, tracing inside.

Julia has stopped work on my penis, moaning as she is, and has her hands knotted tightly in my hair keeping me in position but after I've worked a little longer I need to come up for air and tap her hands to tell her so.

She disentangles her hands and moves around so she's facing me, “Hmm,” she remarks, pushing my cheek with her right hand, while her left resumes work on my penis, “wicked pirate, perhaps I'll keep you.”

“I hope so,” I tell her, “I don't know that anyone else would have me with your brand on my arm and all.” I lean out, stretching which puts me on my back rather than side, “it makes me damaged goods.”

“You were already damaged goods,” she says, but in a teasing tone.

“You wound me, wench.”

“You're already wounded too,” she moves across the bed though, and saddles herself in my lap, sliding onto my penis in such a fluid motion I almost don't feel it until she lands in place, “Maybe,” she shifts to one side, “I should,” and the other, “just,” and back to the other, “dismount,” and again, “if you're,” and again, “so concerned,” and again, “about injury.”

It takes me a moment to focus to form any sort of words even those of one syllable, “No, no, no. You can keep going. I'll live.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, with that wicked grin, moving from side to side again, and then up and down.

I reach up to take her hands and pull her down towards me so I can kiss her deeply, “I'm sure,” I assure her, “Very, very sure.”

“Alright then,” she grins, knotting her fingers more tightly in mine as she pulls back into a sitting position again and digs her heels into the mattress. I can buck my hips if I'm careful and not pain my foot and it does push me deeper and she gets that awesome expression of satisfaction, rolling her head back slightly and the gasping moan. She grinds down and I'm already close with the work from the blow job and her teasing right after climbing on board, so it doesn't take much more before I'm down the other side and she's dismounting, kissing me and resting her head against my shoulder, one arm draped over me carefully.

“Thank you,” she says, tweaking my nose with finger and thumb, “or should I not say that in case we get stuck in a thank you loop.”

“Perhaps not. I don't know that I can go again.”

“Really?” she teases.

“Yes, really. Apparently having a house dropped on me affects my performance. Who would have thought?”

She laughs, “Well, I already said that's not allowed to happen again. So, we don't have to worry about it in the future.”

“This is true,” I lean down and kiss her.

“Come on then, Boss,” she pats my shoulder, “Let's get righted and get some rest. You're home now and I might have to put you to 'work' in the morning. Sex is the best medicine after all.”

“Oh, no,” I answer, moving carefully into a sitting position, so I can lay the correct way against the pillows, “Whatever shall I do?”

She pulls a stern expression, “You'll lay there and take it is what you'll do, and you'll like it.”

“Only like it?” I raise an eyebrow, “Will you not be bringing your 'A' game? This is going to severely affect your performance review.”

“Duke Crocker--” she starts, raising one of the pillows, threateningly at me and then reluctantly lowering it, “--I am going to remember that for later when you don't have bruised ribs, damn you!” and she lays down next to me, pulling up the sheets and nestles down for the night.

The comfort of the Cape rocking gently from side to side, Julia breathing evenly next to me in a bed that isn't squashing us together with metal bars, and that my feet aren't slightly hanging off the end of means that sleep comes quickly and soundly. For now there are no more crises and no more nightmares or even dreams, just rest and relaxation and healing and that is all.  

It's too damn early for this, but the staff don't exactly know what happened last night.

I didn't realize exactly how hot it would be Julia helping me get rid of Evi.

Drugging her last night to stop her seduction attempts in their tracks, because the last thing I need is to fall back into that old habit. Of course then I had to get her back to her place in the dead of night, make sure she was alive and okay, and then sneak back home, all without looking like a creepy rapist.

So that was another evening of me drinking so as not to ruin things with Julia and to forget about things with Evi, which...is probably why it is too damn early for this—this being some angry lady who was haranguing the staff about something stupid.

“If you want to speak to the owner so badly he's out there!” I'm leaning against the railing on the dock and half glance over my shoulder trying not to wince in the brightness of the sun.

An older woman stalks across the wooden patio towards me, all buttoned up in her Sunday best looking as though hellfire and brimstone might spark out of her eyes. Oh, this is going to be just what I need today.

“Something I can help you with, Ma'am?” I offer, with a half wave.

“You're the owner of this—this,” she waves a hand behind her, “place?”

“So, they tell me,” I answer.

“There's no need to be so flippant.”

Oh, yes, just what I need, “Alright,” I shift to face her slightly more. I feel slightly uncomfortable as she moves closer to me like I got caught by...if I'd had a normal mother maybe? But that's her vibe, the stiff upper lipped British school marm with the ruler and the imperious attitude. If she has a spouse or children they must really hate her, “Like I said, something I can help you with?”

“You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Wouldn't be the first time I'd been told that—but, for what?”

I cross the room and wrap my arms around her from behind, nuzzling into her neck, “Brilliant,” I tell her, “Just brilliant.” 

Where? Wait...this is my bedroom. It's been a while since I've woken up in here. I definitely didn't get myself back here, and—damp hair—clean clothes. There's no way. I would be having to do that now that I'm awake and somewhat clear headed. How? Surely not Vince. I left him on the side of the road, didn't I?

I sit up, something stretches on my arm. I pull up the sleeve of the shirt on my left arm—bandages...

My head is pounding now. Nothing good especially if my arm starts itching again that will waste the bandages that whoever it was put on there.

I find the drawer under the edge of the bed and pull it out and find the supplies stashed there, and fix things between my toes given it was only my left arm cooperating this morning and that's the one bandaged now, and laying back on the bed for a moment reveling in the lightness pushing away the aches and the tremors that want to force their way through me, and those drums that like to bash their way through my sinuses at times like this.

I breathe in and out slowly a few times and find the spare gun in the night stand before opening the door to the bedroom and keeping that hand on the inside of the door frame as I look out. It's the Jennifer and her Dwight. She's sitting there reading a book. Dwight is standing near the main door back to outside he was glancing out of the window towards the docks now he looks back towards me. How did they...? What is...?

“What the hell? What is your game exactly? What are you after?” I ask them.

She calmly closes the book and turns to me, “Looking to buy your time and assistance for finding and traveling to a specific but currently unknown location. The whereabouts of this location being the information we need to track down via you and your contacts. Paying cash, as I said before.”

Seriously. Seriously? I...how after...?

She gives a slight smile, “Look, I know who you are and what goes on in this town, I may not look like a native but my family's been in Haven from the beginning to about 50 years ago when we went into hiding.” I suppose I shouldn't ask what family that is, probably safest for everyone, “I know about your recreational drug use, and I want to make it very clear that if you agree to assist us, you are to do or not-do whatever and however much you feel you need in order to be functional,” well that makes some things easier, “Also, the cafes were very good. There's a sandwich, fruit and some juice in the fridge for you.” Hm. That's...this is definitely some kind of odd discount grubbing technique. Going to have to come up with something.

I set the gun down on the dresser by the door and come out of the room closing the door firmly and then lean back on the door frame folding my arms and leveling her with as stern a look as I can, because I need a handle on what the hell is going on, “You and him brought me back to the boat and did all this?” I point at the bandaged arm, “If you're trying to--”

“I apologize for boarding without permission, but you were incoherent and bleeding. I want to hire you, Mr. Crocker, and I am willing to invest a bit of time and energy to make sure I get the best return for my money. You're not going to be able to assist me if you're passed out from blood loss or hunger.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. I'm not exactly going to pass up food though I wonder what they might have done to it—though it seems counter productive to mess with the food of someone you want to hire badly enough to wait while I did Vince's work.

I go to the fridge. There's a wrapped sandwich, fruit cup and juice bottle still sealed. Okay, so nothing done. I set the things on the table and sit down at it, across from them and open the sandwich. Lunch meats, cheese. This is just...

“We can add a percentage to your fee for the inconvenience of us intruding on your boat and your privacy without permission,” she continues, “as I said you were incoherent and bleeding it seemed the best course of action at the time for your recovery.”

“We can get to that in fee negotiation,” I decide is the best way to go about that. The weirdness of all this is threatening to bring an edge back I don't want, “What exactly is this information you're looking for, that will help with estimates.”

She looks exasperated now, “We need to find a place that's...the only means of identifying it we have at the moment is that it's known as 'the Heart of Haven',” she sighs, apparently she thinks that's as cheesy sounding as I do, “It probably dates back to the times of the Mi'kmaq tribe and the founding of Haven, the whole God's Orphans bit.”

“So, you've checked around Tuwiuwok Bluff?”

She sighs.

“Alright. Well, there's at least one person I can think of to get in touch with, and other than that there's the historical society. They have some old maps and charts in their office. If they have anything older it's not so much out in the open. There's some stones that can be rattled,” maybe. It's been a bit since I've been here, will have to think of what negotiation or blackmail material I still have. Dave and his obsession with scrimshaw and other weird old things might really be the best bet to start with.

I lean back in the chair to get a fork from the drawer to spear fruit out of the cup with, “I can start making calls once I'm done with this.”

“Appreciated.”

