FIC: [Haven] Shattered (Unbreakable #3), part 3. Duke/Nathan (Explicit)

[roseveare]

Summary: After everything that has happened, with William and Audrey temporarily removed from the equation, Nathan and Duke have a brief window to try and fix their relationship, while Dwight and Nathan and HPD try to fix Haven, and figure out where they all go from here.

Duke/Nathan - explicit - ~28,000 words



3. Three Days Grace

The bitterest pill is that there's nothing he can do. William's sleeping. Audrey took him out. Nathan can't go to him and demand why? Can't pound his fists into that smug face anyway, waking or sleeping, to get any kind of satisfaction.

Dwight makes him sit alone in an interview room for half an hour and drink two cups of vending machine soup and a coffee sugared to the point of being actively unpleasant to swallow, but it's not much of an addition of substance.

He takes his pills again, late. The soft tissue inflammation in his throat must be subsiding a little on its own; he didn't feel it as much, this time. The pain that lines his body is a reminder he can't escape from. He wishes he was numb again, free to ignore it and let it all pass him by.

Dwight comes in eventually, quietly, a soft snick at the door. Nathan doesn't know what Anna Benedict said, but Dwight is walking on eggshells around him now. That doesn't exactly make Nathan feel any more together.

"What?" Nathan asks sharply, and decides that if Dwight tries to ask whether he's okay or play counsellor, he's going to punch him and damn the consequences. At least that way he can prove there's still life in him yet.

"You need to go see Gloria," Dwight says neutrally. "She came back earlier, saw you with the psychiatrist, and said she figured she better let things be, since it seemed the first bright idea you'd had in weeks. Her words. She doesn't know what you were doing."

His exasperation is not critical -- after all, if William can warp their thoughts, it was something they all needed to know.

"I'm sending you home," Dwight adds. It's almost four o'clock anyway, and by the time Nathan's seen Gloria it won't be knocking a lot off the day. "Anna wants to put a word in for you with the Guard," and there's a faint widening of his eyes at the surprise of that decision, "so it might not actually have been the worst idea you ever had."

But it has put him out of the action again. It's obvious even to Nathan that he's useless right now.

"You don't have to go home to Duke." Dwight says that in an angry burst. Nathan just looks at him. "I can get someone else to tell him what you've found out. It doesn't have to be you." Dwight's flattening tone indicates him giving up even while his lips are still moving.

"It's not Duke's fault." Nathan pushes the plastic cups and the empty pill cases into the centre of the table and stands up. He has to control himself to do it -- fast or aggressive movement will have him on his ass. "He was trying to help." It's possible to make a case that Nathan was the one who did this to him; too ready to embrace his own descent, too willing to let Duke overstep the bounds of reason. He is the one who courts destruction. Duke just wants to run his bar, crack jokes, hang with Nathan and be normal.

Duke needs him there right now, above all else, to prove that Duke didn't break him.

Nathan shuts his eyes and breathes. Last night was fine. This morning... had its hiccups. But it was awkward and angry, where it fell down, not scary, except for that one wakening freak-out in the night.

He can tell that Dwight is wondering about the value of sending him home at all if it means he goes back to the Cape Rouge. Dwight, from his pondering expression, may well be thinking about keeping him there: locking him up, if he has to, to stop him going back to Duke.

"I'm all right," Nathan says cagily, with the sudden urge to get out fast. He spent a night pinned at mad!Duke's mercy. Before that, his life has been ruled by the dictates of the Guard. Being locked up for his own good at this point, he suddenly thinks, will be the final straw that sends him completely over the edge. "I'll go see Gloria."

Dwight steps back and opens the door for him. "I'll get Stan to take you to the morgue in a patrol car, and wait to take you home after that." He sighs slightly on the word home.

Nathan could go home, he realises. He could go back to his own place, and ask Duke to join him there. There's no food, but he could order a take-out meal. The worst of the last two weeks took place on the Rouge. It isn't a bad idea, for neutral territory. "All right." Stan, he's sure, will report back everything he does, and Dwight may even send someone to do a few drive-bys through the course of the evening.

Dwight is so careful with him on the way out of the station that Nathan really does start to wonder what Dr Benedict said. At least Stan just cheerfully talks sports results to him on the way to the morgue. Nathan missed two weeks of those, so he's interested and it's a tiny chink of normality to cling to.

Stan stays in the car, sketching an encouraging wave, and Nathan painfully makes his way once again up the long line of steps.

William awaits him in the morgue. So does Audrey, but she's... back in the shadows, at this point, not so prominent as her evil, male mirror. Nathan can't help but think first about William. About wanting to curl his hands around the throat of William, and squeeze hard until all life leaves it.

He can't do that.

"Hey, there, Nathan." Gloria fusses over him, too nice by far. She sits him down and feels all around his throat with her bony hands. Hands on his neck make Nathan want to throw up. It wasn't like this when she examined him yesterday. If he had left the experience coated by that haze, he wouldn't have learned anything, he reminds himself. They'd still think they did this to themselves. Knowing is worth more.

His breathing concerned Gloria the most before, but she seems to come away satisfied. She checks his pulse, his eyes, his reflexes, and hrms inconclusively. She checks and re-straps his ribs.

Most of Nathan's attention remains on the sleeping figure on the gurney at the back of the room.

"Where's Audrey?" he eventually asks, dry-mouthed, as Gloria finishes.

She flaps a bit, uncharacteristically embarrassed. "I put her in the store cupboard. They were giving me the creeps, side by side. If I had the resources I'd put her the other side of town. You try walking in when they're both breathing in sync and then they twitch in their sleep and stop still at the exact same time."

Ice runs down Nathan's spine. "Can't we move her across town? Or... at least put William in a cell..." Which will mean Nathan has access to him, and is perhaps not a good idea considering how murderous fantasies cry from the back of his mind for attention.

"I'm trying to run tests on William," Gloria says caustically. "Audrey might not appreciate that too much. They both also need regular 24 hour supervision while they're under. Find me anyone else medically qualified to do it."

"Lucassi..." Was leaving, but Nathan isn't sure he's gone yet. "His problem is with corpses."

"Hunh," Gloria admits. "You look into that, then. I'll be right here, babysitting."

"You're sleeping here?" Nathan asks.

"No shortage of beds. Though the climb up and down gives grief to my hip." She eyes him and grunts. "Don't worry about it tonight. Dwight told me you're off the clock. Go home, get some sleep yourself."

Nathan wonders if Anna Benedict has enough physical medical experience to do it, though he'd rather Lucassi. He might have trusted her with his brain but he'd rather not trust her with Audrey.

"I'm gonna fix you up with some more pills," Gloria declares. "Stay there. Don't touch anything."

As soon as she's off, rummaging, Nathan is up and standing over William. His hand moves over the sleeping man's throat. He thinks of Audrey and his hand just hovers there, trembling.

Nathan wonders if he could castrate him without hurting Audrey. It strikes him as possible, and it also strikes him as fitting, after what William engineered.

In the end, he only curls his hand beneath the other man's chin, heavily enough that he hopes William can tell his neck is being held, down in the depths of his twisted dreams; can tell and know for one moment that his life is in Nathan's hands. He leans down and hisses next to William's ear, "I will find a way to kill you."

William sleeps, oblivious. Nathan can't rail and shout, though he wants to. William took from him the physical capacity to really show himself up. He starts to turn his back, and that's when Gloria comes back in.

"What are you doing?" she asks instantly, sharply.

Nathan raises both hands in a gesture of innocence and keeps his back to her and a sullen silence while she checks William over anyway.

"Can I see Audrey?" he asks, finally turning.

"I guess that's a fair request. But no funny stuff." She berates him in advance.

There's not a lot he can say to an Audrey who lies still and sleeping, but there's so much he needs to say. He leans against the gurney, energy sapped by the day even though most of it was spent sitting down, and he settles for stroking her face gently. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry."

She came back to Haven and found him with Duke. She let him live and lost him. At that time, he would have gone to Audrey. She would have killed him, and the Troubles would have been over. Instead, as Lexie, she drove him back to Duke and refused to put a bullet in his heart.

Nathan wonders if it will still work. But since the Teagues found the riddle and Jennifer saw the human-eyed crabs, that course has been abandoned as a way to end the Troubles. Audrey loving him, if she still does, is irrelevant to everyone but himself and Audrey.

And Duke.

Faithfulness is something he has failed at spectacularly. He always thought of himself as an honourable man, as someone who would do the right thing. He supposes holding convictions like that wasn't a matter of choice until, unprecedentedly and bizarrely, he found people queuing up to love him. Audrey, Sarah, Jordan, Duke. Maybe it's a sad thing -- he's so starved of affection he's just incapable of saying no.

He gives Audrey's hair a last stroke, imagining it blonde. Then he pulls his hand away and steps back. The world reels and rocks beneath his feet. Gloria catches his shoulder.

She walks him to the front door, and calls Stan up with a sharp whistle to help him down the steps.

***

Nathan goes home -- food for Dwight's spy ring -- and sends a text to Duke from his couch to let him know he's there.

Duke doesn't come. Nathan falls asleep on the couch and wakes up after 8pm, to find a reply from Duke that says he's going back to the Cape Rouge and he'll let Nathan have his own space tonight.

Nathan sits and stares at it, knocked back by confusion. Dwight must have got to him. Nathan starts to form an angry reply, then realises he can't do this by text message, or by phone, but he takes the phone back out again as he's stopped on the front doorstep by the absence of the Bronco. He phones a taxi.

He arrives at Duke's boat in a foul mood, a long way from conducive to negotiations. He's ready to go over to Dwight and tear him a new one for interfering after Nathan explicitly expressed his intention to stay with Duke.

Duke's locked him out -- which spikes more anger, even though it's right and reasonable that the doors should be locked, because Duke has enemies in Haven. Nathan bangs on the metal door with his right fist, the only one he can lift that high, hard enough to put fresh bruises on the edges of his palm.

There's a yell of, "Hang on!" from within. A moment later, Duke opens the door with a gun in his hand. He lowers the gun instantly but Nathan's eyes catch the split second where his face freezes. "Nathan. You--"

"What the hell did Dwight say?" The volume he's trying for is too much for his throat. His voice disappears in the first word and comes out in a scrape as he fixes it in time for the last two words.

"Dwight?" Duke asks blankly. Fear lines his face. Maybe this is not what Nathan assumed.

Words fail. He wants to know, Why don't you want me? Nathan is trying his best. Maybe there's nothing left of interest, after Duke had him in every way possible, under the throes of madness -- but that can't be it. He knows it can't. They're more than that. He's been trying so hard, the last thing he expected was for Duke to be the one to back off.

He's not sure how much of that shows in his face, but Duke stammers, in fast panic, "I-- I'm sorry, man, I just wanted to give you space. It doesn't feel right if I'm pushing myself on you, after what happened. You went over there. I was kind of relieved. I figured that was easier. I wasn't trying to--" He swallows, pulls it down to something more level. "To ditch you. Or anything like that. I want to be with you. It's just that right now, I don't know how. Those things I did... the blood might not be a factor any more, but I still did them. I don't know if I'm doing more damage."

If Duke hasn't seen Dwight, he doesn't yet know that it wasn't him who did the damage.

Nathan's rage collapses. He reaches in and grips Duke's arm, the one holding the forgotten gun to the floor. "There's something important I need to tell you."

"All right," Duke gulps. Nathan can feel him shaking, even through his jersey. Duke lets him in, turns and hesitantly breaks the hold on his arm to lock the door after both of them. They walk down into the galley. "Do you want to drink?" Duke asks, grabbing a bottle from a cupboard.

Nathan wants to sit down. He does, then shakes his head and explains, "Painkillers. You go ahead."

Duke pours himself a tumbler of the scotch Nathan likes, from the bottle he already got out, then sits down too. Nathan lets the tumbler rise and then clunk back on the surface of the table before he mounts a campaign to catch Duke's fingers. Even in the midst of all this, so much horror and wrongness alongside it, he can at least find relief and some recompense in feeling Duke's fingers.

Nathan tells him about the psychiatrist. About dissecting the last two weeks of their lives. About William's goo-balls being inside their heads -- Duke's head for certain.

When he's finished, Duke swears and says, "You idiot. It should have been me. Setting aside even the fact I can't believe you let the Guard muck around in your brain, it should've been me." Then he goes quiet, and sits and rocks slowly in place, face pale, eyes staring into nothing.

Nathan blinks. In the moment, that option had never occurred to him. But, no. Nathan might have had to relive being cast as the victim, but Duke's blood-madness would have been worse, and remains a real enough issue without any need for William's influence. The last thing they need is anything that could tip him further over the edge. Better for Duke that it all stays as blurred as possible.

But since the point is academic now, he doesn't say that. He watches Duke carefully and tries not to worry about how long it's taking to absorb this. It's a major shift. It changes things. It's not unreasonable to give Duke more time. Nathan clasps and rubs his hands, waiting.

"So I killed you as--" Duke finally starts to ask.

"As you, but we both knew that anyway. The rest was not you."

"But it could've been." Duke's long indrawn breath is loud. "This is still dangerous. Being with you--"

"I'm not Troubled," Nathan reminds him.

"The habit of you," Duke asserts, anguished. "Things... things that have taken root. If I were to--"

"You won't," Nathan growls, inasmuch as he can.

"What if William does that to us again? What if he Troubles you again?"

"I'm not going to run from hypotheticals," Nathan says, though his heart shudders at the thought of William getting hold of either of them, after this proof of just what he can do. They did not take him seriously enough before. Treated him as a dangerous clown. Not enough fear for the realities. "Right now, William's asleep. We have time to fix this. To at least know where we are, before Audrey... Before we have to deal with Audrey. You said everything that needed to be said last night." He heaves a breath. This is getting difficult. These are things Nathan Wuornos doesn't say. "I don't want this to be the note we go out on."

"No," Duke agrees slowly, giving him a look that is strange. "Nor me, Nathan." He lifts their hands and kisses Nathan's. "It's almost funny. I try to let you go, and you come over here like a force of nature to throw it back at me." Nathan's heart does a fearful somersault, the kind he used to feel even when he couldn't feel. Duke clarifies, "It was just meant to be space, only for this evening. I was... afraid, though. Last night, we were so desperate to push. Today I started to think... we were just fooling ourselves. I don't want to lose you, but trying to hang on feels selfish, after everything."

"It's not selfish if I want it too." Nathan's voice is playing up again. He feels his hands, wrapped and caressed, in Duke's hands, and his eyes drift shut, leaving him with the sensation overtaking everything. "You know exactly how much of an asshole I am when it comes to things like this. If you try to run, I'll come after you with the cuffs."