Then we finalize rate for information gathering, and what they can set aside for possible bribery should it be needed. I have to field a call from the Russians which I take in the bed room, graciously telling them I can meet them near Maine given I have another client to meet there, and I can drop their things off on Little Tall, any time after the next day or so within two hours notice.

To show no trickery I come back out into the main cabin to make the phone calls that will hopefully start the information tracking for the Jennifer. First it's a call to the historical society who are closed already, so a voice mail message left with a slight accent change, a paper being done interest in the native tribes because who knows which one of them will call back in the morning. So, that's two reasons to leave the blue phone on, better make sure it's charging.

It's an okay time to call Dave though. He'll probably still be at the Herald offices and not anywhere near Vince so that's a good thing.

“Duke?” Dave asks, picking up, “Did I short you?”

“No, no,” not that I've actually counted yet I realize, “All that's fine. I'm calling because a client of mine is looking for information and I thought it might be up your alley.”

“Oh?” curiosity piqued.

“Yes. I've been asked to find out where something called 'The Heart of Haven' is so that I can take them there.”

“Why?”

“Oh, come on. You know better than that.”

He chuckles, “I'll see what I can dig out of the records.”

“It's something even older than you, so watch out. The client is thinking Mi'kmaq times and I know I've brought you things to do with them, so this is why I ask.”

“Hm,” he says, “So, how soon do you...they need this information?”

“As soon as possible. I'm sure I can see my way to sorting something out with you the next time you need something.”

“I would hope so.”

“I'll call you around lunch time tomorrow,” he hangs up.

The Jennifer and her Dwight seem to have been having a discussion about something while I was on the phone. When I put it down on the table she looks over at me.

“I was going to send Dwight out for sustenance,” she says, “and to find a place to stay. How do you feel about Chinese food?”

Not exactly hungry, but I have a feeling that is not the type of question that was, “It's not as good as Thai but Haven does not do Thai. Over the Way B&B is the better place to stay and is actually in town. If you say you heard about them from Gloria Verrano they'll give you a better deal. She...used to be the M.E.”

There's a flicker of something across Jennifer's face, but then she brushes the pleasant business manner back over, “Thanks for the tip. So, what would you want as far as Chinese goes?” she glances at Dwight, “Actually, where would you suggest?”

“Good Luck has really been the only place, unless something has changed in the last eight months. It's on...Lincoln. Pretty much everything is good, except the foo yung.”

She nods, “Okay, then.”

“Don't really care for foo yung anyway.” The Dwight—he speaks. Ah, shit...he was in the bathroom at the police department. That explains some things. Sort of. I rub an eye. Then remembering set an alarm on my phone to remind me to call Dave and check up on the Mi'kmaq thing wouldn't do to forget that.

“Anyway,” Jennifer says, “What do you care for, Mr. Crocker?”

“Duke is fine, Crocker even, Mister is...was...” Let's just not, “Just...anyway, chicken and broccoli.”

“Do you like dumplings or spring rolls?” she asks.

“I don't know that I would eat any. I had the sandwich and such not so long since.”

She has Dwight take down a list of things that seem more than six of us would need but then Dwight is pretty huge and sends him on his way with several bills from her purse.

And then there were two. Not awkward in the least. I excuse myself and go find a charger for the blue phone which also serves as chance for me to put the gun in the bedroom back away. There's another out in the main room if I need it, after all. Which reminds me...what happened to the clothes I was wearing before? There was a gun and two knives on me there, and the pack of cigarettes, even though they'd left my phone on the table.

I plug the phone in and set it on one of the counters in the kitchen and am about to ask about the jacket and such from earlier when she turns to me.

“I have a question...or proposition, perhaps is the better word,” she says.

“Oh?”

“I know that people in your line of work are typically...selective...about who they let get close to them, and it won't offend me in the slightest if you turn this down,” her expression has shifted greatly from the big boss lady to more personable, and now she's even being...cute? “You...greatly resemble a man I had a crush on in high school, someone I was never able to even kiss at the time,” what guy could that possibly have been? She has strange taste or she's just trying to butter me up. I have to wonder exactly where this is going. She looks down at her hands, “I'd...like to pretend, for a fee, that you're that man and that my feelings aren't unrequited.”

I sit back down at the table, “Really?”

She nods. Still looking nervous.

“So, you're looking for a full boyfriend experience here? Date, dinner—because you just ordered a week's worth of Chinese...”

She shakes her head, “No, just the...after date boyfriend experience, would be the term, I suppose.”

“And this is just for you, not the both of you?”

“The both?” she starts, “Oh, Dwight,” there's an odd laugh, “No. No. He's definitely not involved in this.”

I nod. Well, then, “It has been a few months since I've been tested for anything but last time I was I was clean; but there are other...”

She cuts me off, “I know there are certain precautions that need to be taken with you, but I've been on a birth control for the last year or so to specifically keep me from menstruating. I also know that as a side effect of your Trouble, you don't have anything to give me and wouldn't get anything even if I had it, but I've only been with a single partner, and he's clean.”

Wait...what? She seems very confident about that about my Trouble, but she also said her family line has been in Haven since the beginning. Just what family line are they? And no sickness, huh? They really can't kill us Crockers can they? At least not naturally. Lovely.

“Are you alright?” she asks, “I've offended you...”

I shake my head, “No. It's just someone else who knows more about my Trouble than I do. That's all.”

“Ah,” she has a sly, self-depreciating smile then, “It's just something I picked up with my Trouble.”

Well, then a birth control that stops the period is definitely a good thing. If it's real. But then if she's lying about that and there is blood—that would hurt her more than me. That down is nothing.

“What exactly is your Trouble?” rudeness, “If you don't mind my asking?”

“I see things that aren't visible to anyone else,” she says.

“I was doing that earlier,” it's out before I can stop it. In full bemused sarcastic tones.

She smiles though and with teasing tones of her own says, “Yes, but the things I see are actually there. They just can't be seen by anyone else.”

“Hm,” I consent.

“So...” she says, toying with her fingers again, “are you interested?”

An offer to be paid for my preferred style of sex. I would be foolish to turn this down, “I am.”

She seems extremely excited and relieved.

“Is there anything specific you're looking for?” I ask.

“What do you mean?”

“Positions? Activities?”

Her entire face flushes with a pink hue which is actually kind of adorable, “Oh,” she says, “Well, I'd...I'd hope that both of us would enjoy ourselves...um...” well, that's different, but then I can't think how long it's actually been since I've had sex with a woman, which high school me would have found very pathetic, probably, but let's not go any further with high school me, “...you know, until one of us falls asleep. It's been a while...” she continues.

Yeah. Really.

Earlier, well, even now, she comes across as someone who likes to be on top, but she's also really tired. They've clearly done a lot of traveling today. Gives me some ideas to work with, anyway. Gotta make sure she's satisfied. It may be a separate transaction but sexually frustrated client would not be good to work with on other things.

There's idle chit chat then which I find a little clunky. I'm not used to company any more. I do let her know I might have to side trip to Little Tall to drop off some things some time over the next couple of days, but it shouldn't interfere too much with what else is going on.

“Who knows?” she says, “Maybe the 'Heart of Haven' is out there,” but it's a half-hearted joke given Little Tall Island is a good forty-five minutes out at sea and not really the heart of anything. Then there's a tentative knock on the door which is her Dwight returning and the scent of Chinese food fills the cabin and I retrieve some little used plates from a cabinet in the kitchen and set them out, followed by silverware, and glasses.

“I pretty much only have water...” I tell them.

“I got a six pack of beer while I was out,” Dwight says, not that I really mix the mind altering substances, “and some pomegranate soda,” he sets a two-liter in the middle of the table. The Jennifer has been unpacking the box full of food and we sit around the table. She pours herself some of the pomegranate soda and offers it to me. I wonder if I pulled a face at the beer and made it obvious I wasn't going to have any of that. Dwight opens one though, and food is portioned out from it's stapled and sealed containers. Some noodle dish on the Dwight's plate. Something else with chicken on the Jennifer's.

After a little while she offers me something from the tin foil bowl of dumplings though I'm barely managing to eat the portion of chicken broccoli that I put on my plate.

“Well,” she says, “There'll be plenty of leftovers for tomorrow.”

There's more small talk about meaningless things, places visited. The Jennifer has been to Australia. I've never made it there, neither has the Dwight. He was in Afghanistan though, in the military, that explains the way he carries himself at times.

“You don't seem surprised,” he says.

“It's in the way you walk. You have to make effort not to, don't you?”

He nods after a moment and a look that passes between him and the Jennifer; but having someone ex-military with you coming into this town is definitely a smart choice. I'm always surprised that the place still gets tourists.

Soon enough things are being cleared away and Dwight's asking if he can store the remaining four beers in the fridge, “They're safe. Don't worry,” I tell him, and there's a variation of the look he got when I lit the cigarette this morning.

I take the plates to clean because if they're not done now they'll be growing legs in the sink a week from now, and the Jennifer takes Dwight off towards the door and talks to him in a low voice. I wonder how exactly she's explaining the arrangement that she and I have made what level of candor they have in their relationship. That's right, Lieutenant Dwight, I have hired the filthy junkie, who we hauled back here incoherent not four hours ago, for sexcapades for the night go off to the nice bed and breakfast and worry yourself not about me being murdered for the rest of the money that we have.

I put the dishes away.

“Alright,” Dwight is saying, “I guess I'll head out then,” he quirks a slight smile, “You kids have fun,” as he closes the door behind him the Jennifer has gone bright red. It's actually very cute. I cross the room towards her as she shakes her head, not in a dismissive way, more a clearing it way.

“How do you wa--?” I begin asking.

“Start with some kissing?” she asks, softly, reaching towards my head. I look down at her and our lips connect a couple of times and she begins to knot her fingers into my hair which sets a fire alight inside me. I deepen the kiss, pressing my tongue into her mouth, searching for her own. She returns this, catching my tongue with hers, touching and teasing and that combined with the fact her fingers are still at work in my hair and on the back of my head—my scalp, has definitely aroused everything below the belt.

I back her towards the bedroom door given she was so tired in appearance, no matter how much I could take her on the table it seems a potentially bad idea. As we move I reach my hands under her shirt and begin to lift it over her head. She releases my hair for just a moment to assist, so that her shirt comes off. Then practically rips my over-shirt off as we move into the bedroom itself before kissing again, and I lift her onto the bed.

She undoes her bra, as I unbutton her pants and pull them off and toss them towards the corner.

“Come here, baby,” she says, and grabs my hair again, pulling me down to kiss me deeply, practically reaching my tonsils with her tongue.

I have to pull off my pants, things are too tight. As she continues to manipulate my hair a groan escapes me and her panties follow her pants into the corner. She briefly releases her hold on my hair to pull off my t-shirt and I take hold of her legs so that I can slip my body between them and have my penis find it's way home between her folds, pushing deep within. She moans and gasps as I do, throwing her head back.

I keep hold of her legs as I thrust against her, and she grips the covers on the bed, pushing up here and there to deepen our connection. Her legs move to wrap around me pulling me further home and which leads to us both moaning at the same time and I can feel myself threatening to go, it's been so long that a woman and I...but she's not quite there yet. I find her clit with my hand and press it between my fingertips and then roll it a little and continue to massage it and she writhes, as much as she can with us still locked together, and damn is that...but it's good in the sense that we then wind up on the other side together.

She's drowsy satisfied when I pull apart and lounge down on the bed next to her. Boyfriend experience, right. I brush the hair away from her face and kiss her on the cheek.

She turns her face ever so slightly and kisses towards me catching my mouth with the faintest of whispers, “Mmmm, thank you, baby,” she says, a cute smile playing across her face, she starts to reach for me but her arm is too tired.

“I think you need sleep, and that's probably best with pillows, and you know, more on the bed.”

I pick her up and move her to the proper position.

“You'll stay?” she asks, softly.

“Just let me find the better blankets and I'll be back,” I assure her. It's only a partial lie. If she wants a sleeping companion she doesn't need one freaking out in the middle of the night and waking her up and she may have said that is all okay, but I doubt that talk of heroin is part of her idealized boyfriend experience...then again if I remind her of some high school boy she couldn't hook up with. Let's not get into speculations here. I find a pair of pants I can sleep in, and go to the closet for a thicker blanket which I cover her with and retrieve the packet of cigarettes, and my regular phone on the way back too.

She seemed to be dozing but when I drape the blanket over her she murmurs and reaches for my hair so I kiss her which she returns, sleepily, before her hand drops again which is fortunate for me, because the doing things with my hair would start things for me that she's not up to helping finish and directly after that whole experience rubbing it out will be so much less satisfying even if I could go again already. It's so much...

Let's just stop this train of thought.

I set the phone on the bedside table and plug it in to charge and turn on the certain play list that I use if I'm actually intent on when I'm going to sleep, soft, low, ambient music, nice and relaxing.

Then I find the panel in the bathroom and open it, get everything out and go to work soaking up any excess liquid into cigarettes again, after pulling what I need into the needle but with the overnight dosage there's only enough for one not three, then right side of the packet with it and upside down and set them on the bathroom counter.

I go with the right arm this time, keeping the rubber tie on until I get back to the bed, taking it off just before I lay down in the bed so that the rush won't begin until I'm laying down, as I do so the Jennifer shifts over in the bed and wraps an arm around me resting her head against me. I rearrange my position so that she her head settles against my chest and lean my head back into the pillows and float back into the music.

%%%%

A familiar dull ache is spreading from my head and down across my shoulders. I'm in an odd position and when I try to move and can't facts flow back into my brain: the arrangement with the Jennifer, the pretending, the sex and her falling asleep. She apparently stayed curled up against me overnight and so I'm trapped with her on me like a barnacle on the hull. She has a contented smile on her face in her sleep, which while sweet is just...why am I...comforting? to you strange woman?

I guess I can stay like this for a little while. Pay and all, right? Maybe she'll move.

It begins to feel like hours but straining my head and carefully pulling my phone over tells me it's only been about twenty five minutes and she still hasn't shifted position more than adjusting her head a little. I can't stay like this much longer though. My whole body is aching, and despite the blanket that's still over half of me I'm chilly, and the itch is starting. It's no good, it's no good, no baby, it's no good. I try not to laugh. I manage a slight smirk snicker which doesn't seem to affect her any and adjust position just a little. Have to get out before the twitching starts, makes it harder to shoot up, plus I might kick her and that will not help client relations.

I've almost got my arm out from underneath her when she stirs and sleepily reaches for my neck and kisses me, “Good morning, baby,” which makes me freeze before I realize what I'm doing. She blinks at me for a moment and then sits up completely and puts her hands over her face.

I take the opportunity to sit up and turn around and swing my aching legs off the bed and focus on not scratching my arms. She spent time bandaging me up yesterday we don't need to go through that again.

“Oh, God. I'm sorry!” she says. I can imagine that she's blushing again, “Do you need—I'll--” she scrambles out of the bed and goes towards the corner where her pants and panties were thrown and starts getting dressed, “My shirt's out there right?”

I nod.

“Okay, I'll—I'll be in the kitchen,” she grabs her pants and goes out of the bedroom door

She's...embarrassed...? Shit.  

I'm too fucking twitchy to deal with this shit right now. So, we'll fix that and then we'll go see what damage is going on in the kitchen. It's back to the stash in the bathroom and the mixing and drawing, doctoring a few more cigarettes and stashing them again. It feels strange this time as I press for a good spot and then tie off but that moment of worry is gone once the needle slides in, and the liquid is wending it's way into my veins. I pull the rubber tie off and lean my head back, breathing in and out slowly, and then pull myself up, and clean everything away. I grab the pack of cigarettes and go to the bedside table and grab my phone and put on a shirt before going out into the main room.

The Jennifer is out there dressed and...making coffee, the Venezuelan Dark that I ironically picked up in Britain.

She looks over when I open the door, “I have to apologize,” she says, “I...was...I didn't want to interfere with any...morning routine you...need to, that you have.”

That's what she was saying?

“And,” she continues. There's an and? Okay..., “I think I got a little too into the scenario maybe, I mean I took up half your bed all night, and your...there might have been some evening...routines that I screwed up too.”

“No...I was able to take care of things, and it was boyfriend experience, right? That involves sleeping over. You're rested, I hope, and everything was satisfactory? I was concerned earlier.”

“No...yes, I mean, yes, satis—more than,” she nods, “I just...I fell asleep I was worried that I hadn't—that you were left wanting,” she goes for the coffee pot a couple of times and stops.

I had started to reach for mugs but when she says that it shuts my brain down for a moment.

“I'm sorry,” she says, again.

“No, that's not. I mean, you're the client. It's your satisfaction,” though I can't help thinking about the table, “If you didn't get your money's worth then...”

“I was very satisfied,” she says, as my brain clicks back into gear and I open the cabinet and get the mugs down, “Why were you looking at the table?”

I'm so grateful to be high right now it means I'm not as embarrassed as I could have been, “Well, in the interest of...I don't know...” doesn't stop me from not forming sentences, “When things started last night my first impulse was the table...but you were so tired...”

“The table?” are her eyes sparkling?

“Yes,” I can't help but look at the table again, “There was just something about the hair...” I find myself admitting, “...drove me wild.”

She giggles, “So...” she says, “...how much would it take,” she runs a finger down the edge of the counter, walking closer to me, “for that to happen? 2/3 of yesterday?”

Do not refuse the odd lady's offer of more sex for money, that would be very stupid, “I think I can accept that.”

“You think?” she asks, brushing a hand by my ear.

“Well, isn't your Dwight coming back?”

“Not for at least two hours. If we run the same price. Do you think we could do something else as well?” She has both hands in my hair now though so it's hard to entirely concentrate.

“What—what did you have in mind?”

“It'll come to me,” she says, as she lifts her mouth up to mine to kiss me, knotting her hands so tightly into my hair.