Duke makes a choked noise. Nathan opens his eyes and is aghast to discover him crying, real tears, red eyes and snot, far from Hollywood sobs and a few artful moisture sparkles. He's crying as he presses his face into their clasped hands.

Nathan ditches the barrier of the table between them, standing awkwardly, manoeuvring around. Duke remembers Nathan's broken ribs and curls arms around his waist. Nathan puts hands on Duke's bowed head and promises, "I'm going to kill William." Adds the qualifier, "Somehow." He can still shoot a gun, even in his current crappy condition. The problem is separating William from Audrey to do it.

"You say the most romantic things," Duke mumbles, head lifting slightly, to Nathan's utter relief. "Then again, it's you. And by the way, I am going to help."

"Fine by me." As long as he doesn't use his Trouble to do it. But Duke's more than the Crocker Curse, and he can hold a gun, too. "...Tomorrow," Nathan adds. Going back home feels unnecessary and exhausting, but he left everything on when he charged over. "Do you want to come back to mine? Get Chinese delivered. Watch TV."

Duke makes an interested grunt and digs his face out from Nathan's waist. "Did you TIVO any of the matches we missed while we were obsessed and insane? Or just thirty hours of crime procedurals?"

Nathan has both, but he thinks he'll let Duke have his way and opt for the sports tonight, even though Stan's probably already told him all the results.

***

It's strange -- or bitterly ironic -- to think that their relationship has been so much based on the physical all the while Nathan couldn't feel, and now that he can feel again, they're half afraid to touch each other.

He lies on the couch propped by the same cushions he left earlier, having found the best position to support his neck and upper chest with minimum pain, while Duke doles out the take-out. In Nathan's case, that's a carton of Miso soup and some softer pieces of beef and noodles that Duke picks out for him. Nathan pulls up his feet, Duke sits carefully at the other end of the couch, and they eat. The Red Sox start to lose badly, the end scoreline already indelible in Nathan's mind. Maybe Duke's, too. It's always possible Duke also had the scores today and is humouring him in return.

They've been picking at the remnant of their meal a while when Duke gets up and puts both their near-empties aside, then comes back to sit as before. He strokes a finger over the sole of Nathan's foot, across the ridge below the join of his toes, and shoots him a questioning look, brows lifting.

There is still fear in his eyes.

Nathan nods very slightly. He uncurls his knees and gives his feet over for Duke to pull onto his lap. Duke peels down the socks he helped put on this morning. Nathan's feet look uglier than usual in this room's bright light. Duke encloses his hands around the slightly misshapen toes and holds them there, warming painful joints, letting the heat in his palms sink in. Nathan sighs, and as Duke's hands start to move, feels the rest of his body relaxing.

Tension, draining out, carries with it some of the pain. He did not realise he was so tensed up. He thought he'd already been relaxing. Duke rubs his thumbs down the centre of one foot, and nerves all over the rest of Nathan's body suddenly seem to have a direct line to it. Nathan shudders, and Duke does it again. Unintentionally, Nathan flexes the heel of his other foot into Duke's groin as he groans this time.

Duke makes a startled but happy little noise. He looks up with a light in his eyes that's delightedly silly and mischievous, almost like Duke again.

Nathan flexes and focuses. He feels... the catch of metal between his big and first toes... He tries to snag and pull but loosens the zip only a little before the grip fails. Tries again. The zip makes a long noise as he draws it down. He can only get halfway, from this angle, until Duke turns and bends one knee up onto the couch. "I really don't know if I should be doing this," he admits, pausing, eying Nathan's dubiously, and lightens it by adding, "Kind of embarrassing if I ever have to admit I had Foot Sex."

"It's probably the only bit of me that doesn't hurt," Nathan reaffirms wryly. It's a lie, but his feet at least hurt with an old, familiar pain, and that's almost comforting in its own way. "Oh, come on, this is almost normal, for us." And it's safe, silly, and non-penetrative. Nathan works Duke's zip down the last fraction and knows he could not have done it without sensation. To some extent, this is as much about the challenge as anything else. He picks at the button on Duke's jeans, screwing up his toes.

"Fine," says Duke, groaning like it's a chore but grinning like an idiot. Desperate things also remain in that grin, but Nathan focuses on his foot. "We will do Foot Sex." Duke picks up the foot he's holding, raises it higher, and nuzzles it against his chin, scratchy stubble and soft hair. Nathan makes a sound, overwhelmed by texture on the sensitive skin. Duke licks him, just on the arch, working his tongue into the hollow there, and he hisses at the unexpected addition.

"Can you..." Duke hesitates. "Can you touch yourself?"

Nathan... well, he can, but he's happy not to. It comes to him anew how they've never not been about sex.

"You couldn't even feel your own hand," Duke adds, "for nearly four years. I want to see you touch yourself."

Nathan isn't sure why Duke would need that, the way his eyes say he needs it, but he reaches for his own zip with both hands.

"You don't have to," Duke says quickly, reversing.

Nathan eyerolls and slides a hand inside his jeans, but doesn't do anything except move his fingers slowly over his length, sliding his little finger and thumb back to touch his balls while the rest of his hand cups lightly. His breathing tightens. There is sensation. There is control. He doesn't need anyone else... Audrey... even Duke... to do it for him anymore.

He keeps his hand there, feeling boneless, and explores Duke with his foot, peeling aside annoying fabric, trying to unfurl him from his jeans. The attempt ends in an, "uh," and "ow," and then a swift, guilty dive of Duke's fingers to resolve the puzzle.

"Is this foot clean?" Duke asks suspiciously of the one he's holding against his chest, and just licked.

Nathan laughs at him. "It was this morning."

Duke, who is sometimes amusingly fastidious, wrinkles his nose and goes back to kneading it with his fingers. Nathan curls his other toes around Duke's shaft, and copies the contact with the hand on his own cock, reminding himself what that feels like, exactly that. Not having to try and mimic life anymore. Being able to feel it out for himself. Because if it doesn't work, he can change the angle, know just where to apply pressure to make Duke buck his hips despite himself. "Ngh. Oh, God. You are such a freak of nature."

No, he's perfectly normal, now.

"Give me a foot massage, Duke. No hands allowed," he orders. It's half a ploy, because he can't move energetically enough to do much more than he's already doing. But Duke draws up his thighs to compress around Nathan's foot, and thrusts upwards into the arch with his hardening cock, taking on the challenge. Nathan's other foot gets hugged but mostly forgotten between his fingers.

Duke comes panting and half laughing. He's still not without those traces of desperation, but maybe it's... less... "I don't even. What even was that?" he mocks.

Nathan sighs. His neck rolls back and he could almost sleep. He didn't come, and there's a tension in his genitals, but it's poised between comfort and discomfort. He never got completely hard to start with. In a way it feels kind of nice. He can lie back and feel real, if he can just let himself forget the how and the why.

On the big screen TV, the game has been thoroughly lost, though quarter of an hour of play remains. Neither of them could care less about missing it.

"Come on." Duke tugs at Nathan's legs. "You're half asleep already. Let's go to bed." He grimaces. "I'll wash your foot."

***

Since they went to bed early, they shouldn't wake at a normal time, but they do, testament to how exhausted they've both been.

Nathan lies still, contemplating his pills on the living room coffee table downstairs, and it's half an hour before his shallow breathing has turned into a serious enough problem that he pokes Duke awake with his toes. "Pills," he says, succinctly. "Table. Downstairs."

Duke rolls out of bed like a shot and goes to bring them back, along with a glass of water.

"Idiot," he says, lying on his face next to Nathan and sliding a hand over him, distracting him with comforting, light touches, and doesn't leave again to get morning coffee until another half-hour has passed and Nathan's breathing has started to normalise. He slides a hand over Nathan's hip in a firmer grip and asks, "Okay now?" before he leaves.

Which starts the day with both of them shaken and scared, but Duke comes back to bed with the coffees, and by that time Nathan's managed to get himself out of bed, to the bathroom and back, and is sitting up.

"This sucks," Duke says, handing him a mug. "And I just realised I topped up your coffee with cold water. Habit. Sorry."

"It's fine." He's been so used to temperature not being a part of the equation that hot food is weird to him now anyway.

"I got..." Duke scratches his head, and exudes frustration. He sits cross-legged on top of the covers and picks his own mug from the night stand again to sip at it. "All this time, I thought I was trying to keep in mind that your Trouble didn't mean you didn't hurt, just that you didn't feel it. Now I realise part of me was still thinking of you as invulnerable, in a way, all along."

Nathan doesn't know what to do with that admission, so he just sips at his lukewarm coffee.

"Sorry," Duke says again. "It's weird."

"Stop apologizing." Nathan's voice is husky after the breathing attack. "Stop feeling guilty." It's starting to make him cross. How dare Duke be on edge, making things so much more difficult, when Nathan is the one who got hurt? He just wants things to be normal between them again. "I'm the one who did this to you, too. We know what my blood did."

They drink coffee., Duke does some yoga stretches, changing his posture on top of the mattress. Nathan sits still.

"What's it like?" Duke asks, head upside-down, back arched. "Feeling again?"

Nathan groans gently. The pillows are soft against his back, but there's a knot in the centre of it. His ass is going numb from sitting, but not the real sort of numb, just the pins-and-needles version of it which is far too much sensation to come near the word. His injured ribs and neck send out pulses of pain that tell him all the pills haven't quite finished taking effect yet. There's insistent sensation centred below his belly. "Right now? It hurts, and I need the bathroom, but getting up means moving my neck or compressing my ribs."

"Huh."

It's an evasion, but maybe he can break it to Duke by increments that he didn't want this.

Duke attacks the situation practically, though. "Here, let's get you up. It's about muscle groups, what to use and what not to. You might have to re-learn some stuff, after this long without pain to guide you. You can raise your right arm, can't you? So do that... Use that arm to support your head." He moves Nathan's hand and elbow. "The left one you can use for leverage to push up, if the pain's not too bad. Try to hold your back muscles still, here, and move from the lower abdomen and hips."

It's still hard, but it's better. Nathan stumbles off to the bathroom again. When he comes back, Duke watches him cross the room, serious and considering. "You really might need occupational therapy. Not just because of the injuries."

Nathan sighs. "I've had it before. Moving to put the least strain on things, how not to stress joints without being able to feel any warning signs. That sort of thing." But it's been at least two years since he last went. Practices flounder over time. He's probably strained and damaged a bunch of stuff in small, permanent ways that he won't really begin to notice until the major pains of his current injuries subside.

He climbs back into the bed, but not into his previous place on his side; over on Duke's side, crawling forward on his knees, kind of straddling Duke, except Duke's in too weird a posture to really call it straddling. Duke looks nervous and then, as Nathan leans over and licks at his thigh, falls over.

Nathan snorts. "Very elegant."

"No." Duke rolls over and scuttles clear. "I... you might pretend nothing has happened, but I can't. Especially after you've just spent an hour pinned to the bed by pain. Jesus!"

"Duke."

"I can't have sex with you, Nathan. The other night was -- we were clinging on. Neither of us had really processed anything. I can't do it. Don't you get that?! I hurt you. Really, badly, hurt you. I half feel like I shouldn't even be near you. The foot thing was... well, fucking weird enough to slip under the radar, I guess. How can I possibly fuck you, knowing what I-- I burned my bridges, okay? It's only been two days."

"Audrey," Nathan says flatly. They don't have time to do this the soft route. Nathan needs to know. "And I wasn't planning on letting you fuck me, thanks. I'm on liquid foods already for the neck problem, and I can still barely bear to take a shit. But I don't see any reason I can't fuck you."

"Oh." Duke flails a bit. "I thought you'd want -- never mind." His relief is palpable.

What Nathan wants is going to have to change, because it led to the nose-dive into Duke's dark side, and it doesn't really matter when and how William added his weight to it, from a certain perspective, because that much was there already. They weren't careful and they weren't sensible and... honest to God, Nathan thinks that most of it has been burned out of him, anyway, now.

Most. Not all.

Duke was always damned flighty about that sort of thing. He's going to be impossible now.

Doesn't matter. Nathan's... screwed up. And he has to change. What they do needs to change, if they're to... survive, in more ways than one.

"How do we manage this?" he asks, since Duke's wild-eyed look has worn off now, and he's kind of relying on Duke to figure out how to make it not hurt.

Duke counters with, "Do you even have lube in this house?"

"Uh..." It's a valid point.

"No." Duke gets up. "You have olive oil. I'll go and get it. You... keep focused on this being a good idea, or something, since you need to do that enough for both of us."

"It's a good idea, Duke!" Nathan tries to yell the words after him as Duke clatters down the steps. The discomfort in Duke, the way he's so clearly humouring Nathan's ideas, doesn't sit well with him. He's not hurting Duke further by pushing this. Is he? They can't start to fix themselves until they know. They have to know if they can fix themselves before Audrey is back. And Nathan needs to... He tries to think if there's anyone he can ask for advice about sex, other than Duke. Is he willing to ask Anna Benedict for that kind of advice? A panicked flutter starts in his chest, deeper than his hurting ribs.

"Okay, okay, okay..." Duke walks back in, fingers slick and squeaking and a cleaned out jam jar with a little oil in the bottom in his other hand. "I did not bring the bottle in because I know you, and I know that thing ends up right back down in the kitchen if I do that, so... no." He perches on the bed and puts the jar down, balanced. Slips a hand between his own legs.

"Let me." It's probably the one part of this Nathan's definitely able to do. At least he can use his fingers if the rest of his body proves too damaged.

"Okay..." Duke holds the jar. He settles down on his right side and Nathan moves in close behind him, resting on his right elbow. Pulls in a pillow to help bolster his neck. He holds his left hand out for oil and then moves it down, sliding slick fingers into Duke from behind, feeling his way.

He doesn't have to see what he's doing anymore. That's a learning process in itself, but it lets him be instinctual, not all thought and calculation, reaching in the dark.

Duke moans, and he knows that Duke did not feel aroused until a few seconds ago. "Okay, that..." His breath hitches. "It's a whole lot less frightening when I know you can feel what you're shoving at."

"Just because I can, doesn't mean I have to behave." Nathan adds another finger, slightly too soon, but quickly pulls it out again and works Duke some more, gently, very gently, when he doesn't get the incoherent splutter that usually generates, only a silent stiffening of muscles and a body full of tension underneath him.

Duke will take it, right now, he realises. Because Duke does not believe he has any right to complain. So Nathan needs to be careful, and not screw around, no matter what their patterns of behaviour have been in the past.

"Sorry." He leans forward, with some cost in pain, and kisses Duke's shoulder.

"Asshole," Duke mutters into the sheets.

"Are you ready?" Nathan asks, unsure he can trust his impressions, used to different limitations. He can't hurt Duke; doesn't want this to play out like some kind of twisted tit-for-tat, even if Duke might go for that, or at least think he deserves it. "Do you think you're ready?"