It's a lot easier to get these pants of mine off. I can just pull them down stepping my feet on the ends which leaves my hands free to undo hers, and remove them and her panties, as we continue with the almost fevered kissing, because—I really don't entirely know what it is about my head and hair that does that, but damn it's good, tongues fighting each other, teeth slightly nipping each other, breaking apart to nibble here and there at each others' throats, as I lift her up and kick one of the chairs over to set her on the table and lay her down. She lets go of my hair and rips my shirt off me and runs her hands down my back digging her fingers into me as push my penis inside her unable to stop the satisfied moan as the connection is made, and then she wrestles herself out of her own shirt and I lick my way up one breast back to her mouth as she knots her hands back into my hair and I grasp her shoulders to help pull her down as I thrust up and drive myself deeper hearing each little gasp as I do and her tugging at my hair and scratching my scalp each time. God damn, and then she pulls up on me slightly pressing against me and bouncing biting deeply into my shoulder and I speed up, thrusting harder and harder until she shudders against me and I can release. She rests back against the table and I lean on her. I'm about to pull free when she puts her hand on my chest.

“Wait,” she says, “Please. Do you think you can try something? If we're careful.”

“What did you have in mind?” The crazy Jennifer has me slightly, no, more than slightly intrigued.

Carefully she sits up against me, and kisses me again, sliding a little from side to side. I'm concerned I might dislodge, and brace her by putting one arm around her back, using the other for stability, but nothing seems to happen. She wraps her legs around my back and puts her hands on my shoulders and moves again from side to side.

“Okay,” she says, as though she was slightly worried it wouldn't work, “Now then,” she looks around us clearly surveying, “To the ground, please.”

This is going to be interesting, “The ground?”

“Well, the floor.”

“I was meaning, not a chair?” As I put the hand not balancing her on the table and carefully bend at the knees.

“If you want to fall over backwards...” she wriggles.

She has a good point and a damn good wriggling motion. I'm definitely coming back to life down there. I manage to lower myself enough to drop onto my ass, which makes her groan in such a way that I'm thoroughly ready to go. As I stretch my legs back out, she pushes my top half down by my shoulders, and begins her proper ride. I reach my hands up to take hold of each breast and she throws her head back with a satisfied moan. I almost expect a yee-haw, but instead she just speeds up the pace of her gyrations.

Holy fuck. This almost feels like robbery. I'm pushing up against her trying to keep up the rhythm as she grinds us both back to climax and then falls down on top of me and I lower my hips back to the ground.

After we separate and stand back up I pull my pants on and go to the coffee pot while she's finishing up putting her own clothes back on, shrugging on the over-shirt before I get there but not buttoning it. I pour the dark elixir she prepared into the two mugs that I got down before wondering how strong she made the brew and if she's one of those sorts that taints her coffee given I don't think I have anything on hand to do so with except her Dwight's beer.

“I'm not sure that I have any viable milk or any sugar at all,” I tell her passing along the mug I haven't sampled as she approaches.

“That's fine,” she says, “You have proper decent coffee it doesn't need to be doctored to make it drinkable.”

“Well, then,” it's a little too early for anything, but I check the blue phone anyway. No messages, and then pick up the cigarettes.

She follows me out onto the deck and sits down, but keeps several boxes of space between us, looking out over the town. I set the coffee down beside me so I can light up one of the laced ones the expenditure of so much energy making things shaky and then follow her line of sight which is drifting up the main drag towards the center of town.

“What time are we expecting your Dwight back?” I ask her.

“Oh,” she says, “around 8,” she takes a large mouthful of the coffee and seems to be inhaling the caffeine as well as swallowing it.

“Okay,” I nod, so there's at least an hour before the wall returns, and I doubt we'll hear anything from the historical society by then or Dave either. The Russians have been up for a while. If I haven't heard anything from them by now I likely won't today.

“I don't usually do breakfast this early, but if you do, don't feel you have to wait for us,” she says.

Breakfast...right...that is a thing, “Not generally hungry this early either,” I shrug, drinking more of my own coffee, “I'm surprised we didn't work up some of an appetite, but then it's kind of a...side effect...” I let that trail off, finishing up the cigarette.

She gives a slight laugh and looks away for a moment, “Yes, that was fun. More than, really,” she blushes, and looks down into her coffee cup. She toys with it, and it reminds me, a little, of my nerves when I first spoke with Vince, “I'd get you off like that anytime you wanted, without negotiations first, if I thought you'd let me...” the who what? It was really good and everything but...“but I know you wouldn't trust it, so I'll keep paying for it.”

Stop staring at her. I return to my own coffee which is almost finished.

Is this the strangest client you've ever had? I drain the coffee. This is...pretty weird that's for damn sure and I don't...

“I'd like to ask if I can borrow your shower,” she says, then and I turn back to her, “but before that,” she has a sort of minxish look on her face, “if you want another go, it would only take one word to talk to me into spending more money this morning.”

I'm sure I'm staring at her again. She's offering...this is great—but I—okay, why are you—hello, more money for more sex with the cute girl.

“Absolutely.”

She takes a sip of her coffee and looks at me over the top of the mug, “I think it's my turn to be on top again.”

“As you wish,” I tell her, “Bedroom?”

She gets a quirky smile, “Baby, I will do you wherever you want.”

I start to shake my head. She's the client, after all, it's supposed to be what she wants, but then she wants me to choose. I'm going to get myself trapped in a feedback loop if I'm not careful.

“I promise I won't stop until we're both done,” she continues, “I just don't particularly care where we do it...although we might get hit for public indecency if we do it on the deck. Maybe...depending on who gets the call.”

“Yeah. Wuornos just loves to come out for calls to the Ursa though that might make him hesitate.”

She laughs.

“But,” I continue, “the bedroom will be more comfortable and I can probably go longer.”

“Sold,” she says, standing up.

I lead the way back inside. Once we're in the bedroom she leans over and tugs on my hair to pull me down to kiss me and then pushes me towards the bed. I manage a few steps back and then my legs hit the bed itself and I fall backwards onto it, sideways and pull myself a little ways up. She's stripped herself naked again in very quick fashion and is as I start to go for my own clothes she's straddling me, hands on my chest, fingers on my nipples and then kissing me. Just gentle, as her fingers toy carefully, teasing my chest.

“Get up on the bed properly,” she says, moving her leg off me so she's at my side and scooting slightly so I can do so.

Once I am, she grabs hold of my pants and pulls them down, and takes hold of my cock in one hand and massages it slightly, before applying her mouth to it very briefly. I have to be imagining this as my brain overloads, and she's sliding herself on board in short order. Oh, God. It's a slow, bouncing, rhythm and there's a slight side to side shift along with the up and down, and I push up as she comes down to deepen our connection. She pulls her fingers, nails, down my sides and I move my hands from her hips, to squeeze her butt cheeks and then up to her breasts and she does that rolling her head back moan and picks up the pace.

Then all of a sudden she stops and pulls up and then drops herself down hard. Oh, damn. She does that again and I'm gone, and I know damn well she didn't finish.

“I'm sorry,” I tell her as she lays down on me, “That was just...” there are no words that can adequately describe that, “I can finger you, oral...or give me a couple of minutes?”

“Don't apologize,” she says, slipping off me and down to my side, “I did that on purpose.”

She definitely is a tiny crazy lady. I shake my head, leaning back towards the pillows.

“And I can wait,” she continues, “I get the feeling it won't take too long.”

Come on now, man, she's going to be asking for her money back if she keeps performing better than you. I roll on to my side, carefully, given it's my left arm that's going underneath me and gently run a finger down her side, and then back up circling one breast. She lets out a little gasp and presses her lips together and I lean down to kiss her again. She kisses back, there are those tongue flickers and some light nibbles with her teeth against my lips.

I break apart the kiss and almost go for her neck, but that's too...so working my way down to her breasts with my mouth it is hands reaching up caress her head the way she has mine, but she grabs hold of my hands instead and puts a finger into her mouth and begins sucking on it. She takes my finger into her mouth slowly and surely up and down. Oh, damn. She continues to suck on my finger and I can't help but look up at her, that wicked expression on her face.

Well, I'm definitely ready to go again.

I take the hand that she hasn't been sucking on and trail it down her body and then slip one finger, she lets out a little gasp, and then another, another gasp, and I run another running back and forth over her clit, which results in a few moans. I needn't have worried about her being ready either really it turns out.

I use that hand to guide myself back inside and she presses her hands against the wall to push down against me. I reach up to connect our hands, bracing on my knees for more thrust. She wraps her legs around my ass and pulls me closer in to her. It feels so damn good being in there, probably because it's been so damn long since I've been with a woman that has to—and oh God, she's driving me in further and I press further as she moans and pushes her hands against the wall more down and down, deeper and deeper.

She pulls my face towards hers and kisses me. I move faster as the kiss deepens in intensity and she once again begins to tangle her hands in my hair, breaking the kiss briefly, “Don't stop,” she breathes, gripping onto my back and digging her nails in to me and I resume thrusting increasing speed again until her grip tightens with a throaty groan and then releases and I follow soon after. 

%%%%

I pull my pants back on, slowly, as she lays on the bed breathing in slowly, one hand across her chest, the other on the bed.

“Wow,” is all she says for the moment, which I can understand.

I should probably put on actual pants, thinking about it, her Dwight will be here before long. I go to look through the dresser. There's the jacket sitting on top of it, along with all me things. How did I not notice? Right...this is me.