"Go," Duke grunts.

"Help me," Nathan counters. It's easier to slap his hand on Duke's hip and guide him upwards than it is for him to try to shuffle downwards until their hips are aligned. Nathan's erection has been a growing distraction, and now the unused-to heat and intensity makes him feel like he could burst. "It's going to be quick again," he warns, with faint shame.

The first time he actually feels himself slide into Duke, it's very close to too much. The pressure... even more heat... and it seems to carry up his body in a rush that engulfs his head and sounds like the ocean. He makes a frankly ridiculous noise that has Duke laughing underneath him. He tries to move his body, to gain the leverage to push without sparking the pain. They both shift, trying to find a position that works. Nathan wants to move... He doesn't want to end up on his back, pinned under Duke. He thinks Duke understands that, because he eventually hisses, frustration and tension mixed in with laughter at the sheer absurdity of them scrabbling around failing to have sex, "Get up, get up and sit on the edge of the bed. I can take the strain without you taking the weight..."

He wraps a leg around the back of Nathan, and clamps his hands tight around his own leg and not Nathan, leaning to carefully position his centre of gravity and breathing hard into Nathan's shoulder as he starts to bump up and down, fucking himself on Nathan's cock.

Nathan holds Duke's hips and worries that they're both going to end up on the floor, and that that will hurt, too, but after a minute or two establishing stability, worrying about Duke's comfort even as he marvels at his physicality, he does manage to lose himself in having sex with Duke, and shake the distraction of all the complications the act has become bound up in.

"Come on, Nathan..." Duke pants, hot and sticky from the sheer effort of the position, rolling his face against Nathan (gently, carefully). "Come with me..." Without recourse to his braced hands, he lifts his head and trails his hair, his cheek and nose over Nathan's face, chin, brow, not quite managing to target a kiss. Then he starts up a heavier, more deliberate rhythm, carrying them onward. Duke's cock is already leaking against his belly and Nathan's chest between them, and Nathan wants to touch... Duke's cock, his face, the flexing muscles of his arms and chest... but he's pretty sure that if he tries, they will fall over. He manages to move, to thrust upward with his hips, clutching his hands harder around Duke so he doesn't rock them clear of the bed.

Then they're both there. The inside of his head is a fragmented mess, coping with too much sensation, overloaded and ablaze. Duke's body goes floppy as he comes and Nathan feels them start to slide. Even as they're both realising... He clutches and rolls frantically. Their bounce off the mattress takes most of the force out of the fall before they slide helplessly to the floor. Duke manages to put himself underneath, bracing Nathan at shoulder and hip. He grunts with the strain. "Fuck it."

Nathan laughs breathlessly -- the noise hitching slightly with pain from his ribs, but not too much. He kisses Duke, who kisses back between trying to find his balance and slide all the way off of Nathan. "You're a nutcase," Duke says, between kisses. "Get off me." Then he sucks Nathan's tongue into his mouth. Picking themselves, and each other, up is a gradual process because of distraction as much as anything.

"Okay..." Duke grunts, pulling his mouth clear, as they're standing toe-to-toe. "That was not just going through the motions."

Nathan shuts him up again with another kiss, although getting the angle is hard when he can't tip his head.

They eventually sprawl back on the bed, Nathan unrolling carefully, planned muscle groups bracing.

Duke says, "I really do hope you're not shitting me that Garland never slept in this bed."

"He didn't." Nathan's exasperation is sated and relaxed.

"This wasn't your room when we were kids."

Nathan's startled he remembers. He can think of two, maybe three, times that Duke was at his house, and that was about twenty-five years ago. "It was the guest room. I didn't want to move back into my old room, but I sure as hell wasn't taking dad's."

Duke grunts acceptance, then curses.

"What?"

"It's 8.45, dumbass." He scrambles off the bed. "We need to work. I promised Tracey I'd be in 9AM sharp. And we need to shower. Jesus! Your fucking ribs -- it took half an hour to work around that yesterday."

Nathan grunts and makes for the edge of the bed in a landed-fish sort of flail with the right half of his body. "Screw it. We can aim the shower head beneath the strapping and I'll just wipe down the rest." He promised Dwight. He was not going to screw up the big guy's trust today. But given his feelings about the last conversations he had with Dwight yesterday, he doesn't particularly care if he ends up going to work smelling of sex.

"No breakfast," Duke mutters.

"You're heading to a restaurant. Can you actually get take-out porridge?" Nathan thinks he might have to settle for a smoothie.

***

Duke drops him at work at ten past nine. Nathan sees Dwight looking out of the window at them, and orders Duke, "Get out of the car so I can kiss you goodbye again," and when Duke complains, adds irritably, "I can't bend my neck. Just do it."

When Nathan's finished, Duke shakes his head, dazed, and says, "I'm going to work for eight hours, not to Australia for eight weeks." Nathan gropes his ass and pushes their foreheads together, then kisses him again, just for saying that. "All right, I get it." Duke lifts his hands up in surrender as Nathan finishes and lets him go.

Duke drives away and Nathan tries not to look at Dwight, in the window, but instead to refocus his mind on radically different things. Realities start to float back in. Sex as a complete act, with no sensory pieces missing, shorted out his brain for a while, but there are still too many problems and too few solutions, and he and Duke are better than they were last night -- infinitely better -- but they still aren't okay.

Back to the problems, then.

"I'm sorry I'm--" he starts recalcitrantly as he leans into Dwight's office, in passing. Dwight still looks dazed from being a spectator to that kiss, but manages to cut him off with a brusque, "No, it's fine. We're not going to begrudge twenty minutes." Considering anyone else would be still on medical leave, Nathan thinks, but he doesn't get leave, or holidays, not anymore.

He scrapes a hand through his hair, feeling suddenly awkward. Making that stand with Duke, outside, was stupid.

But Dwight manages to fix his expression, change it instead to a gentle lift of his brows, and asks quietly, "Feeling better?"

Better than the last two days is not hard. Nathan ducks his head and responds, "Yeah." Then, he sort of realises that he does feel better. He still hurts, but the pills have it under control, it's faded into background. He still feels too much, which isn't pain, but it's starting to become liveable. He's still buffeted around by his emotions at the slightest tap in any direction, but at least he's realising it when his reactions are weird. And at least he's not angry today. Everything is... faded. Dim.

Yesterday, in retrospect, was raw. Scraping the wound open again before it could heal. He supposes he could liken it to taking the poison shrapnel out. But self-surgery still isn't the greatest of ideas.

He looks back at Dwight. "Don't worry. I can work today."

Dwight huffs relief and gestures to his desk, moving toward the door. "Then we'll try again." His eyes stray to the window and Nathan wonders if today, Dwight actually will swing over to the Gull to question Duke. But he's less afraid of that eventuality now.

Dwight goes out and Nathan deals in paperwork, further reliving some of the more boring days of his time as Chief. At least he has practice in getting all the Troubles to look like normal freak events, mass hallucinations, or otherwise not Troubles on paper. Although frankly, Dwight is better at it. All his days of 'cleaning'.

In the course of the morning, Nathan calls Lucassi's old address, trying to track down the coroner, then his mother's mobile phone, which is listed on his employment record under 'next of kin'. He discovers that Lucassi's old house was levelled by one of the offshoots of the fault line -- not surprising he didn't know, when he hasn't exactly been out and about since the nightmare of that awakening. Going from a hospital bed to trying to take down William and his escalating, out-of-control Trouble on that first day of his new life. Fortunately for Lucassi, the sale had just gone through. He'd signed the papers and was staying in a B&B that night, planning to head out the next day. Afterward, he'd stayed in town because the hospital needed any extra medical staff they could lay their hands on.

"A dinosaur ate my phone," he tells Nathan. "Had to replace it." He's willing to watch over Audrey. "Better in the hands of a friend," he qualifies softly to Nathan.

Nathan calls Dwight to clear the plan, then Gloria, who is grumpy and relieved. Nathan reminds himself she hasn't had a lot of sleep in the last few days.

At lunchtime, he feels well enough to take a walk out. He walks stiffly down the street, acknowledging folks who recognise him -- the ones who don't look like they want to cross themselves; who don't have tattoos and glares -- and goes to look at the damage. He stands at the intersection where the road was split right across and stares at a two foot high ridge infilled by hardened lava, caught in the process of upwelling when the Trouble ceased.

"Hey." Nathan turns, and Duke is standing there, presenting him a grin and a large cardboard cup with a lid. It's hot against Nathan's palms as he takes it. It says coffee on it, but Nathan doesn't smell coffee. Duke tells him, "Finest seafood soup. Today's special, not coincidentally. Also not coincidentally, we're running soup specials all week."

"Thanks," Nathan says, surprised and touched. He peels back the lid and sniffs. Turns the exploratory move into a deeper inhale. His restricted diet has been starting to piss him off. Gloria says he could have mashed vegetables, but he's never particularly liked the texture, and he can feel textures again, now. He sips.

"It's--" Duke starts to warn.

"Hot. I know." Nathan's smile pulls flat, but he turns slightly to hide it.

"Well, it would have been hotter if you'd been in your office," Duke amends, and sips at a second cup. He moves in at Nathan's side. "What brought you down here? You know, to the cataclysmic scene of disaster that you completely neglected to tell me about when you patted my ass and sent me off to work yesterday morning?"

Nathan rubs his forehead. "I suppose it's not surprising I forgot something."

Duke snorts. "Only in Haven could you forget this. You know it took me almost half an hour to find a route around it all? Well... some of that was because I had to stop to take a look. This is..." He waves a hand and settles on, "Unbelievable."

"Most of the townsfolk who were here at the end of last year aren't so impressed. Not after the meteor storm," Nathan divulges, a bit reluctantly because it's not something he likes to dwell on. He has wondered what it all looked like, then, at its worst. He never saw it. He'd got back to town as the sun was setting and he'd been run out by dawn.

"Yeah. I missed that one, too." Duke scowls. "It's not like you actually knew what would happen if you shot Howard."

"No, but I knew that it could." Or he would have known, if he'd stopped to think about it. Audrey had said, at least, that the meteors would fall if she didn't go into the Barn. It wasn't unreasonable to assume that the Barn needed to leave with Howard, who had also come out of it.

Nathan frowns and scans the crack in the earth. Infilled, it's now stable, according to all the reports. There's no volcanic activity, hot spots, plate margins, in Maine, so no-one can say where the lava came from. But then, no-one in Haven is really surprised by that. "I wonder if William really meant to tear the town half apart or just never saw it going that far," Nathan poses. William strikes him as a joker first, consequences later kind of asshole. He had seemed to be backing Lexie's efforts to try and fix the Trouble, above and beyond the fact that he wanted Lexie to be the one to try and fix it.

"I don't know," Duke says. His face scrunches in thought. "He's a twisted fucker. But even he's got to know that if he destroys all the toys, then he can't play with them any more."

"It's all entertainment to him," Nathan murmurs. "Everything except Audrey. He was deadly serious about her."

Duke slurps soup.

"Do you think we broke her heart?" Nathan asks, his words cracking.

Duke jolts, curses and scrubs at a splat of hot soup on his sleeve. "Jesus, what a question." He stops. "Yeah. Yeah, with what we know now... Yeah, we probably did."

"I suck," Nathan says.

"A little bit," Duke agrees. "Look, we -- you -- we thought you had a matter of weeks to live. Maybe you'd see Audrey again, but if you did, that was literally the end. There was no reason, then, not to... do the thing. Then we kept doing the thing and... the thing got complicated."

Nathan rolls his eyes.

"It's not actually got any less complicated," Duke critiques. "But Lexie... No-one expected Audrey to pretend she was brain-wiped! To choose to save you, even though..." He sighs. "Thanks. Now I feel crappier."

"Thanks for the soup," Nathan tells him.

"Yeah. Don't mention it." Duke flaps a hand in sarcastic emphasis. "I hate you. Did this have a point?"

"William," Nathan says. "He loves Audrey. In... whatever fashion that man is capable of it. Motive, Duke. He was punishing us." He frowns, because something does not fit. Or sort of does not fit. "He also stopped before we killed each other. He was surprised." Nathan picks up before Duke can interrupt, leaving his mouth hanging open, "to find out you'd used the Crocker Curse on me. But he wasn't surprised by the state I was in. He knew exactly what happened."

"Bastard," Duke says moodily, kicking the ground, keeping his eyes down. He raises them, eventually, to study the devastation. "So do you think he stopped because we're toys too fun to throw away? Or is it because deep down he knows that Audrey wouldn't want us dead?"

"Maybe it really is as simple as that. They're connected. If there's no way to hide from her what he does... He has to be true to what she'd want. Maybe he even feels what she feels."

"Huh," Duke cracks, "that would be kind of funny."

"But we don't know because the guy's a... psychotic asshole that speaks only in taunts," Nathan growls, frustrated. He squashes his empty soup cup.

"I need to get back to work," Duke says. "Though I have to say, this little get-together? It cheered me up no end."

Nathan coughs wry laughter. "I'm just trying to solve our case." The murder of Nathan Wuornos. Maybe it was manslaughter, after all.

"C'mere." Duke puts out a hand and curls his fingers in Nathan's shirt, below the breastbone, below the damage, but he waits for Nathan to step in, to come to him. "There was method in me having the soup, too. Nothing worse than fishy seafood kisses, unless you're giving fishy seafood kisses back."

Nathan reaches up to touch fingertips to Duke's chin as their lips meet, and thinks he'll never get tired of feeling the brush of beard against his skin.

***

Nathan doesn't go straight back because he thinks it's probably paramount to his duties to familiarize himself with which bits of Haven got levelled in William's last and most drastic super-Trouble, after the discovery about Lucassi. The more he sees, the more he considers it a miracle the death toll stands only at three.

The injured and the numbers of those currently out of a home are considerably greater than three. Some of the latter are being housed in Reverend Driscoll's old church, where Nathan is not welcome, though he pokes his head in anyway, and in the sports centre, where he manages civil conversation with a few familiar faces.

By that time, his energy has almost run out. He could use a ride back to the station, but the roads around the block are so torn up he's on foot by default for most of the way. That's how he meets Gwen Glendower in the street. She looks strained and has red-rimmed eyes.

"Nathan," she says in surprise. Harsh exhaustion drags the greeting down. She looks as tired as he feels. "Are you all right? Do you need an arm?"

"I'm..." He puts his hand out and finds her shoulder as she moves in, just grateful in the moment for a means to find his balance, and feels soft wool under his palm, human warmth, before he can finish lying he's okay. They're not far down the street from the bakery, which is still defiantly open despite all the tables and chairs outside being tipped at odd angles after the road was left heaved-up and shifted. "Come for a coffee with me," he says, instead. He curls his hand on her arm and tries to fool himself that they're supporting each other.

The Glendower women have been lost in the upheaval, victims no-one knows about. They can't exactly put it about widely, what has happened to the men of the clan, who William twisted from only being confined to the water into lurking monsters of the ocean. They have killed, they have been killed, and still the Glendower women can only wait.

"Cousin Robert died when the earthquakes hit," she tells him when they're sitting down. "The shaking split the tank, and he could only survive for minutes outside the water. I'm in town to make the arrangements. It will be... closed casket. He doesn't even look human any more in death."

"I'm sorry." Nathan puts his hand over hers on the table. If the Troubles had left when they should have, her family would not be divided, would be normal again, would not have had this horror visited upon them.

"It's not your fault." She looks at him sharply. "I would have killed, would have died, would have done anything to keep Cole at my side. Some decisions are only human. Some aren't even a choice... Only the illusion that we have a choice."

He remembers that she spent many years married to Ed Driscoll.

This, and yet it's his choices that keep her family apart, endangered, hunted.

"We will try to get them back," Nathan tells her.

"By killing another of them," she states flatly.

"No-- I don't know," he admits, reminding himself there is still Wade. "It might be the only way." Unless somehow they can get William to reverse what he's done, or Audrey can somehow learn enough from him to do so, without falling to the Dark Side. "I really am sorry."

"No." She shakes her head. "It's your people -- you, Dwight, that woman from the Guard -- that I owe for leading the hunt with tranquilizers and not guns. After what they've done, what they've become... If Edward's people were in charge, they would have been hunted down and killed long ago."

"We know they aren't to blame for what's happened," Nathan says, "and we will keep trying. I'm sorry about Robert." That death was not included in the tally. He determines to make sure it is.

Gwen studies him across the table. Nathan awkwardly sips at a cup, sweet with much more sugar than he'd normally put in. "I heard you were hurt in the earthquakes, too."

Perhaps she's wondering how his throat came to be turned black by earth tremors. "I'm getting better. I... probably should be heading back to work." He thinks he can make it without passing out, now. He downs the rest of his coffee and hands her his card. "If you need anything at all... contact me."

Half the afternoon is over already. He feels beholden to Dwight to finish the paperwork and ends up working late, until Dwight returns to throw him out. "Audrey's with Lucassi," the big guy tells him, just before launching into a critical, "You shouldn't be here. You should also know that Dr Benedict chewed the Guard a new one today over the nature of this arrangement and your current... physical condition. You don't have to come in tomorrow if you don't want to." He snorts at Nathan's probably-obvious look of dismay. "Your choice."

What else is he going to do? He also severely doubts that Anna Benedict's professional testimony restricted itself to his 'physical' condition. He gives Dwight back a twisted smile and somewhat incredulous, "I'm getting better, now." Two days ago he should have been left in a hospital bed. Yesterday, he shouldn't have been doing anything, let alone what he did do.

"Any new Troubles today?" he asks.

Dwight shakes his head. "We need the break. I feel like I should cross myself or something after saying that."

"I spoke to Gwen Glendower. Have you thought any more about Wade?" It is easier to bring this up when Jordan's not around.

"The problem with Wade is we'd be basically nominating a Glendower to kill," Dwight says, sighing ponderously. "Wade's not getting released and I am sure as hell not breaking him out. Not after seeing Dr Benedict's reports. The only way to do it would be to take an affected Glendower to him. I'm not prepared to choose one of them to die. Or to ask the women to choose one."

"Cole Glendower," Nathan says, feeling his chest tighten and feeling like a traitor to Gwen, "walks out of the water and into a twenty year jail sentence when the Troubles end either way." And if he were able to be asked, Nathan is sure the head of the family would offer himself up as sacrifice for the younger men.

Dwight just looks at him for a moment, then nods slowly. "I can't say it hadn't crossed my mind as well. But Cole isn't in the aquarium."

Of course Dwight had already thought it. Nathan rubs his forehead. "We have to do something."

"If the worst of Duke's... failure to handle the Crocker Trouble... was caused by William..." Dwight starts.

"No," Nathan whips in furiously, and coughs from the unwise force of his voice, and tries to brace his neck with his hands so the coughing doesn't wrench it. Dwight awkwardly waits until he can go on. "Duke... William being behind it doesn't erase what happened. He still lost himself in the blood. I thought you of all people should know we can't risk it."

Dwight's face is very grave. "I like the guy, I do. He tries hard. But it's when you talk like that, that I can't help but think we've lost him anyway. I'm sorry, Nathan. I know that's not what you want to hear. But we still have access to Duke right now." He hesitates. "At least when he snapped, he went down to the shore where the killer fish-monsters were and not after the attractive Troubled person of his choice... or even the nearest Troubled person."

Until Nathan pushed him to it.

"I believe that he's a good man, but... Nathan, if we're going to talk about using Cole Glendower, we can't not even talk about using Duke." He falls quiet a moment, then adds, "I've been twice to the Gull. I've texted, called... Nathan, he keeps dodging me. He's ignoring texts and refusing to accept the calls. Something is still very wrong. I saw him for half a minute that first day before you dragged him off home. Maybe you can't see it because you..." Dwight splays out his hands. "You're not..."

"Not Troubled any more," Nathan fills in gruffly. This hurts, it hurts too much and it's not even physical. There was method in what Duke did. Reason he had to do what he did to Nathan, there in that moment. Duke still believes it's the only reason they can be together now at all. Nathan tightens his fists at his sides. "I will talk to him about that. I will try to get you both in the same room." Nathan as a mediator is not going to be much of a barrier between the physical force of those two, at the moment. "It might be just as well to have Jordan there, too. She's not... technically... Troubled now, either.

"But I am not throwing Duke away. We don't give up on him." He holds Dwight's gaze until the big guy nods.

He has been equating Duke's progress with him with Duke's recovery... or assuming, even, that fixing their relationship is the most difficult part. It's a shock to realise the two don't have to equate at all. He assumed that Duke had been going to the restaurant and putting in normal days of work, but he hasn't been there. He hasn't seen Duke at work. Maybe he should.

"Can I have someone take me to the Gull?" Nathan asks. He's tired, but this... Duke already matched Nathan's own text about working late, in kind, responding that he'd come over to collect him from the station when he finished. If Dwight is throwing him out now, Nathan will need the ride anyway. He decides he must try and drive tomorrow.

"I'll take you myself."

Nathan says with concern, "I'd rather talk to Duke first before manoeuvring him into your company." The last thing he wants is to blindside Duke and set him on the defensive.

"Just a ride," Dwight assures him. "No provisos, no extras."

***

The coastal parts of Haven escaped the damage, on the face of it, though of course Glendowers lurk. Nathan sees the end of the day from the deck outside the Grey Gull, sitting at a secluded table and nursing a glass of thick, fresh-squeezed orange juice as a demonstration of Duke's determination to feed him vitamin C. The authentic shreds of fruit floating in the drink make their presence known again the inside of his mouth unsettlingly. He watches the sun climb down the horizon. Red bands light the sky, glowing like lava that gently cools as the dark grey edges drift and multiply, leading into night.

Nathan didn't pick the table because it was secluded, though it's undoubtedly a bonus, but because from there he can watch Duke through a window. See him pottering around the bar.

It's not about comfort or (directly) about affection. Duke no doubt thinks those things, as he looks up and smiles, waves, and on one occasion when he's particularly quiet and unwatched, blows a kiss and no doubt finds it amusing that Nathan gets flustered, feeling his face heat up and having to look away. For the rest... maybe Duke doesn't think he sees. Or maybe Duke thinks it's self-evident. Obvious. Something he simply should do. Because he doesn't seem to be trying to hide it from Nathan.

He's fine with ninety-five percent of the people who come through the bar. Serves them cheerfully, seeming himself again, encouragingly himself. It's when someone they know to be Troubled approaches that Duke ducks away, swaps places with Tracey, or disappears into the back until after that person is served and gone.

If Duke doesn't feel like he can deal with Troubled people in proximity... not even in his bed or particularly underfoot in his life, but a simple business transaction and chances of drawing their blood almost zero...

It's a problem. It's not the size of problem Dwight seems to think it is, but Nathan can see that it's a problem. At least Duke's reasons for avoiding Dwight are innocent -- he's just doing what Nathan's been watching him do here at the bar. Distancing. Ignoring. Excising the Troubles from his life.

Duke has professed determination to help Nathan deal with William, but no interest in returning to any kind of work other than his restaurant. Since his extracurricular kind of work in the last few weeks involved drawing Troubled blood, that hasn't been surprising or suspicious. Much the opposite, Duke wanting to keep himself away from that role was positively reassuring. But Duke helped before his curse became a constant demand, and can still help without it.

He killed the Troubles from Nathan. Now he's killing them from himself... in a quiet, bloodless way that means everyone gets to go on living.

But it's not exactly a declaration of trust and it's certainly not healing.

Nathan sighs. Every time he thinks things are getting easier, he discovers it's only because he's been blind to the newest layer of complication.

He's been there a while when Duke brings out two plates and lays them on the table with a flourish. Soup in front of Nathan, different from lunchtime's, and something more solid for Duke, which is unidentifiable except that it's covered in breadcrumbs and surrounded by crispy leaves and Nathan, with his soup, decides he's not going to torment himself by asking. "I'm off the clock," Duke says, sitting down. "But I didn't see any need to go home and then have to cook."

"No," Nathan agrees. He splutters a bit as Duke gets up again and steals a candle from the centre of a nearby empty table, where a couple have just finished eating.

Duke says with a slightly judgemental frown, "We have as much right to it as they had."

Nathan can't help it, but sometimes the thought of them together is ridiculous. Putting them in the place of the lovey-dovey pair who've just finished their meal is a jarring realignment of his perceptions. To distract himself, he holds out a hand and bathes the tips of his fingers just over the top of the flame. In days gone by, he could have held them there forever. Now, after a moment, he has to take his hand back.

"So," Duke prompts, as they reach for cutlery. "How was work?"

Nathan abruptly finds himself at a loss for anything to say which isn't, "Dwight wants to speak to you about how you're avoiding Troubled people," and if not that, then not about Glendowers either. This definitely isn't the place or time. He manages to get out a few very boring comments about paperwork, and then Duke asks about Audrey and saves him from his own disease with words.

Perhaps that isn't the most cheerful subject matter either, but at least there's no trace of blood in it. Duke says, "Maybe we should go see her. Talk to her. They say people in a coma can hear."

The sunset is darker now and lights can be seen along the curve of the bay. It's almost beautiful, until you think of carnivorous sea monsters who should be people.

"She's not in a coma," Nathan says. "It's heavy sedation."

Duke shrugs, pulling a face that says Nathan's a spoilsport, and always has been. "That doesn't mean we can't talk to her anyway. Wasn't Gloria freaking out because she seemed to be aware of William?"

"Talk to her and say what?" Nathan asks.

"That we're sorry? That we're idiots and we never meant to hurt her." At that point, Nathan has to swallow and shut up sharply. Duke isn't suggesting anything more than he spontaneously did when he was at the morgue, before. "Look..." But no, he does have a plan, and Nathan can see it in the warm clarity in his eyes. "If William's really targeting us because Audrey's upset, we need to get through to her. Hell, it's nothing we shouldn't be doing anyway. We didn't know, but we both kind of suspected, and we let it stand, because we were afraid. Don't pull faces. Afraid, Nathan. Be a man who can admit his feelings."

"Well, I was the one marked for death," Nathan says snappishly. Duke doesn't even bother with voicing the argument that they both know that's not it. The whole conversation is a reminder that they're on borrowed time. Soon, perhaps any time, Audrey will wake up. William will wake up. And they had better be prepared -- on all fronts -- when they do.

"It couldn't hurt," Duke says. "And... I'd kind of like to see her."

Nathan nods and caves. "Of course. Lucassi and Stan moved her from the morgue this afternoon, so we can..."

He sees Duke's face close up, his enthusiasm evaporate.

Lucassi... Nathan thinks. Lucassi, too, is Troubled.

"Let's go home," he says abruptly. He's tired. He's done with thinking about this right now. They've almost finished the food, and being with Duke in front of other people feels like a wretched waste. Nathan would like to try to feel, and forget all the rest. It's screwed up and contradictory, indulgent, but he can permit himself that much, for a little while. Even indulgence isn't easy at the moment, but at least he might get something out of it to keep him moving forward.

***

They have the debate in the car and go to Nathan's. Nathan is tired and the decision is shaped by the ease of being there, and Duke is too accommodating to his wishes. He's aware of that but too wiped out not to take advantage of it right now. Guilt still taints Duke's interactions with him and he isn't sure how to abolish that; how long it might take.

He meant to initiate something with Duke, and he was supposed to at least raise with Duke the issue about talking to Dwight, but once he's staggered through the motions of getting ready in the bathroom, he takes his pills and gets into bed, and falls asleep almost instantly while he can still hear Duke running the water through the open door.

When he opens his eyes again, gritty and heavy, it's morning. The sun is streaming through the big window and falling across the bed. Confusion rolls over him, then dismay. He lost an evening. Time isn't a luxury he and Duke necessarily have, and he let that much of it slip away.

Nathan sits up with a groan. His pills are on the nightstand next to a glass of water, where he had the foresight to put them, and he takes them, methodically. His throat flares pain at each hard swallow, but it's different again -- stiffer, more solid, less puffy than before. Inflammation is definitely starting to reduce by itself. But he still takes the pills. Not being able to breathe scared the fuck out of him, so he's going to take the pills until Gloria says he can stop.

Movement stirs next to him. "Weren't you just a sleepyhead last night?" Duke rolls over from a bundle facing the other way to a loose sprawl on his back, trailing the tips of the fingers on his nearer hand over Nathan's hip and thigh. Nathan hears the flick of pages as a book gets stuffed under the pillow.

"Apparently so," Nathan says, disenchanted. Either it's getting easier to move or he's getting used to the best ways to move to put least strain on his injuries, or a bit of both. He gets out of bed and pulls on the dressing gown hung on the back of the door. He's sure Duke's been walking around the house butt naked enough to give the elderly neighbours something to gossip about for the both of them. "You want coffee?"

"Sure, Nathan."

When he comes back in a short while later, he puts the mugs down either side of the bed then throws the dressing gown across the end. He sees himself in the mirror, straighter, less bruised, less broken. Steps closer to examine his neck. The colour of the bruising is changing, purpling under his chin. He visually affirms that he can turn his neck further on both sides before pain kicks in.

His ribs still hurt like hell -- he can already tell that damage is going to take far longer to heal.

His knees seem to creak as he climbs back into the bed. There are things occupational therapy warned him about, when his Trouble first returned in adulthood. Habitual over-extension of joints. Poor posture, strangling circulation, putting strain on his body all-unknowing. The last few years have probably racked up a bunch of those. That someday he'd pay was... well, always relegated to someday.