She's sitting up now, “I didn't know what else to do with your things. I'm not going to go rummaging around.”

“Appreciated,” I take the one knife to the desk where I keep it and seeing the journal still sitting there realize that I never put her name in it. Shit. I find a pen on the top of the desk and scribble on an envelope to check it works.

“Um...” she says, “About the shower...”

“Oh, right,” I flip through looking for the page that is being worked on and write in yesterday's date. All that was just yesterday, “Yeah, it's through there—wait, out of curiosity, who showered me?”

“...I did,” She looks a little flushed but not too much, “No, it's...I...You were...kinda ripe...” she says, “and it's close quarters and everything,” Ah, that's why she was flustered.

 “I can understand. I...tend to forget these things,” that was a, “Anyway...the shower is through there, like I said. I should show you how it works...no, you used it,” I shake my head, “obviously you worked it out. Sorry...” Finish the journal. Nicole Meadows. Some sort of plague thing. Guard orders. I drop the journal back on the desk.

“It's another imposition but do you have some clothes I could borrow? And maybe a washing machine? We sort of arrived on short notice with no time to pack so those are the only clothes I have.”

“Oh, wow...uh, yes. Sure. I imagine I have ripe clothes, too...” I can't help but laugh, “but shower first, can't really run more than one thing on the water.” I open one of the drawers, “There are...should be shorts in here, that might work better than my pants given height difference, and then shirts...you know where those are, I guess.”

She nods, “Alright then. I'll be out in a bit.”

“I'll be on the deck,” I switch to a pair of jeans, and change my shirt for a long sleeve cotton sweater and dump the other clothes with the ones under the jacket from yesterday and pick up the jacket itself, the gun and the other knife to take back into the main cabin and stash them where they're supposed to go.

I have to get the mugs from the deck before I can make more coffee and move the cigarettes to by the outside wall. There is the safety gun underneath this seat, of course, so I will be here once I've replenished the coffee. Soon I'm leaning against said wall with both phones by me, sipping on more coffee, book in my lap debating if I'm going to start reading it or not given I randomly picked up I Am Not Myself These Days, and it's 50/50 whether it'll actually be a distraction, are they more fucked up than me?—it is someone else's problems—but who am I to judge a drunk drag queen shacked up with a male prostitute who gets addicted to crack?

I've read the same section several times before I give up. The coffee is half drunk, and going cold. I light another cigarette and inhale deeply, zoning out, looking out across the bay and allowing the float. The door behind me makes me jump and my hand moves towards the gun as I turn before realizing it's the Jennifer. She's wearing one of my denim button up shirts and a pair of light shorts with drawstrings pulled so tightly they're hanging down to her knees.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi,” I answer.

“So, laundry...”

“Right. That.”

“Can I load your dirty stuff with mine, or do you want to do it? I found the machine between the bedroom and the kitchen.”

“No,” I pull myself up using the wall, “I'll do it...you dealt with enough of my dirty clothes.”

I follow her back inside, carefully placing my feet, and go through to the bedroom for the clothes, checking through pockets as I walk back and then dumping things in the machine.

“Hey,” she has a hand on my arm! “Sorry,” she says, “I say hey before and you didn't notice.”

I put a hand to my forehead, “Then I should...sorry,” I grab the detergent and finish setting the machine.

“I was gonna reheat some of the Chinese food for breakfast, you want anything?”

I'm supposed to be not passing out from hunger...right, “It's probably a good idea if I have a little something,” the washer starts to rumble, “There we go...half hour or so and it'll be washed. I...don't have a dryer though.”

“That's fine,” she goes to the fridge, and I go to the kitchen cabinet and open it, “You know, not passing out from hunger doesn't mean you should eat if it'll make you sick.”

“Hm?”

“I mean if you're not used to eating—if you want it now I'll heat it up or you can always wait a bit...we had concerns yesterday given Dwight heard you in the PD but you have kept yourself alive this long I trust you to know when eating is a bad thing.”

“I...” is she...what is going on right now? Bowls I was getting bowls. I get three down. I'm not sure if her Dwight will be coming to eat or not.

“I saw your arms, baby. This isn't a new thing for you.”

I shake my head, “Not by a long shot,” did that make it out of my mouth or not? I set the bowls down before I drop them.

There are shiny things lined up on the counter from the fridge and she closes it's door again and opens a drawer looking for silverware, “What?”

The light from the window is glittering around the dust that's circling her hair, and sparkles from all the things on the counter are reflecting off her, well, my clothing that's curving around her body as she moves about, doling things here and there. I lean against the counter, “Hm?”

“No, all I said was 'what?'” she says, turning to me with a fork still in one hand, “I didn't quite...but it's okay.”

“Feh, more heroin than blood at this point, that was the main thing, well-preserved, like Keith Richards, isn't that his name? Rolling Stones. Donate my body to science, but with the Troubles that's probably a bad, bad idea so Vince would probably want to incinerate me except that might get the whole town high, maybe mummification then...burial at sea like the...” I slap a hand over my mouth, stop talking, "Fuck," You are definitely babbling. Babbling is worse than not talking at all.

She has a smile on her face though as she's putting her food in to heat up.

“You know,” she says, “I'm gonna put your chicken and broccoli back in the fridge, and unless you're determined enough to find it and eat it cold, you can wait until you won't get mesmerized by the microwave or something, okay?” She does so, while her things are cooking.

Well, wasn't exactly hungry anyway so that's fair enough, “Point,” I lower my hand, with the other, as she stirs the food from the microwave and puts it back in for a little while.

“I kind of wish I could show you the Lightscape; you'd love it. I was lost in there for days when my Trouble first kicked in,” the smile is still there as she pulls the food back out.

“The...things that aren't there?” I wave my hand about.

She nods, stirring up the food again and pouring more coffee which is still warm in the pot and I hold the door open for her to go outside.

“Probably good you don't have anything in your system. See enough as it is sometimes.”

“Probably right,” she says, sitting down on one of the crates with the food. She looks towards the sea and scans back and forth a little towards town looking slightly frustrated and angry. Haven problems and cold coffee problems too, but that one's mine. Then she shakes her head, muttering and digs into the food she cooked.

I lean back against the wall again, and look where she looked. I wonder what exactly it is that she sees when she's looking at this “Lightscape” but it has to be really neat. Right now most of what I see is just swirling clouds moving with the breeze and when I look over the other way the large form of her Dwight walking towards us up the side of the docks. I stand up and walk to the other side of the boat and lean on the railing. Jennifer notices the movement and turns herself.

“Your Dwight,” I tell her, “Pretty sure no one else is built like that,” I wave my hand towards him.

She stares off for a moment and then focuses back on me, “No, that's Dwight, alright,” she stands up and joins me at the railing.

The Dwight stops at the gangplank and looks up at us. I can't make out his facial expression from up here, but after a moment I hear him, “Can I come up?”

“Sure!” I call.

Once he's up on the deck he looks between the Jennifer and me, “Looks like things are going alright,” he muses.

“Oh, this?” she pulls at the shirt, “Laundry. I was doing. I am doing. Lack of clothes and all.”

“Ah, right,” he nods.

“If you need to,” I tell him, “You can too,” he is rather large though. He's not that much taller than me, but he might be twice as wide, “though I don't know if I have much that would completely fit you,” I put a hand on his chest and he's very, “...woah, you are solid, aren't you?”

“If you want breakfast I can heat up some of the Chinese for you,” the Jennifer tells him pointing behind her to the crate.

“I ate in town,” he says. His shirt is really silky and I can feel his abs underneath strong and taut. He takes hold of my hand, “...is he..?” I pull it free, and examine his arm instead.

“High?” Jennifer asks, “Yeah.”

“That's gonna be okay?”

A silky hand closes over mine and pries the soft material out of it, “Waiting game right now, anyway,” the Jennifer's voice by my ear, “Pull up a crate. I'm gonna check on the laundry. Duke?”

“Yeah?” I turn to her. Her face is super close so I back up a little to make sure she doesn't have one eye any more.

“You have a line to hang the clothes on I take it? Where is it?”

“Oh, right...it's in that,” I wave a hand towards the box attached to the wall.

I sit down. The Dwight is sitting on a crate close to the gang plank slightly sideways so he can look out towards town and out towards sea just as easily.

I Spit On Your Grave starts playing from my cell phone jarring my attention. Someone from the Guard is calling. Probably not Vince himself, but you never know. I pick it up. If this is another Job. Meh, that's way too much reality crashing in. The Jennifer is halfway through hanging clothes on the line. I feel both her and the Dwight watching me as I pick up the phone and stand.

“What do you want?”

“Crocker...you're...” Gallagher the younger drew the short straw apparently.

“Who else would it be?”

“Well...” that trails off too.

“If there's a Job I'm happy to explain to Vince in explicit detail exactly where he can--”

“No,” he says, “No, nothing. I was just—he was—after yesterday...but you're...so I'm gonna go,” and he's gone. I rub the hand holding my cell phone across my forehead.

“Everything alright?” The Dwight's voice from across the deck.

The Jennifer has left the laundry line and moved slightly closer.