According to the clock, they have an hour and a half. Nathan crawls over Duke, who got his book out again. Nathan can't see the title but the cover definitely features someone sitting cross-legged. He puts a hand on Duke's knee and gives him a shake, not really sure if he's engrossed or just pretending because he doesn't want to let on he was watching the routine with the mirror. "Let's make up for last night. Unless the Buddha's so much more interesting, of course." He lowers his head carefully to kiss Duke's hip.

"No, I'm..." Duke pulls a face. "I guess you know I'm back to meditating again." Yeah, Nathan knows that. He wants to roll his eyes, but on the other hand, if it helps Duke... helps Duke feel more in control... "Well, that's what I was doing last night, after you opted out of the evening early." Duke pauses and asks a bit plaintively, "Have you ever thought about tantric sex?"

Nathan snorts. "No, Duke, I haven't. Let me guess. It involves incense, candles and the right sort of ambient music?"

"Doesn't have to." Duke looks pained. "Just that... there are things we could do. About trust, and building connections, and maybe... Maybe it would help? Also, hey, what the hell? It's got 'sex' in the title. I'm almost sure I shouldn't have to try all that hard to sell it to you, since you're the secret crazy nymphomaniac." He catches Nathan's hands and moves them up to his chest, one at a time. His grip never risks becoming too tight. Nathan notices.

"Are you good there?" Duke asks earnestly.

Like this, he is leaning over Duke, straddling hips with his knees. The relative immobility of the upper part of his body makes it unwieldy, but Nathan can cope for a short while. "For now."

Or possibly Duke just means that Nathan's straddling him, pushing him down, and not the other way around.

"Touch me," Nathan orders. "If you're hoping to make me go all New Age, then you'd better have prepared a good argument."

"I just think it's a good idea," Duke says, putting his hand on Nathan's cock. Feeling lights up, sparks behind Nathan's eyelids. "It'd be interesting. Fun, even. You've got kind of a focused drive for this sort of thing. And yeah... It's about feeling. Different ways of feeling. Exploring touch. There's purpose behind it. It could be like fucking and therapy at the same time. That's got to be worth more than any other therapy, at least?"

Nathan grunts. "Saw a sex therapist back when my affliction kicked in again, too."

"Yeah?" Duke perks up in interest. His fingers rub in small circles at the base of Nathan's shaft, making it hard to think about anything else. "Wait... you?"

"Ignored everything she said and shelved the whole idea of sex for the next three years," Nathan admits.

"Which is a sign you should be listening to Dr Duke now." Duke stretches up and kisses him. His fingers drift slowly. "Come on, are you seriously gonna say no to a practice that involves extended orgasms? Dr Duke knows best."

"As long as Dr Duke knows any joss sticks found near me may be inserted into places of maximum discomfort."

"...Anyway, I was looking for positions originally, though this book is not so hot on the men plus men score. But for both our sanity we need to find things that don't involve my weight pinning you down. We need to find what works for us now. Like yesterday morning."

"When we fell off the bed?"

"Not falling would have been more ideal," Duke allows.

"I think I'm hallucinating this discussion." Nathan rocks his hips forward into Duke's hand. The deepening arousal in his groin is countered by a spike of pain down from his ribs into his braced left arm. He rolls away with a curse. "No. Can't do it." His breathing's abruptly turned heavier. He certainly couldn't fuck Duke from that position. Or, well, maybe he could if they got started quicker, because he doesn't have the staying power any more in other ways, either.

"Just lie down," Duke suggests. "Lie back on the centre of the bed and let me touch you. From the sides," he adds quickly. "Nothing threatening."

"I'm not made of glass," Nathan says sourly, curling his knees and sitting atop the covers, leaning on his right hand. "I'm not afraid of you. That first night, I was asleep... That was the first night, besides. In fact, we should probably just get it out of both our systems." If his heart flutters unpleasantly at the challenge, at least he can hide it. But so long as he's telling himself he can get past it, he's pretty sure he can. It's probably about time they did push it.

"You..." Duke begins like that word is an expletive. He huffs, and he still sounds annoyed when he says, "All right, let's approach it your way... think of it as a trust exercise, lie back, shut your eyes, and let me do whatever the hell I want."

He's right in that it's daunting, and shouldn't be. Nathan lies down with butterflies in his stomach. Cracks open an eye again to add, "If you're trying to stealth sex therapy me, I swear I'll..."

"What?" Duke's face leans over him, from the side, and a hand gently tweaks his dick. "You'd actually complain?"

Nathan opts out of the conversation by shutting his eyes. The hand at his groin vanishes. Nothing happens for a stretch. He lies there, trying to keep his breathing even, trying not to lose patience or courage and lift his eyelids. Then, he starts listening for the crunch of the pages turning in Duke's book, fairly sure that he's been had. He readies to open his eyes.

The slightest touch strokes over his toes, and he jerks. "Ow." Raises a hand to rub at his neck.

"That's some reaction," Duke says, "considering you want to dive straight in at the deep end."

"I wasn't expecting it," Nathan complains, "because you took forever to do it. I thought you'd gone back to reading your stupid book."

"..." Duke's reaction isn't categorisable as either words or noise: it's a barely-there disturbance of breath, but the rest of Nathan's senses haven't normalised yet with the return of touch, and he hears it. "Okay," Duke resumes with exaggerated patience. "Put your arm down." The mattress lifts and then drops as Duke swaps sides, and fingers snake down Nathan's lifted arm, unfurling it back to lie at his side. They tickle the palm of his hand, making Nathan's fingers twitch, then carry on up his wrist, up his arm, and back into the centre of his body. Avoiding the strapping over his ribs, and the cuts above that, a palm presses on the oasis of unbruised and unbroken skin in the centre of his chest, feeling his heartbeat. Nathan hears Duke's breathing get disturbed. Memories there.

After a few minutes, Duke starts to get it under control, and maybe there is value to this, after all. Giving Duke free access to his body again, after certain things have been closed-off, might help to work through some of that guilt. Nathan still feels compelled to comment, "I feel ridiculous."

"Complain away, if that's what you need to keep your macho image intact," Duke responds. He slides two hands over Nathan's stomach, around his waist, over his hips. Now, he must be leaning over to do that, but as long as Nathan keeps his eyes shut, the sensation and knowledge alone don't trigger anything. Duke slides fingers down the creases of his thighs, stopping just before more intimate territory. "I'm going to lick you," he warns.

So Nathan only jerks a little bit as a tongue slides over his cock, from base to tip.

"I hope you're planning to come back to that," Nathan says, voice wobbly, as the touch moves down to his knees. He adds, "You don't have to tell me."

He expects a grump of "Make your mind up", but Duke doesn't say anything. He feels his calves and ankles get stroked. It's like bathing in touch. There were times he wanted to go to Audrey and beg her to do something like this, but of course, he never did.

The touches travel back up his thighs. Nathan's whole body is alive and tingling. It's all been very gentle, but it's still beginning to feel like too much. Like he needs to come down before he can handle any more. He just isn't used to this. He grabs for Duke's hands. Knowing where they are, solid in both of his, makes things instantly better. He breathes for a minute, then lets Duke's hands go. "Okay. Go on."

Duke was supernaturally quiet through that, but his hands resume purposeful rings over Nathan's chest and shoulders, still avoiding the strapping. Nathan intakes a short gasp as one slides over his collarbone and up toward his throat.

"Sorry. Sorry," Duke says quickly. "I got carried away. But there's no bruising here. It's not where--" He sounds defensive and confused.

"I don't know where you touched, back then," Nathan says, a little bit too harshly, "because I didn't feel it. But you can touch my neck, Duke. Carefully."

The backs of fingers slide up it to get to his face, but it's quick and cursory, a token effort. Probably with the damage still there it's best to leave it at that. "Shut your eyes," Duke reminds him. Nathan reluctantly does. He feels a feather-light brush over the lashes. Then Duke walks his fingers back down over cheekbones, both sides, slides them over nose and lips, and starts to make repeating paths, spirals and circles, very gently.

Nathan huffs a breath against them as they change course to pass over his lips again, then, hesitantly, the tip of his chin... But they lift clear there, and don't venture into the territory where the worst of the damage and the broken bone lie. "Good?" asks Duke quietly.

Nathan almost feels like he's in a trance. "I get to do this to you, right?" he manages to pose, stubbornly.

"You can do what you want to me," Duke replies carelessly. There's a sound of him shifting, and Nathan feels the movement through the mattress he's lying on. Just when he thinks he can open his eyes, Duke's hands slide into his hair, fingers pushing at his scalp. An instant cascade of tingles rush from Nathan's head to his feet. All the will to move leaves him, and he sags. "Okay, so I will keep doing that," Duke puts in, with a trace of sarcasm. Nathan can't be bothered to answer. The world sort of drifts.

...Until Duke's touches start to go from soft sensations to insistent poking. "I cannot believe you fell asleep!"

"Wasn't asleep," Nathan grumbles, opening his eyes. Getting up is awkward because he seems to have sort of sunk into the mattress. His limbs don't know this kind of relaxation, all fluffy and cloying, fighting against his attempts to move now. Numbness is tense. Numbness is not knowing what your limbs are doing without maintaining a certain amount of tension to carry muscle awareness. He rolls up with Duke's hands on his shoulder and lower back.

"We don't have a lot of time for shower and breakfast, if we don't want to be as late as yesterday," Duke says.

Nathan looks down with an objection on his lips, but finds he isn't hard. All that sensation, and his cock gave up on him.

Duke says, "You know it doesn't have to be sexual, right? We can do things, and they can be perfectly enjoyable, and they don't have to end in a sex act?"

Nathan glares, very much suspecting he's been outmanoeuvred.

"What I'm getting at," Duke says, "is maybe I just wanted to feel you. To watch you feel. I mean, it didn't matter if you did or you didn't... I kind of wasn't expecting you to drift off into the scalp massage and never come back, or I'd have gone there after. The point is..." Duke pulls a face, "maybe we don't have to try so hard to hang onto what we've done before. Things are different now, and I'm not saying this just because of that night. You can feel again, and we should be working with that. Not the same stuff we had to do so you got something out of it when you couldn't feel."

"And when precisely have we done those, since the... beach?" Nathan settles for the vague description as preferable to 'that night', words emerging a little too short. He rolls onto his knees. "What about you?"

"I've had plenty of orgasms in the past four years," Duke says. "I--"

Nathan shoves him away and gets up, moving too quickly, grunting and keeping moving through the pain as it hits. "I'm not interested in your pity," he snarls. "It's supposed to be about us." He shouldn't have let Duke drag him into indulging in all that sensation. He knows full well he doesn't deserve it.

"Nathan!" Duke raises his hands with the exasperated, dismayed cry. "It is not pity if I'm recognising you're a... sensation junkie... and saying we should just run with that until you're a bit less physically fucked up. Until we're a bit less all-over fucked up."

That's what he says. But there's something very odd in his face as he says it. Something Nathan can't read. "We don't have time," he retorts. His voice scrapes. He grabs up his clothes and marches for the bathroom. He's going to have to wash, somehow, while avoiding the strapping on his ribs.

He hears Duke pound on the door and yell his name again behind the noise of the faucet, then things go quiet. His rage peters out. Duke's avoiding. He knows that. It's not so surprising if Nathan has a few sore spots of his own at the moment, too.

He goes to open the door, naked and dripping. Duke is sitting outside with his back to the wall and his elbows rested on his bent knees. He looks up and they regard each other for a moment. "Sorry," Nathan says. "On one condition."

"What?" Duke gets fidgety and worried around his conditions. This is not new.

"I get to decide what we do tonight."

Duke smacks his forehead repeatedly into his knees. "We will try that," he says, then hedges, "or we will talk about that."

...Damn it. That reminds Nathan, abruptly, of what he was meant to talk to Duke about, and hasn't yet. At this stage, there doesn't seem to be any way to do this but to come out and say it. "Dwight... uh, Dwight wanted me to mention something. He wants to talk to you. Says you've been avoiding him."

It's obvious in Duke's face that it's just as bad as he feared. Duke puts his head down as a tremor goes through him, and a sigh. "I can't."

"It's Dwight," Nathan says, pushing crossly. "Of course you can. He isn't going to do anything. But he's the one in charge around here these days, not me, so you should probably show him that you're all right."

"Dwight's Troubled."

Nathan drops to his knees, truly startled by the bleakness in Duke's eyes. He puts his hand on Duke's knee and shakes it gently. "It was William driving the madness. You still have willpower left. We only need to prove it. To Dwight, and to you."

***

It seems remarkably unfair, to be in the position of having to put Duke back together as well as himself. But when Nathan thinks back, to how he was in the winter, he thinks maybe Duke's foundations have been shaken in a similar way to how his were, then. Nathan had done a terrible thing that brought death and destruction to everything he loved, to the people who relied on him. From what, exactly, could you try to rebuild, if you were the villain? This has been very bad, but the core of self he'd managed to scrape back together before it happened is still more-or-less intact. Duke's...

Duke is the guy who fell into a blood-fuelled madness and misused and murdered his lover under its influence. Nathan supposes that the question of how you ever trust yourself again would loom pretty large, after that.

"No need to drop me at the station, today," he tells Duke. "Just take me as far as the marina. I need my car for some errands I want to run."

Duke looks dubious and only accepts the suggestion after he's watched Nathan ease stiffly behind the wheel of the Bronco and pull a few manoeuvres on the dockside. Even then, he insists they both go via the Gull, so he can observe Nathan driving on the way. By the time they get to the Gull, his concerns seem to have lifted. Duke pulls in and waves him on, face falling again in the rear view mirror, morose and fearful of what the day has to bring.

Even though Nathan has told him he'll talk to Dwight, and see if they can put the meeting off one more day, until tomorrow.

Nathan goes to work. He takes a back-up pistol from stores, deciding it's high time he's carrying again, especially considering where he plans to go first, today. No new Troubles... most of the cases that came in overnight are minor infringements to do with looting. With so many properties and business premises in town battered and closed but not especially secure after the molten lava and seismic Trouble, that's become an issue. Chances are it's mostly kids.

His progress past Dwight's office is faster than it needs to be and he deliberately looks away after tossing the briefest of waves through the glass, hoping to be out before Dwight can catch him. He'll tackle the conversation about Duke later.

Something has been preying on his mind. An annoyance, a niggle. There are more important things to do, but considering what else he's planning, later, he needs to do this today, and doesn't want it to get lost under some new near-disaster, which is always too likely a possibility in Haven.

Besides, right now the tide is still out.

Curling back into the Bronco sparks up more complaints in his chest. He may be able to drive, but he can't sit that way for long, and it's difficult to keep his left hand on the wheel. He wishes he had Duke's ass-backward foreign truck, to handle the gear shift with the hand he can't easily raise. Maybe he'll ask if they can make a temporary swap. (Maybe not: he's not sure he wants to trust Duke with his car -- his life and his body, yes, under normal circumstances.)

He drives to the shore where three days ago, Duke and William between them almost took him down to splinters. He's finally starting to shed the feeling of being just the tattered scraps Duke sewed back together in an arrangement that better suited him, but he hasn't been back here.

Somewhere on this shore, he also lost his damn gun. It's been with him since he joined Haven PD, and he has no intention of letting it rot in a sea-cave if there's still a possibility he can find it.

Nathan picks his way across the rocks. Footing is treacherous, and trying to balance with limited movement in his left side is tricky. But if he leaves it much longer, the pistol will be gone for sure, and there are the rest of his reasons, besides. So he's doing this today.

There's nothing so melodramatic as a trail of blood. The sea comes up high here, and even up where he and Duke parked their cars, tide or weather have washed any remnant evidence away.

Nathan keeps his still-too-sharp eyes on the cracks and crannies between the rocks as he follows the most manageable route around to the cave. His feet follow the shallow path of where Duke dragged him, which is like a gully between the rocks, repository for soft sand and smaller pebbles. He ducks under the overhang into the cave.

Breath leaves his body and his heart starts to pound. Colourful blobs float in his vision. He turns his head into a rock face and presses his hand and chest there, feeling the damp, cold roughness, trying not to faint.

He didn't anticipate it would overtake him like this.

There's an echo in there, a way it has of spinning the sound around its walls, uncanny and eerie and very distinctive. He thinks it's the sound that brings it back, more than anything else. After all, it was dark when Duke dragged him here, and he can see it much better now, with daylight filtering in, so at least his visual input is completely different. He couldn't feel the cold, clammy dampness of its space, then, either, until the very end.

"Shit..." His hands are trembling and he makes himself spin, pushing the backs of his shoulders to the wall instead and reaching into his pocket for the flashlight he brought along, to search the corners and the crevices between the rocks. When he switches it on, the beam shivers all over the place. He tries to get control of his hands. If he can't face a cave, how does he expect to face the rest?

That thought steels him.

His breathing is a harsh sound for the echoes to play with. It slaps him with more sensory callback, because his breathing was also harsh then, and so was Duke's, as they fell into the act of destroying each other so utterly. Nathan makes himself take each step, shining the torch down at the floor, quartering the cave, searching.

When he finds shreds of the jacket he'd been wearing, that Duke tore off him, his sanity threatens to go into a tailspin. He hunches on the floor, ribs ablaze, and it takes a moment for him to wrench back control.

He absolutely needs to deal with this. Because Duke can't. Duke's centre is under attack... and Nathan helped to do it to him.

There are other pieces of his clothes. Nathan tightens his jaw and keeps moving, shining the flashlight around the cave. If the clothes are still here, the rocks and tide currents should have held onto his gun.

He spies it, finally, one of the holster straps protruding out of a gap between two rocks. He bends down painfully and catches the end, but it takes some tugging and more uncomfortable leaning in and manoeuvring to dislodge it from where it's been caught.

It's still clipped in the holster. He didn't draw it, and nor has the jostling of the sea. It really wasn't likely that he was ever going to use it to stop Duke. He doesn't remember even considering using it. Doesn't remember thinking about it when Duke took the possibility from him.

He wasn't defenceless. He just didn't defend himself.

That's part of the problem. He doesn't want to die, but he's far too quick to start thinking its his due.

Obviously, that's not the only reason he didn't think to shoot Duke.

Nathan takes the gun out and examines it. It's going to need some TLC, a lot of cleaning, but there's no real reason it shouldn't be restored. He breathes out a sigh of relief he didn't know he was holding in and thinks, now, he can go back to his car and leave this place.

He pauses in the cave mouth and thinks of moonlight and lying on his back in that gully between rocks, Duke poised over him. Hours of hell that he went into with his eyes open. His old gun shivers in his hands.

Duke fucking a Troubled person on his downtime while actively trying to use the Crocker Legacy during the day was the stupidest idea ever.

Nathan leaves the cave but doesn't go back to his car, back to the station, yet. He walks along the shore, kicking the tide's lapping edge, and feels the dampness in his toes, the wet kiss of spray against his bare skin, the tightness of saltwater lingering after it, and the chill of the breeze off the ocean. Thought fades away. He could lose himself in his senses for the rest of his life, however long that would be. Stop fighting. Let the Guard make the decisions. He's surprised they haven't killed him already for not being Troubled any more.

He looks up at some shadow or noise. A familiar figure is striding across the rocks toward him. She stops just out of arm's length and says, with a wry acknowledgement to the way the words are being bandied around like a warning so often these days, "'Don't go near the shore'."

"I know. I... had to find my old service pistol." Nathan holds it up.

Jordan runs her eyes down him, then looks back to the cave, and a sick knowing draws her face taut, pulls the sides of her mouth down. "What is this, Nathan? Revisiting old times? You let me know if you start running out of ways to self-flagellate. I'm can have volunteers lining up to help you with that."

It's sarcasm and habit driving the words, no longer hate.

At his lack of reply she counters with silence of her own, pointing at the cave and staring at him, the question and all the challenge contained in her face. The thing is, she doesn't give up. When he tries to back off and turn, she just echoes his steps, high-heeled leather boots skewing to adjust seemingly without effort on the uneven rocks while Nathan's flat, practical shoes shuffle and stumble.

"...I'm practicing, okay?" he says roughly. How much answer does she need to go away? "Why are you here?"

"Dwight saw you ditch out of the station, thought you might need a babysitter."

Nathan internally seethes. His teeth click hard.

--Wait, Dwight sent him Jordan?

She sees it in his face. "You look like you just swallowed a wasp. Pretty funny, huh? But I know a thing or two about being hurt by someone you trusted."

For a moment, Nathan thinks that's a dig at him, but he's forced to push aside the automatic rise of his irritation by the dark compassion in her eyes. She's not talking about him.

Shit.

"What happened wasn't Duke's fault." Nathan struggles to get the words out, fighting against his damaged voice, with ice water in his veins. "It may even be mine."

"Bullcrap," Jordan says, too quickly and angrily for any true reflection. Her face screws up as she watches Nathan's reaction. "Aren't you tired of guilt? Or do you just like it so much now you're going to keep claiming it even when it isn't yours to take?" She swears and half turns, hands lifting in a helpless gesture. "Shit, we did this. You came back already wanting to help, prepared to die to help, and all this town did was shove guilt in your face from day one." She was the worst of everyone, but Nathan assumes he can take that as read.

"You didn't do this." It comes out with something like disdain. She has it the wrong way around. This isn't the consequence of the weeks he's been back. This was the product of his winter, of months alone, hated, friendless and knowing he did it to himself, that let him start to get a kick out of being brutalized for money. Jordan doesn't know about that. He'd wanted to help when the meteors were still falling, but they'd chased him out of town with murderous intent. The Guard could have stopped this back then, but his crimes were too raw to reasonably expect them to stop. Jordan was unconscious in a hospital bed.

This he did to himself. Some reactions can't be predicted.

She grabs his hand. He's not expecting it, and she moves too fast for him to evade her. Her hand is cold. "You did not cause Sunday night," she says, fiercely. "You did not deserve Sunday night. And I will tear into anyone who suggests that you did." She lets him go and steps back.

Was that a pep talk? Is Nathan supposed to say "thanks"?

He can't wave rape counselling clichés at this problem and make it go away. Since he can't say that to her, he runs with the option of being too stunned to say anything. He thinks it was Jordan's bright idea to do this, and she harried Dwight, who caved and went along. Or else she over-interpreted some comment of Dwight's and is here on her own initiative.

Nathan makes some confused so-what-now? type of gesture as the silence drags overlong.

"I sure as hell hope Crocker feels guilty, too," Jordan caps it with, "because he should, William or no William."

"Of course he does!" Nathan explodes. What do they think Duke is? Jordan -- he cannot expect Jordan to be objective, and he needs to remember that, not shout at her and piss her off all over again. Although 'shouting' is overstating the matter, since what small increase in volume his voice managed leaves him gasping. "Duke isn't like the man who triggered your Trouble."

"Everyone always says they're not like that."

Nathan doesn't want to have this conversation at all. Jordan is locked into the horror of what happened to her and always will be. Nathan was never an innocent victim. Jordan of all people should know it.

Maybe it's just her peculiar way to absolve him. He doesn't want it under those terms. And yet.

Keeping his mouth shut is not generally a difficult option. The world moves around him and leaves him, usually, with little of consequence to say. Right now, it's become a necessity.

"At least one good thing came out of it," Jordan says, her brows starting to furrow, confused by his failure to respond to her olive branch. "At least you got to lose your curse, too."

It says something about her, about them, that his first reaction has to be an astonished double-take. Jordan, of all people, isn't going to hold it against him that he came out of this un-Troubled, when so many others remain Troubled, possibly forever, because of him.

Nathan has to turn quickly before she can see his face. Considering the condition of his neck, it isn't difficult to keep it fixed and straight front, not looking back as he heads across the rocks to his car.

***

Nathan is not especially careful driving back from the shore. Apparently he's been shattered so visibly that even Jordan desperately wants to be kind to him despite their history, that Duke no longer believes they can be equal partners in the bedroom, that Dwight would rather he be safely installed behind a desk.

At least Gloria only treats his injuries, with ample doses of sarcasm and sour faces as she asks, "Are you and Duke still trying to work your way through the Kama Sutra with your ribs strapped up like this?"

There's a Nathan who once upon a time would have been horribly embarrassed, but as things are, she's talking about him and Duke like they're a regular couple and not screaming, "Away! Away!", so it lifts him out of his bleak mood a little. Especially when her words draw him back to where Duke has declared his interest in going next on their sexual adventures... before Nathan learned it was all a guilt-driven ploy. He wonders if he should tell Gloria as comeback, but it turns out the smile lurking on the edge of his lips is enough. She steps back from him as if physically rocked.

"Little Nathan Wuornos, you dirty boy." She swats at his shoulder. "--No. No more information." She holds her hands up and steps back, gesturing for Nathan to put his shirt back on. He does, feeding his left arm through the sleeve gingerly first. "Just try to make sure he's the one doing the bulk of the workload, okay?"

Nathan snorts. "That's what he says."

"I said no more--" She stops, the other end of his shirt hanging from her fingers, and really looks at him, narrowing her eyes and screwing her face up in that frightening-as-all-hell way. "Nathan," she says crisply, "If there's one thing I know, it's take advantage of any man putting himself out for you while it lasts. It ain't gonna last. I imagine that goes for even men with men... goes double, probably." She echoes back his snort, but her frown twitches at him, deepening her lines.

...And now he's hearing relationship advice from Gloria. "It's guilt," he tells her, drawn in despite himself, frustration all over his voice.

"Proves he's human," she responds acerbically. "And if he didn't feel guilty, you'd have a whole parade of us dragging you away from him."

Nathan assumes she's talking about Haven PD.

"Of course," and her tones descend into direst disapproval, "you being a big, strong man and all, I'm sure there's all that shit to get in the way."

"I'm hardly like..."

She raises her eyebrows on his incredulous stare. Nathan scowls. He drags the rest of his shirt back from her, and struggles with it. She starts packing gauze and tape away. "Fine, you take the difficult route." She says it like it proves her point.

"At least you don't think that I should be running in the other direction," he mutters, trying to fasten his collar one-handed. He's been wearing them loose, but not so loose he flashes chest.

"Shit happens," is Gloria's evaluation. "The Troubles cause a lot of shit to happen. Love gets shit on just like everything else. Much respect to both of you if you can move on and get past that." Nathan blinks at this dizzyingly freeing perspective, until she adds, ruining it, "Just makes me wonder where the gal fits in. Or was that you stroking her hair and cooing in a platonic sort of way, the other day?"

Now she's judging him.

"...I don't know," Nathan admits.

Gloria slaps another card of pills into his hands. "Two more days. We might be okay on the anti-inflammatories now, but I wouldn't want to risk it much short of a week. Done some reading up. Funny things, 'bout two dozen case studies in existence. Most of 'em were all but knitted in a few weeks. You got plenty of other soft tissue damage in there besides, though. Lucky your windpipe wasn't crushed. Dumb sonuvabitch should've known better than to try strangulation."

As far as Nathan could figure, Duke had changed his mind almost instantly. He shrugs -- a tip of one shoulder, since it's not particularly easy to do both. He resists comment on the rest, since Gloria doesn't default to Jordan and Dwight's stance, and that in itself is something he's grateful for.

"Nathan," she barks as he's turning away, and waits until she has his full attention to continue. "Injuries are funny. Pain is funny -- hell, especially for someone in your shoes, I'm guessin'. You'll find yourself thinking things, ready to act on things, that you might not normally. Up to you to decide whether that's a poor time to be making crucial life decisions."

He tips his head resignedly, since it's still not yet up to him shaking it. "World's not going to give me time." Sighs. "I should look in on William."

She makes a noncommittal noise, like she's about to say something more, but cuts it off to urgently grunt, "No funny stuff!" as he makes for the storeroom. There's a lock on that door, for all the good it will do if William wakes up unannounced, but better than nothing. Hopefully it provides enough time for Gloria to run. But she'd complained loudly, before, that nobody expects him to just break out of a sedative. ("Besides," she'd added. "I've got a gun and if he's coming after me, Little Miss Do-It or whoever she is these days can make her own luck.") "He may be a dick," Gloria continues, in the now, "But he's a dick in my care. Though I can't swear not to have stuck a few pins in him when no-one was looking, after that stunt with my grandson." Her eyes are shiny with moisture, just for a moment. She wasn't joking. Nathan wonders if Audrey felt the pins in her sleep, but he's pretty sure she'd not begrudge Gloria the satisfaction.

When he stands over William this time, the overpowering rage of before doesn't come. Even though he expected it, braced for it. Anger twists up and becomes lost in the theory that William punished them because of what they did to Audrey. Nathan will never believe they deserved that, but passion and rage, the urge to avenge and protect, those at least he can understand. It's the only thing that makes him think maybe there's more to William than his grinning facade.

Audrey's grievance is real. It follows that so is William's.

He watches William with the close, concerned regard he'd give a sleeping tiger, only to be startled when the man on the gurney bucks and shifts.

"Oh, yeah," Gloria says caustically, behind him. Watching, this time. "Your boy's been dancing a fandango in his sleep since last night."

Nathan turns around to her, dismayed.