“Yeah,” I will not hurl my phone into the harbor. There are other numbers in there and reminders and things. I drop the phone back onto the crate instead and pick up the cigarette packet. You will be good and fuck it whatever. No, there's not that many left of either...I put the packet back in my pants pocket for the moment and just go lean on the rail and look out onto the water. Need to assess stock all round. Historical society might call soon and if not need to call them.

“...can I help in any way?” The Jennifer asks.

Did she just offer to help? I heard that right...I turn to her slightly.

“Is tiny Jennifer gonna have to choke a Vince?” she queries, sounding so very serious at first.

It's so absurd and yet also hilarious and I would love to see it. Her throwing herself across the desk and wrapping her fingers around his throat. I find myself laughing, gripping the railing tightly with my left hand and just laughing, and then sort of coughing a bit and wheezing as I slow the laugh down and regain my breath. I bash my chest a couple of times and hear.

“Good going if you kill our hired hand,” from the Dwight.

“It wouldn't be the best way to kill him in my arsenal that's for sure,” she retorts.

“I said I didn't want to know what you guys got up to.”

“And I didn't tell you!”

“Do I want to know?” I ask.

“See,” the Jennifer waves a hand in my direction and points a finger at the Dwight who had stood up and walked towards her, “not dead,” she shakes out a shirt and clips it to the laundry line.

“Alright, then,” the Dwight says, “and now that you're apparently not fascinated by my...shirt...what's on the agenda for the day?”

The Jennifer is clipping the last item to the line, “Don't look at me, I don't know his schedule. Also, I have reading to do.”

“I was asking him,” the Dwight says, “You weren't fondling my...shirt.”

“Historical society needs to get back in touch. If they don't in...” I go pick up my phone and check the time, “...about a half hour I'll call them again. I have to call back my other contact,” I set an alarm for that didn't I? I check, “around noon, to see what they dug up.”

“If anything,” the Dwight remarks.

“That dude is stubborn for a challenge like this, and I always keep some of his favorite things on hand. We can take some down in person if need be. He's also cheap. If he thinks he can get a discount out of me for next time he needs something...he's gonna try for it, especially when all he has to do is read,” but he's not his brother. At least I won't have to kill anyone for him.

“What about anything for other people?” the Jennifer asks, “You mentioned Little Tall last night.”

Okay, yes I did, “I haven't heard from them so far, and...” I can math, “...it's getting into evening with them...so chances are nothing doing today unless their middle man is being a shit again,” in which case they forfeit the cargo and I can do what I want with it. At this point I'm kinda hoping their middle man is being a shit. This is not fucking worth it any more, “I do need to double check stock on some trade goods I have,” and count Dave's money never did do that, “but that shouldn't take too long either,” in theory. Please say I've been rationing right...making a drug run right now would be awkward, “Let me get started on that. If the HS call I'll come back on deck.”

%%%%

Dave's money is all present and accounted for, as to be expected. I split it into three uneven piles. Half goes in the safe. Half of that goes in the stash under the bed and the other I put on my person for the day. Then I check the hold marking things on the red phone, verifying the Russians' shit just to make sure I didn't do something stupid, and then the other things I have in the small room.

Signal isn't so great down here, but there's no voice mail chimes either—those would still come through. I find a canvas bag and pull out a few things that might go down well at the historical society given they're the sort probably dig fancy wines, and a things I know sit well with Dave and his weird soda fetishes and a book of old time “post cards”.

I'm aching all across my shoulders and down my back by the time I pull myself back up to the main cabin though, and starting to feel chills. I set the bag down on the table and can't help thinking of all the fun that was had on there and what either the HS peoples or Dave would think knowing their bribes sat on top of that, and get myself a cub of water partly to drink and partly to test. Given part of it spills from shaky hands—well, I needed to check how much of that I had anyway. 

I pull the couch away from the wall and find the panel there. I never fully restocked in there it seems. There's just a packet of needles, which is useful...but no actual stash. I take the needles out though. Don't need to be going behind the couch while the clients are here. I fix the panel back and move the couch back into place, and then give myself a moment before going into the bedroom.

The under bed panel has a small packet left, enough for right now and one more, and I know there's some left in the bathroom, but fuck. I didn't think I'd used that much. I go in there to verify, and yeah, there it is...a couple of days—probably. How has it? I shouldn't ask myself where has it been going. I know where it's been going. I just...fuck.

I find the half carton of cigarettes, and get a packet out, after I cook and draw I soak the remaining cigarettes from the open packet so everything in there is laced. I should probably check my left arm, but I imagine I've taken long enough.

Need to call the Historical Society...haven't heard anything back after all, and it has to have been longer than a half hour.

I shoot between my toes and then put everything back into the bathroom stash except the two packets of cigarettes and my lighter and go back out on deck, trading the contents of my pockets around so that I have the cigarettes away and the blue phone out. Yeah, no calls, nothing going to voice mail even now the signal is back, not even from the Russians or anything from Dave.

Out on deck the Dwight is pacing back and forth and the Jennifer is sitting back in the spot she was before reading. He turns when the door opens looking relieved that something is finally happening.

“Any word?”

“No,” I tell him, “I was just going to call them back. May be easier just to go down there though,” stop you wearing a hole in the deck too.

“I'm up for that,” he says, “Where's your truck?” his expression shifts a little then, “...car?”

I probably give him a weird look much like the one he gave me about the beer, “I...don't...have one?”

He seems a little flustered for a moment.

“Where would I keep it?” I point out, “Boat's not that big.”

The Jennifer makes a noise then, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” the Dwight says, “We were talking about just going in to town to visit the Historical Society in person but...”

“...pretty sure your feet work. You got down here without—you guys don't seem to have a rental.”

“Yeah...but...” the Dwight starts.

She closes her book, “In person is good. If they have maps and charts, I'm going to need to see them myself.”

“Well, then,” I clap my hands together, “Sounds settled to me.”

The Dwight still looks nervous. The Jennifer less so.

She stands up, “Well, I need to put on my actual clothes,” she walks over to feel them, “They seem dry. Can I use your room?”

“Yeah.” I take the rest of the clothes down and given Dwight isn't following me right away I tell him it's okay to come back inside as I go in. He follows and closes the door behind him. I set the clothes down on the couch for the time being and try to remember where I put the back pack, as it'll be easier to carry the bribes into town in that. It's either in the bedroom or in the cupboard where my jacket is, so I check that first.

The Dwight hovers awkwardly by the door, “Anything I can do?”

“No.”

“Didn't think so. Not used to being...superfluous.”

“I'm sure there'll be something at some point.”

No back pack in there, but I bring my jacket out. The Dwight makes a noise which makes me turn to him, but then there is a shot gun in there.

“You're not bringing that?”

“Is there some reason I'd need to? Are we storming the Historical Society? I prefer to bribe people.”

“Good,” he says.

Oookay then. Maybe not so weird that a military guy is leery of guns, especially the idea of some junkie wielding a shotgun all willy nilly. The bedroom door opens and Jennifer comes back out dressed and ready, and I go back in the bedroom to find the back pack.

The clothes Jennifer borrowed are folded on the bed. I put them in the dresser and look around for my boots as well as the pack. I find the pack by the side of the desk, but the boots are nowhere. Well, the Jennifer will know where they are.

“What happened to my boots yesterday?” I ask the Jennifer when I come back into the room.

“They're in the corner,” she points.

I retrieve the boots and get things sorted with that, and then trade things into the back pack, leaving the wine wrapped in the canvas bag for protection and we head out. The Jennifer seems rather disconnected as we're walking and the Dwight keeps putting his hand on her now and then to keep her steady. She must be looking into her Lightscape again. Then we're at the Historical Society building and we go inside to a jingling bell. 

The main room is darkened by curtains on the windows and then lit by lights on the wall. There's a woman sorting some books back on to shelves on the wall on the right hand side and Dave is sitting at a table on the left. He was studying some maps intently but looks up when we walk in. He nods in our direction with an expression on the whole going oh you made that connection and realizing of course these are the clients wanting the information that I asked him for. 

“Can I help you?” the woman asks. 

“I think what we were looking for is out over here,” I tell her, and cross to where Dave is. The Dwight seems torn as to whether he should follow me or follow the Jennifer who is going over to the woman by the books. He opts for going more towards the Jennifer but not completely closing the distance.

“Duke,” Dave remarks, “There are some fascinating things in old maps.”

“I'm sure,” I say, “My clients were sure hoping so and I told them you were the best chance of information otherwise; so, what do you have?”

He gives a slight smile, “I've got quite a few things, but I'm not entirely sure what your clients need. Perhaps I should talk to them.”

“Is that how we are now?” I tell him, “Well, just watch yourself because I don't have to show you what's in the bag.”

“What's in the bag?” he asks.

“I don't have to show you. It all depends on how things go and if the client is satisfied,” though she did seem very satisfied this morning. Haven't gotten a 'wow' in a while, and not one like that anyway. That Norris kid, had apparently had horrible experiences with head, poor guy. Fuck if his mate didn't need a better dope dealer. I'm going to need to make a trip into Derry, aren't I? I doubt anyone has the same numbers any more if they're still in...