"Yup, looks like he's coming out of it. I haven't reduced the dosages, damned if I haven't already upped 'em as far as I dared, and told Rudy to do the same, but he's still coming out of it. Won't hold more than another day." She heaves a sigh and bunches her fists on her hips. "Might be the best thing if we set a time and pick the place -- jail cell would be good -- and pull him out, rather than try to push for more time and open the way for the bastard to surprise us."

"That might be best," Nathan agrees, but his lips feel like they've returned to numbness, and it's spreading downwards. He thought he felt better today, but he abruptly feels the need to sit down. The edge of the lab bench behind him is nearest. Gloria dives to his side and makes a grab for his shoulder. He's holding his own weight, but she doesn't move her hand.

"God damn, kid."

"I'll..." For some reason, he finds himself trying to pretend it didn't happen. He drags his thoughts to the practicalities and tries to zero in on those alone. "I'll talk to... Dwight. Will tomorrow morning be too long to wait?"

"No." She's frowning at him, uncertain. "No, that should be about right."

He feels something loosen a little in his chest. His breathing gets better and some of the restriction disappears. Pain in response to the way he tensed up replaces the numbness. Tomorrow isn't ideal. But it's better. They had time -- Audrey put herself out to buy them time to fix Haven, he reminds himself, not for Nathan to fix himself, and not for him to fix Duke. They've made use of the time they had as they were meant to: the town is stable, no longer a disaster zone, no longer falling apart at the seams. It isn't good, but at least they stand a chance.

Nathan isn't ready.

"Oh, hon, it's not that bad," Gloria says, rubbing his shoulder, rocking his balance with her hearty compassion. "At least he's cuffed and in custody... although granted, past example suggests he'll have tricks we haven't seen yet to get out of it."

It's not that, though. Or that's only a small part of it.

It isn't William whose awakening fills Nathan with dread.

It's Audrey.

***

Time is falling away from him. He had three days. He feels like he's been too sick most of the time to do anything with them. He went to work. Duke went to work, separately. Although when they started out, he wanted Duke at work with him, and much of the last few weeks... well... he cannot deny that now, the Gull is the best and only place that he wants Duke to be. Away from the Troubles, back in the world of normality, away from Nathan's work.

As much as is possible, considering they're in Haven.

He wants to ditch work the rest of the day, go to the Gull and drag Duke off home to have his way with him... perhaps more vice-versa... but this morning did not go well, and there's a lot to be said for time and distance.

One night might still be time enough. Nathan hopes, he hopes.

Given how, in retrospect, he is aware that he almost killed himself twice on the way from the beach to the morgue, he makes himself take the journey slower, this time.

He parks on the street outside the station, as near as he can get, which isn't very near, today. The streets are busy. It's almost lunchtime. The wind has picked up since he was at the shore, and it's colder. Nathan isn't really used to dressing more than generally for the temperature, and shivers inside his too-light jacket. A couple of friendly faces say hello as he passes, and less friendly ones give him hard stares or avert their heads. He speeds up to get to the steps without having to risk meeting the eye of a man he knows is Guard.

The police station is more-or-less a refuge. Nathan gets a bad coffee and goes to his office.

Jennifer Mason is waiting there.

Her back faces him as he comes through the door. She's wearing a bright, girlish dress that flares out below the knees, patterned with red flowers, and tiny red shoes are on her feet. The fashion aesthetic aside, her dark hair is too short to be deja-vu for all the times Jordan ambushed him there. He hasn't seen enough of her recently that he's completely sure who it is until she turns around.

"Nathan!" she starts breathlessly. "I wanted to talk to you." Her eyes scan him over and her head ducks, lips pressing together with startled affront. "I didn't realise you were hurt so badly in the earthquakes."

"It wasn't the earthquakes," Nathan says, puzzled. She is enough in their inner circle that he'd thought she knew the real story... then again, most of her information in the past has been delivered to her via Duke or... Lexie.

And then he knows what she's here to talk about. He groans and holds his forehead. He didn't think about it until this moment, but it's obvious. "You, too?"

She shuts her mouth on the verge of launching off, then opens it again. "Excuse me? I'm here about Duke, who hasn't lost his phone so far as I know, and works right beneath where I'm living, so he really shouldn't be this hard to get hold of." She offers a nervy little laugh.

Nathan has always had the impression Jennifer regards him with caution: as an unstable, dangerous influence on Duke, perhaps... and, well, he can't really argue with cause and effect there. She keeps a notable perimeter around her body when she talks to him. Maybe it's the nature of their introduction, when he was playing the role of a bearded, smelly punchbag. Maybe it's because he's never been that much in control around her, the times she had answers and he raised his voice. Whatever it is, the result of it is that she doesn't tend to seek him out.

Since Nathan has had the feeling for a while that Duke talks about him, and about their relationship, during buddy chats with Jen in the bar, he hasn't really ever felt inclined to seek her company out, either.

They regard each other with faint distrust. Nathan walks a wide path around her and pulls out the chair in front of his desk with his right hand. He pulls it slightly off to the side, so he won't be facing her across the desk itself, over a sign that says Detective. Then he yanks his own chair around sideways. It's heavier, more of a struggle one-handed and weakened, and he gives up and sinks down with one knee either side of a table leg.

"Sit." She's still looking at the chair he got for her with distrust. "I need to tell you some things."

She would have been told by Duke or Lexie, he thinks. Lexie never went home, that day, and Duke...

"Is this about Lexie?" Jen says uncertainly. "She's all right, isn't she? Is she going to wake up soon?" She smoothes her dress against her legs as she sits.

So she knows that much, and Nathan guesses that's down to Dwight. "Yes, but that's not why..."

"Wait." Jennifer holds up her hands. "I came here about Duke, so just so you know, first. I keep hearing that Duke is back, Duke is better, Duke is working in his bar... But every time I go to look him up, he's mysteriously somewhere else. There is a limit how many times one person can be in the bathroom in the course of a day! So just tell me what the hell is going on? Because I didn't agree to stay in this town to be... ignored, or avoided... or whatever the hell it is that's happening here!"

Nathan tries, "Duke's not well..."

"I know that! There was the crazy week, which, okay... I don't feel like I can hold that against him, and buddy, you did not come out of that great, either." She jabs a finger toward him. "But you're here and back at work, and so was Duke supposed to be, and you actually do seem... less scary."

Nathan genuinely feels like he and Jennifer are on two incompatible wavelengths, unable to connect. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise you'd been... left in the cold. Aud-- Lexie's asleep, to keep William asleep." He looks for confirmation of knowledge in her eyes. "She'll probably wake up soon." He doesn't want to get specific, when he hasn't even relayed Gloria's news to Dwight yet. Jennifer brightens slightly, not understanding all the implications. "There's no easy way to tell the rest of this..."

But tell it, Nathan does. Skims over the essence of that terrible night -- he went after Duke, Duke lost control, injured him, used the Crocker Curse and that's why Nathan's Trouble is gone -- and their efforts since. "I only found out yesterday, from Dwight, that Duke's been avoiding Troubled people at all. So it's not you, you see..."

"I see," she says, a bit crisply.

"I guess I've had a lot on my mind." Nathan looks down at his hands, curled together in his lap. "And I'm not -- my blood doesn't set Duke off anymore, so he's safe around me. I just never... thought."

"It's not possible to think of everything," she offers him with a squashed smile. "With all of this going on, I don't feel right about making a fuss. It's just... he's the one who persuaded me to stay here, you know? I hate when people get you involved in something and then just drop you, and it... I once had this friend who really wanted to take cookery classes, and-- Never mind." She shakes her head and waggles her hand as if to erase the meander. "It sounds like what Duke needs is some kind of intervention. I mean, he's still Duke. He wouldn't hurt me. Not when William isn't twisting his thoughts." She shudders, from either a good imagination or the memories of that week. "I'm really glad to learn that was really William, by the way."

Nathan nods. "Dwight and I, we're going to try to talk to Duke today. Would you be prepared to be involved in that?" He's not sure Jennifer being there is the best thing, but on the other hand, she's close to Duke and brings out his protective instincts, and is a better subject by far than Dwight, with whom Duke's relationship has always had a slightly combative edge. If there's a Troubled person to ease Duke back into confidence gently, then that's Jen.

She answers his question with a brisk, repeating nod that goes on long enough to make it start to look like perpetual motion, like she's a nodding dog. Nathan resists the urge to reach out his hand to hold the top of her head still and tell her that's enough.

He eyes the clock on the wall. It's lunchtime. He can expect Duke here, soup offering in hand, soon. He'll ring his spies on Duke's staff to make sure. He had better, though, first go and clear things with Dwight. He stands up, gulps the last of his chilling coffee, and says to Jennifer, "Can you stay here a moment?"

She follows him anyway. He forgets that she's a reporter. She's so... essentially sweet-natured. But she still has that skill to insert herself into things whether you want her there or not.

Dwight in his office is actually an unusual sight this week. Nathan taps cursorily against the side of the door before he goes in. Jennifer's head is practically pushing under his arm.

Nathan gets as far as opening his mouth and saying, "About Duke. We need to--" Then his phone rings.

He almost forges on and ignores it, lets it go to voicemail -- whatever it is can be dealt with later, and surely with everything else that's around him he can let himself focus on one thing at a time. But when he picks it out of his pocket to silence the tone, he sees the call is from Tracey.

Peculiar, he thinks, hung up for a moment on the fact he was planning to call her. But at that point, he's definitely not leaving it. He casts Dwight and Jen looks of apology and lifts the phone to his ear. "Wuornos."

On the other end of the line, Tracey is panicked, gibbering words that fall over themselves to strike Nathan's ears. "Oh my God. Thank God. Nathan, you need to get here! There was a fish monster! A real monster! And Duke, he-- Nathan, he's freaking out. We need you here now. Please tell me you'll come!"

"I'll be there." Nathan can feel his throat tightening up. Is he due more pills? Should he have taken them with his coffee? "Tell Duke I'll be there." He can be at the Gull in less than ten minutes, if he doesn't pass out. He's running out of the door as he lowers the phone in his hand.

As he's charging down the police station steps, he realises Dwight and Jennifer are on his tail.

***

They take Dwight's SUV because it's closer and because, when it comes down to it, Nathan has more confidence that Dwight can drive them faster and safer than he can at the moment. Although Nathan doesn't feel very safe as the landscape shoots by.

The Gull is a scene of disarray. Tables and chairs are upturned. There's a trail of seaweed scraps and water leading out of the door onto the decking. It takes Nathan a moment to realise that it's leading from a body in the centre of the floor, half obscured by an upturned table. Nathan curses and takes several long, quick steps to drop at the body's side. It's not Duke. He can't see Duke. Two of his bar staff are huddling behind the counter and by the doorway Nathan just came in. Did they already clear the customers out?

Nathan could theoretically feel a pulse now, but finds it impossible to focus down to so narrow a touch with so many other calls on his attention. Namely, if the man on the floor is not Duke -- and Dwight drops down and drags him over onto his back to reveal a bullet wound and a familiar face -- then where is Duke?

Tracey points from the doorway, and Nathan follows her gesture to the door onto the decking with its trail of water. Drawing the unfamiliar gun, fingers fumbling at shapes in the wrong places and usually unfelt, Nathan follows the watery trail outside.

The trail terminates at the edge of the safety rail. Duke's wedged behind a table nearby with his knees drawn up. Nathan holsters his gun and goes to him. "Duke! What happened? Look at me, damn it!" he tries to get his hands either side of Duke's face to draw his head up, check his eyes, though whether he's looking for silver or sanity or just normal signs of trauma he isn't sure. Duke fights him, trying to curl up tighter.

Nathan can hear Dwight asking urgent questions of the Gull's staff. "Who is this? Where did he come from?"

"It's Cole Glendower," Nathan says, distractedly. Duke's face is clammy with sweat against his palms, and slips back down when Nathan tries to lift it. He catches Duke's knee and shoulder instead, tries to put his arms around him after some fashion, to rub away some of the cold that he can feel. Duke's been outside for ten minutes like this? The tide's coming in and he's not sure if the dampness in the air is spray or drizzle.

Dwight curses and scrambles urgently after something, and it's only when Nathan hears him on the phone that he makes the relevant obvious connections: "You need to get over there and get those people out of those water tanks, now!"

Nathan's stomach turns over horribly, but he remembers... "There's air in the tanks. A few inches at the top, at least." He can't remember if they're air-tight. But it's got to be enough for ten minutes, hasn't it? It's got to be enough that their ignorance hasn't just slaughtered the whole clan?

He shakes Duke. "Come on, snap out of it!"

"Get away from me, Nathan!"

Words are progress, even those. He fights against Duke's hands as they try to push him away. His shoulder bashes against the table Duke was trying to crouch beneath and he shoves it clear, annoyed. He straddles Duke and thinks about punching him back as a flailing arm jars his neck, but Duke didn't mean to do that, and that's not how you're supposed to treat traumatized... victims? Suspects?

Once upon a time, he'd have done it anyway.

Gritting his teeth and clenching his left arm low into the fabric of Duke's shirt, he draws back his right arm a short way and delivers the punch. He hears the little gasp from behind him and realises Jennifer's still there. No matter. He hauls Duke up from his corner, not much easier to move now he's gone limp. "Help me with him."

Jen grabs his other side and they manoeuvre him back into the main part of the restaurant between them, finding a low, comfortable chair to put him in. By that time, Duke's shaking his head and blinking. Trembling hands rise to his face to wipe at the blood on his mouth. "You hit me."

"Yes," growls Nathan.

Duke jerks away from the side of the chair where Jennifer is, leaning toward Nathan. "She can't be here. Nathan, are you crazy?! I can't--"

"He's not crazy," Jen snaps, taking umbrage at the casual insult that means a hell of a lot more to her. "But you need to stop acting like it. I'm right here, now, so how about you explain why you've been avoiding me?"

Dwight is getting the story out of Tracey. "The dead man... he wasn't, when he -- wasn't a man, I mean. He was a monster! He climbed up the rail and came in. Duke grabbed the gun from behind the bar, but... when he shot the monster, it turned into a man..."

How the hell Duke's curse knows what to do if he kills someone from a distance is just another of those only-the-Troubles questions.

"He used the Crocker Legacy again?" Dwight asks, somewhat redundantly, although other implications in his voice are anything but redundant.

"He'll be fine," Nathan says. "Duke, you're not crazy. You cured the Glendowers. Jen and Dwight are here and you're not mindlessly out for their blood. William made that happen. You are in control."

Duke lunges forward in his chair and grabs Nathan around the waist, causing most of the air to leave him in an oof. "Get them out of here," he begs, face pushed into Nathan's abdomen.

"I don't need to." All the same, Nathan wonders if he should, because he hadn't planned to do it this way, no-one had, piling the stress on. But when he looks at Dwight and Jennifer, their faces are sympathetic, not afraid. They do not feel threatened by Duke, and last week, they would have. Nathan turns to Tracey. "Get him a drink."