“Duke?” Dave says.

“Right,” I say, “You were showing me some things, weren't you?”

But we're interrupted by the Jennifer being lead over by the woman from the wall, Keegan, I think it is.

“Dave,” she says, “this is Jennifer Carver. Miss Carver, Dave Teagues. She's interested in the old legends about the origins of God's Orphans.”

Carver family, hm.

“Ah, really,” Dave stands up and makes a show of shaking hands, “Well, very pleased to meet you Miss Carver. I'll be happy to help. It's under control, Beverly. You can get back to what you were doing.”

“Mr. Teagues. A pleasure. I was able to locate Duke Crocker, as you can see.”

“Yes,” Dave says, nodding in my direction. I rest the back pack on the table, and pat it slightly with one hand, glancing over at the Dwight, and remembering Dave describing them as “the giant and the tiny woman” and trying not to laugh at that, “so I'm going to go out on a limb and guess these are the clients you were having me research for?”

I nod.

“That does make some things a bit easier then,” there's another slight chuckle, “So, you're looking for the Heart of Haven. May I ask why you want to go there?”

“As long as I don't have to answer,” the Jennifer says smoothly making Dave laugh, “Now, I've been doing some research of my own, and I think if we can locate where God's Orphans first appeared, that will help us narrow things down.”

“Very clever! I was thinking the same thing myself. Now, this legend,” he waves a hand over one of the papers on the table, “says they first settled in a place I think is here...” She moves around the table to look at whatever it is that he's pointing out. I look around the room. The Dwight and I catch each other's eye at one point he seems to be looking for something to find interesting. Dave is saying something about “this and that.” and the Jennifer is talking about directions and forest.

Fuck it. I'm going to be pacing worse than Dwight on the deck in a minute. I pick up the back pack to be safe with it and go outside taking one of the sealed pack of cigarettes out of my packet and unwrapping it and then tracking down my lighter, after a moment the Dwight emerges from the building as well. I imagine wanting to make sure I'm not running off. He gives me a nod, as I pull the lighter out of my inside pocket and set things going.

“I'm guessing you don't want one,” I tell him.

“I don't think you take my credit cards,” he says.

“I'm always open to other options of payment,” I point out.

“Also, I don't smoke.”

“Ah, well then,” I sit down and put the back pack beside me, leaning forward to stretch my back as I work on the cigarette, “You don't seem to sit much either.”

“Old habits.”

I snort, blowing smoke through my nostrils. Habits. Right, “I don't think we're going to get ambushed. Unless someone's trailing us that you didn't mention during rate negotiations in which case I'm adding an extra fee.”

“No one is trailing us.”

“Good.”

“Anyway. Maybe they're done,” Dwight says, though he doesn't really sound as though he believes it.

I stand up as he turns back towards the door and opens it. The Jennifer and Dave appear to have been rearranging the maps, all of them are oriented with North up now, but appear to be annoying her greatly. She's muttering at them, something about things not lining up right and there's more than a few choice curse words while Dave just watches like this is some of the post cards I have in the pack.

I look to Dwight to ask if this is normal behavior and if we should just leave them to it but he's got his lips pursed and is staring ahead, after a moment he takes a step inside the door and clears his throat.

After a moment the Jennifer looks over to where we are.

“Heeey, Jennifer,” the Dwight says, “Lunch? You give money? I bring food.”

She fumbles by her for her purse which Dwight takes as a sign to come back into the building and I follow. She's pulled a rather large bundle of notes out of her purse. That is a lot of money and it's been sitting on the boat this whole time. I remind myself that we've already negotiated for a good chunk of it. I don't need to be taking it.

She's handing some of it over to Dwight right now, “Wait,” she says, “What did I just give you?”

“A hundred,” he answers.

“I'm not that hungry. Give it back.”

She gives him two twenties instead.

“What do you want?” the Dwight asks.

“I...um...” she hesitates, “Something that's not going to get the maps dirty?”

“Fair enough,” he says, “I'm sure our...” he glances at me, “companion can help me find something suitable.”

“Sure,” I shrug.

“We'll be back soon,” the Dwight says, but the Jennifer already seems to be lost again.

Dave nods at us, reaching in his pocket for his own wallet and pulling out a twenty of his own, “Grab me something, please,” he says, “Text me where you wind up and I'll text you what I want,” he tells me, though it's Dwight he gives the money to and it all gets put in one of the ex-soldier's pockets and he follows me back outside.

“So,” he says, “What do you think would be best?”

I shrug, “Wraps might be least messy, held together, not greasy, no saucy meat explosions like burritos. Oh, right plus the taco place is kinda too far to walk.”

“Sounds good,” he says.

I stand for a moment trying to remember where things are and hoping nothing's changed in the past eight months.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“Yeah. Just making sure I remember where the place is from here.” Alright, it's this way. I set off.

I can feel the Dwight watching me as we walk as though and a few times it feels like he's going to say something but then he doesn't and instead looks around the streets.

“Sooo,” he eventually says, “How far away is this place?”

I shrug. I don't really remember times for walking places. It's usually in terms of cigarettes and that's not going to help him.

“Where are we going?”

That's not really going to help him either, but I guess he's wanting conversation and can't think of anything else to say, “The Kiwi. They do paninis, sandwiches, wraps and that type of thing,” I text Dave while I think about it, give him time to make up his old man mind while we're walking.

“How much do you know about the town?” Dwight asks, a few houses later.

I shrug, “Bits and pieces. Mostly what you learn in school. Founded by the Native Americans somehow and then the white settlers and intermingling...and then the urban legends, of course. Troubles come and go about every 27 years,”

“In Haven anyway,” he says.

“Very true,” I answer, “Very true, but they're here for two or three and then they go, until it starts again. Case in point, '81-'83 was a spectacle and now they're back,” and so am I. I lead him across a street and on to the next one, “I take it that has something to do with you guys' little quest?”

“Something like that.”

“Yeah, sorry, breaking my don't question the clients' reasons rule, but there's just something...” I shake my head.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“I'm just—don't worry about it,” I wave a hand in his direction. This is what happens when you spend all this time high: people remind you of dead people—long dead people. It's masochism.

“Okay,” he says, sounding both confused and bemused.

“We're almost there. You should probably just go in and order whatever. I'll wait outside.”

“You don't want anything?”

“I'm not their type of clientele.”

“That didn't answer the question,” he says.

My cell phone chimes, indicating Dave has answered the text with his order as I pull it out of my pocket the Dwight says, “Jennifer will tan my hide if I don't get you something.”

I look over at him, “What?”

He puts his hands up, “I've seen what she can do when she's angry. I do not want to make the tiny woman angry, and she's made it clear she wants you to have food. So, what do you want?”

The giant is afraid of the Jennifer. Disquieting.

“They have a good Thai Chicken wrap,” I consent.

“Alright, done,” he says, “That might be good for Jennifer too.”

“Dave wants something called the Tomato and Havarti Cheese sandwich.”

The Dwight nods, “Okay. I'll go in and order. If you insist on waiting outside just...stay where I can see you.”

“Fine.” 

He goes into the cafe and I stand outside and lean against a tree, lighting up one of the laced cigarettes while I'm waiting and go through the blue phone to see what contacts I have that are still active and still active dealers in this area. This is going to be an obnoxious amount of texting. I've got through about eight messages and the cigarette is done by the time Dwight emerges from the building, ready to leave and the only replies I've gotten are two error messages of “number no longer exists,” and one “what the hell is that sposed to mean? Who is this?” This is why we talk in code. I put the phone away and we start the walk back. 

The Dwight walks faster now that food has been achieved and seems to have good memory of the path we took and how to get back to the Historical Society Building. After a little while he slows down apologizing for moving faster than I can keep up. Man on a mission and blah-blah.

“I don't think she's timing you,” I point out, “Seems like she's less on this plane of reality than I am.”

“You might have a point there.”

“Maybe I should just jump on your back,” I tell him, “Seems like it wouldn't slow you down any.”

He gives me a sideways glance but doesn't actually say anything in answer to that. We continue on the walk mostly in silence except for a couple of chimes from my phone which I don't check.

As I hold the door to the Historical Society open for the Dwight I can't help but wonder what he would do if I smacked him on the ass but there's a distraction of the Jennifer cursing, “Son of a mother-fucking-bitch,” from inside the room and as I follow Dwight inside I see her slapping the book against her head over and over.

“Oh, we're at that stage,” the Dwight remarks as I close the door. The Keegan woman seems to have retreated out of the room. She's nowhere around at all.

I walk over to where Dave is at, “It's not so bad as all that--” he starts to say but then she gets up and starts banging her head against the wall.

The Dwight doesn't seem all that concerned though. He's set the bag of drinks down on one of the chairs and is rooting through the other one.

Jennifer lets out a frustrated growl and turns to us and the Dwight offers a bag of food in her direction, “Thai Chicken Wrap?” he says, simply.

“Yes, thank you,” she says, and comes over to take it and then sits down at the table a little bit away from the maps and things they have laid out on the table. 

The Dwight begins rooting through the rest of the bag as I sit down across from the Jennifer to check my phone messages. There turn out to be a couple of prospects but as much as I want to now is not the time to call people back. Dave accepts his sandwich, which is jingling because there's change in the bag and another bag is plopped down in front of me.

“Oh, good,” the Jennifer says, “You bought him food. I meant to tell you to do that but I was a bit busy.”

“See?” the Dwight tells me.

“Alright,” I consent, “Well, thank you.”

“There's an assortment of chips in the bag,” Dwight says, “and drinks over here. Bottled water, and some apple juice.”

Dave accepts an apple juice. I take a water, as I rip open the bag and check the wrap.

“Should I ask if that was good or bad cursing?” I ask the Jennifer, “I'm sure Dave is curious. His access to things in the back pack does hinge on the client's satisfaction after all. Though if she worked it out herself without your help are you really deserving?”

“Now, now,” Dave starts as I pick a few pieces of chicken and carrot out of the wrap and eat them, “It's not as if I've just been sitting here reading the funny pages.” 

Dwight actually sits down, but then he is about to tuck into a BLT. He opens a bag of chips as well, and a bottle of water, which he drinks a good third of.

“Found the Heart of Haven,” the Jennifer says around a mouthful of wrap.

The Dwight stops before actually taking a bite of his sandwich, “That's good, right?”

“And he did inadvertently lead me to figure out where it was,” she says of Dave, “Turns out I knew all along but I was over-thinking things,” she pauses for a moment, “It's complicated.”

“Or...” The Dwight says, finally eating.

“Does inadvertently count?” I ask. The blue phone on the table rings and vibrates, one of the dealer numbers calling, but again, not quite the right time. I swipe it to voice mail.

“It's the lighthouse,” The Jennifer continues, “It's so obvious, I don't know why I missed it.”

“Which lighthouse?”

The Jennifer is chewing on a big bite of wrap so she waves about for one of the maps which Dave carefully moves towards her and she points to thankfully not Beatty's lighthouse, I imagine that might make things awkward. Hi, Beatty, don't mind us, we just need to rifle through your things and look for something because of the God's Orphans, carry on.

She swallows and glances at Dave, “He would have found it for me eventually, I just happened to recognize it first.”

I suppose that counts, and keeping Dave on the good side is always, well, good.

“Well, it makes it easier that no one lives in that one,” my phone starts chiming again, same number. I swipe it to voice mail. Maybe business is slow for the guy, or he's been compromised and really wants to catch me.

“Lives?” she asks.

“Yeah, the harbor master lives in the other lighthouse.”

 “Oh,” she says.

The blue phone starts ringing again and I pick it up, “Okay, this dude is—and I do really need to sort out this merchandise so I'm just gonna,” I stand up and answer it, “Excuse me. Sorry. Yes?” I say into the phone.

“You want stuff but you ignore me,” I just know him as Brent asks.

“I was with a client about something else.” I start to walk.

“Uh-huh,” he says, “and cash?”

“If you really want me to pay the other way,” I get to the door, “but cash lasts longer,” I go outside.

“I don't want to get up there or send some one else up there and find out it's a bust.”

“I would send you a picture but you'd say I could have found that online.”

“Well, you could.”

“What do you want? With a newspaper or something like a ransom note. I can throw in extra. I told you how much I want. That would take a hell of a lot of sex.”

“Even from you.”

“I appreciate the compliment. Brent, seriously. I've been out of town, for a while, and I'm going to be stuck here for longer than I want. I have other people on the line. You called like a desperate house wife...do you want more than money?”

He doesn't say anything.

“I do have a client they've been here since yesterday, and I have a cargo dump but believe me I'll make the time.”

“Do you have a mighty need?” he asks.

Ugh. I lean the back of my head against the window of the building, “Yes,” I tell him, “I have a mighty need.”

“Good,” he says, “I'll text you a location. Get rid of the other hooks you have out.”

“Of course.” I go back inside, “I look forward to hearing from you.” I hang up the phone and put it in my pocket. The room is quiet, too quiet. They were talking when I closed the door behind me, I know they were, but now there's just this over hanging of silence broken only by chewing, but I've only taken two steps into the room when the Jennifer claps her hands together.

“Well,” she says, brightly cheerful compared to the cloudiness that was there just a moment before, “Ready to earn the rest of that money? Take a minute to eat while Dave puts the maps and charts away and then I think we're good to go.”

The giant is afraid of the tiny woman I remind myself and go and sit down where I was before and take a couple more pieces of chicken.

The Dwight is rustling his way through a bag of chips, “Business go alright?” he asks, but he seems cautious, like he's not entirely sure why he's asking.

“S'Fine,” I tell him, given I'm not sure why he gives a shit either, “It's not going to interfere with anything,” maybe that's why he asked.

“How fast can you get us to the lighthouse?” the Jennifer asks.

I look over at her, “We can take the Ursa won't take long at all.” No more walking. No way.

“Good,” she says, shoving the book in her purse like she's sheathing a sword to go into battle, “Let's go.”

What the fuck is going to happen at this lighthouse?

“Uh, Miss Carver...” I wonder if Dave thought the same thing as worried as he sounds.

“I believe your business is with him,” she all but snaps, indicating me, “Thank you for your assistance and your continued silence.”

What the hell does she have on Dave? I grab the pack though, because that's the reward he's looking for, and go to sort that stuff out so we can get on the water in case we get to that stuff that makes the Dwight nervous. Dave is appeased with a few of the old time post cards photograph type things I've managed to track down. The early mail order porn type stuff, and then there's some of the glass bottle soda, which I let him have three of. He knows there's more of it now, which is a good starting point for next time either of us needs something and has to negotiate.

Then it's back to the docks and off. Neither the Dwight nor the Jennifer is much for conversation with each other on the trip there. They sit, well, she sits and he stands, on the deck as I'm prepping and then piloting and stare off or occasionally at each other, clearly whatever this business is, it's now super serious. I can see I'm taking weapons with me when we make land, moreso than I would have any way. It's an easy does it pulling along side the causeway by the lighthouse just in case, and then dropping anchor and the Dwight helping me lay the gangplank across the rocks so there's the least amount of treacherous to walk on to get to the actual straight land.

The Jennifer stalks across like she's marching to war. I look around as we follow her the ten or so feet towards the lighthouse and try to listen...this there's nothing, makes me nervous. She did say “nothing like New Orleans, didn't she?” and those can't come back now.

“Is it there?” the Dwight asks her.

Is what there? Oh, this must be some of the Lightscape shit.

“No, but this is where it will be when I summon it,” she tells him.

Oh, summoning, that's even better, nothing can possibly go wrong with summoning things, have you not seen any movie ever? “Um...what exactly are you summoning?” I ask her, so glad that I bring weapons as a matter of course, lighting one of the non-laced cigarettes, don't need to be seeing things if I have to use those though.

“A door.”

Oh, yes, thank you for that helpful explanation. There are tons of doors everywhere, and if it is a door it's not so much that you're summoning one as what's on the other side or can come through it. Do not think about the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man, Ray. Do not ask who is the keymaster.

“I'm sorry,” I hear as I'm looking around again, is that the Jennifer? Her voice sounds odd, and the Dwight looks grim too. She looks like she's about to cry. If she's going to get sacrificed then there's going to be a big problem. He might be a fucking wall, but I will find a way to take him down, “I'm sorry I can't stay. I wish I didn't have to leave you here, I really wish I didn't, but there's something really important you have to do, and you'll know when it's time,” right, important, like all those fucking Guard job—but, oh fuck, she is crying, “You'll see me again, baby, I promise,” this is this tiny crazy girlfriend/boyfriend thing again, it has to be, because there's nothing and no other anything.

She's looking up at me like she's expecting something, “Sure. Right,” I tell her because maybe she'll stop the nonsense.

“You'll see me again,” she says.

Of course. Repeat clients are one thing, but she's acting like this is some weird romantic fairy tale, that costs a hell of a lot extra.

“And when you do things will be better,” with what magic brush? “I know you don't believe me, and that's okay, but it's true,” and she's kissing me, that hand knotting in hair desperate kissing though her other hand is scrabbling something at me.

She folds my fingers over something and backs away, saying something about need and taking care of myself. Right.

“What is going on?” I demand, pointing at her for an answer, but that was money she apparently put in my hand—that is a lot of money, definitely more than they owe me. I put it in my pocket before she changes her mind.

“Goodbye, Duke,” she says, “I'm sorry. I love you.”

No. I feel like I'm going to throw up and everything is upside down for a moment as though I'm on a rubber band that got snapped, and a good half of my head is just shaking because no. No. No. Crazy lady. I am not getting sucked into that. People randomly look like people and I am not that high. That would take a hell of a lot...even for me.

I sit on the ground trying to regain my bearings. My head is ringing. How can the whole world snap like that? Why am I even asking this? This is Haven. I go for the laced cigarettes, there are still a couple of those left and then my blue phone. It wasn't so long since, and it's going to look desperate from my end now but fuck it, where's the number Brent called me from?  I somehow don't think he'll actually mind if I come crawling to where ever the hell he is and ask to crawl into a hole for a while especially if I do actually have money as well.

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.”