She hesitates. "A drink? Or a coffee?"

"Both." Balancing is getting difficult with Duke clamped to him like this, and if that grip grows any tighter, Nathan might just have to hit him again. Dwight moves forward to try peel Duke's hands off, but Duke anticipates him and shoots back away from Nathan like Dwight's touch might infect him with something. Nathan unsteadily grabs a stool and drags it forward, perches on it, almost between Duke's sprawling legs. He probably should get a drink himself -- coffee -- and take his pills with it.

"Duke?" Dwight says hesitantly, stepping away. "I'm not going to touch you, but I'm going to be right here. I'll be over by that wall. You can cope with me being as far away as that wall." He looks askance at Nathan, who nods, then goes.

"We're your friends, Duke," Jen says, as Nathan waves for her to back off. "Please don't be afraid of us. We want to help!"

"Rest of the clientele gone?" Nathan asks Tracey.

She nods. "Lucky it was a quiet morning."

"Okay." Nathan takes a deep breath. "This is what we're going to do. We're all going to sit down and have a drink, maybe something to eat, and just get used to each other's company again."

Duke groans.

"I am perfectly capable of hitting you again -- or shooting you -- if you try anything," Nathan asserts darkly. "Everyone is very, very safe. Or we would not be doing this." His patience is running down. "Damn it, Duke, everyone here trusts you except you." And they will wait as long as they need to prove it.

It takes an hour and a half, during which Nathan takes his pills and drinks his lunch. In that time, Duke gradually uncurls and starts looking at the world straight again. By the end of the exercise, he's still keeping a few feet between himself and Dwight and Jennifer at all times. He's still avoiding contact. But being able to be in the same room and initiate a conversation? Is definitely a start.

***

Nathan has to wonder if, in moments of lucidity, Cole Glendower's thoughts were on things not too far from what he and Dwight had spoken about. He was the head of his clan, an aging man whose life after the Troubles would be spent almost exclusively in prison. He presumably knew what Duke could do and where Duke could be found... right next to the ocean, in either location. It seems to Nathan that it's too much coincidence for him to be at the Gull if he wasn't seeking out the Crocker Curse.

Toward the end of their intervention, Dwight quietly had the body removed and Tracey mopped the sea water and blood from the floor.

"I hate the sacrifice play," Duke sighs, sagging down further into his chair. He's relaxing again, really relaxing now that Nathan's sent Jennifer and Dwight away.

"Better to think that it's what he wanted." Nathan's phone chirps and he looks at it: text from Dwight. Fourteen Glendowers retrieved from aquarium storage safe and sound. Nathan can only hope that the rest of them weren't too far out at sea. He assumes that from their family's crazy training they can all swim like fish even if they're no longer... like fish. He relays the message to Duke. He decides he never needs to tell Duke they had contemplated using Wade to achieve the same effect.

"Saved his family," Duke mutters, and nods. "Okay, I'll tell myself that story. I guess there was room for one more, after all."

Nathan puts his hand on Duke's knee and gives it a comforting rub. "I'll try to ensure he's the last. You don't have to answer any call to arms or ride in to destroy Troubles. Not at the risk of losing you to Wade's madness. Dwight understands." And if he doesn't, he will.

"Thanks, Nathan." Duke touches his arm, sliding the back of his fingers over Nathan's wrist, up over his sleeve to the elbow, where he curls his fingers around and lets warmth infuse through the fabric. "Look, this morning, I wasn't trying to... trick you, or pity you. Seriously. We have different options now. I just want to... expand our horizons."

"And I don't want to give up on the idea of penetrative sex before I've actually felt it," Nathan retorts sourly... But he's not doing this now. He silences Duke's protest with a severe look and a raised finger. That's not what right now needs to be about. "You should have told me you were having problems."

Duke stares at him. "You had enough to worry about."

"I worry about you. And Dwight was--" He wonders how much he should really relate of what Dwight thought, and settles for, "Also concerned."

Duke starts to say something that he decides against, too, and shakes his head instead. "I didn't want to put any more pressure on you. You're helping hold Haven together. I'm -- showing up to work in a restaurant." He groans and screws up his face. "I hate how I'm the 1950s wife in that equation."

Nathan's grin probably shows a little too much amusement and teeth.

Duke crooks his head and narrows his eyes. "Perish that thought, Nathan."

Nathan stands up. The hand on his elbow slowly trails down his arm as he rises, the grasp of their outstretched fingers falling apart last. "Are you going to re-open again today? Or do you want me to take you home?"

"Tracey and Naomi can run the evening shift. Did it well enough the week I was off the grid." Duke pulls a face. "Way too much fresh prepared ingredients sitting in the kitchen to give up on the day now. Plus, your dinner for tonight. Pea and ham broth, in case you were wondering." He frowns. "Maybe I'll take some of that back to finish at home." He pauses. "Yours?"

"The Cape Rouge," Nathan says, positively.

"Okay..." There's a question in there, but Nathan's not prepared to clarify, or argue. "Okay," Duke says again, emphasizing the word with rather more resignation. "The Cape Rouge it is. I don't suppose we can swing by yours to pick up my book?"

That's the Tantric Yoga book, Nathan assumes. He rolls his eyes and nods. "Come on."

Duke nips out onto the deck to talk to his staff, and the wonder really is that they've waiting around this long, outside under the overhang. He comes back claiming he's promised them big bonuses, both women trailing in his wake. Tracey's still smoking the end of a cigarette.

"No more sea monsters, at least," Nathan offers with a nod of acknowledgement as Naomi goes to the bar and Duke and Tracey come to him, she walking past to re-open the door.

"Please don't try to pep talk my staff," Duke begs.

They exit into a glittery after-rain sunlight, moisture sparkling off wooden beams, gravel and parked cars. The Bronco is still at the police station. Duke fishes out the keys to his truck but holds them dubiously away when Nathan reaches for them. "I can probably drive."

What he means is that everything's on the left hand side so he thinks Nathan can't. Nathan grabs the keys. "Controls on the left are low down. Should be easier than trying to keep my left hand on the wheel to shift gear with my right in the Bronco. I was planning to steal your truck anyway."

Duke gives him a distrustful look but admits, "I suppose you have a pretty good record with cars."

Nathan doesn't understand what Duke sees in the clunky foreign truck, but it is easier to manoeuvre with the limitations on his movements. "I can't stick around just yet," he warns Duke as he carefully guides them out of the parking lot, taking it slowly for the unfamiliar controls. "Need to talk to Dwight about Audrey and William." Ashes in his mouth at the reminder. He swallows, but just ends up spreading the taste. "Looks like our time-out ends tomorrow." He describes what Gloria said.

"I want to be there," Duke asserts, as they're pulling up in front of Nathan's home.

Nathan gives his reduced nod, then adds, "Yes," unsure if Duke caught the small movement. "William or Audrey?" he asks, realising a beat later. They have to keep them separated. That means he has to choose, too.

"William," Duke instantly says.

"You can't kill him without killing Audrey," Nathan reminds him.

Duke goes quiet, then tightly grunts, "I know that." He heaves a sigh. "I wouldn't... I don't want to... Too much of it is killing." He scrubs his hands through his hair. "I just want to punch that fucker in the face. Say a dozen times."

"Don't do that, either," Nathan says. The engine vibrates to a standstill. He leans forward over the wheel and looks at Duke. "Do you want to take Audrey? Maybe... one of us should be there, and you haven't had chance to even visit her since we... learned."

Duke rubs his hands over his face, muffling his reply of, "Maybe that's best."

"Then if Dwight and Jordan and I take William and you... and Jen... go to Lucassi for Audrey?" Nathan almost holds his breath.

"Okay." Intonation enough in that to get across that Duke knows what he's playing at, even before he turns and pins him in a flat stare. "Avoiding much, Nathan?"

"Doesn't matter." Nathan shoves the door open to get out, so they can collect what they need to drop Duke back at the Rouge. "Dwight, Jordan and I would still need to take William."

***

Dwight is back in the station and plans seem to be in motion. Gloria and Dwight and Lucassi have liaised with each other already, and there's not a whole lot for Nathan to do. "9AM," Dwight says. "Or should we call it 9.30AM, since you've been late to work every day for the last three days?" His eyebrows raise.

"I--" Nathan stammers. "Sorry. Nine's good."

"No, I'm sorry," Dwight amends quickly, revealing that was meant to be a gentler humour that the reproval Nathan took it for. "Look... come with me." There is something very odd in Dwight's expression and Nathan doesn't quite trust what's about to happen as he's guided into Dwight's office by a big, warm hand closing over his shoulder.

He stands in the centre of the room, not failing to notice how very securely Dwight locks and checks the door, and draws the one set of blinds that's not shut already. "Am I getting fired?"

Maybe there are worlds in which that would be a funny joke. The Guard's deal is that if he doesn't work he dies, so 'fired' has its own special meaning. But maybe Anna Benedict really did soften them for him. Nathan forces his face into a grim smile of apology.

"Sit down," Dwight says, and sits behind his own desk, folding himself into his chair, pulling it closer to the desk so his upper body looms bulkily.

Nathan silently pulls the visitor's chair up one-handed and sits, too. He folds his hands on the desk. "What is this?"

Dwight says, matter of fact and face curiously blank, like he's making himself put the words out there for Nathan to hear, "It's a confession. When I pulled you out of that hospital room four days ago, I thought it was already over. Duke brought you back looking dead. With the story the physician told me from your injuries, the pain you were in when they put you out, your Trouble gone..." That anyone other than Duke bore witness to that is news to Nathan, who doesn't remember arriving in the hospital conscious, and would probably rather have stayed ignorant. Dwight looks away uncomfortably. "When the Guard started demanding where you were, I almost told them to go fuck themselves. But then, it didn't seem like it was going to make much difference -- between wheeling you out into the middle of a disaster zone and having the Guard charge in to murder you in a hospital bed. Add to that, the past week you'd been... barely short of deranged." He raises a stalling hand. "We know that was William's doing, now. So. I picked you up and pulled you out to the front lines anyway. Not something I'm proud of.

"I sure as hell didn't expect to get knocked out and be told later how you and Jordan pulled the situation back from the brink." Dwight grimaces. "Didn't particularly expect you'd keep reporting dutifully in for work for the next three days."

Nathan stares at him.

"I don't know how it happened, but you've got more life back in you in these last few days than I've seen since everything ended so badly last year. When I saw you with Duke today, that was real. I know I was on your case... but I've never been more glad to be wrong, Nathan." He holds out his hand. "I didn't want it to feel like I'd been so hard on you, these past few days, and not have you hear that."

Nathan accepts Dwight's hand because he's gone too numb to muster resistance. It's big and warm, oddly gentle engulfing his own hand. Dwight shakes once and lets go.

"I don't understand," Nathan says breathily, his throat playing up again. "This... some pep talk before the big game...? All of this was my fault to begin with." Dwight is as misguided, as oblivious as Jordan. "If I'm alive again, it's because my Trouble's gone, and God knows, I don't deserve that. I--"

"Shush." Dwight presses his hand down over Nathan's on the table, aborting his attempt to rise, since he can't easily lean down. "We could be in combat again tomorrow. You understand? If you want to win, you tell your people they're good." He pins Nathan's eyes, and won't let go until Nathan gives the barest hint of a nod of acknowledgement. "You help me carry this town. You and Duke risked everything trying to fight the Troubles. You're already dealing with the consequences. Tomorrow, it could begin again. It could get worse. We need you to keep trying to help make that difference. You are important to this town, and this is... no longer a threat." Dwight's eyes are peculiarly soft. "You would have done it without the deal."

"I would have done it without the deal," Nathan parrots. "I told you, all of this is my fault."

"The problem with that approach is finding the place where you decide it's time to stop paying."

"It's irrelevant if William kills us all tomorrow." Nathan forces a grim smile.

He gets a grunted acknowledgement, for that.

"You've been a better Chief than I ever was," Nathan says, feeling he needs to return something. Then, thinking that seems faint praise -- better than the man who condemned a town to lifetimes of Troubles -- "You've been a good Chief."

"Thanks," Dwight says wryly.

"Any last pre-battle advice?" Nathan asks, laying on the irony, although he isn't necessarily being facetious. Dwight is the one of them who has actually been to war.

"Go home to Duke," the big guy replies, "and make the most of it."

***

Duke is sitting cross-legged on top of his couch in boxers. Around him, the Cape Rouge is a lot tidier than Nathan last remembers it being. Two weeks of descent into madness don't make for an immaculate living environment. Maybe Duke did have other reasons for agreeing to stay at Nathan's house than humouring or pitying him.

"You did housework?" Nathan asks incredulously. His voice scrapes. Duke doesn't move. Meditation. Right. Nathan crosses the galley and makes himself a coffee. Then he sits with his coffee, flicking through Duke's Tantric Yoga book. Mostly it's just two bodies doing yoga instead of one, but it has a section at the end with specifically sexual positions. It has diagrams and photographs. In one of the earlier positions, the only parts of the couple touching are the soles of their feet. Nathan snorts and puts the book aside, turns and sips his coffee while he watches Duke do nothing.

"Someone had to do it," Duke answers eventually. It takes a moment to recall what he's answering. Duke's eyes slide open and he uncurls.

"Enjoy that?" Nathan asks sarcastically.

"You have no idea. No, you really don't. It's sad."

Nathan had meant to come home and launch into romancing Duke, for what could be their last night together, for what might be the last chance he gets to unravel this. To figure out what he wants, what's left for them, what they can do now. If they come back from this or fizzle out. He got stalled by Duke's weird hobby, and he doesn't really mean to pick holes in Duke's weird hobby -- especially if it helps him to cope -- but it's kind of hard not to hold things against it. "Are you awake enough now for me to kiss you?"

"I wasn't asleep... Never mind." Duke stands, shaking his head, and steps into Nathan's space. He leans over Nathan's seated position on the sofa -- Nathan's heart thumps a bit harder, faster, at associated recall, but he successfully hides it -- and lowers his head until their lips meet, trying to do all the angling so Nathan doesn't have to. "Coffee." He licks his lips and starts to pull back. Nathan puts both arms around his neck and slides up with him, ignoring the scream of pain from his ribs at the stretch, inserting a knee between Duke's knees and going in for the kiss again from standing. It's hard to focus on the kiss for the pain, but he must manage it.

"Mmm... You," Duke's lips smack back into shorter kisses between his bursts of words, "must be feeling... better."

"I do feel better." Nathan's body evidently hates him, but he shoves the complaints aside. "Come to bed." He walks Duke backwards, still holding on tightly, trying to let established patterns and muscle memory take over and block out the pain. If he can give Duke the Nathan he's always known... maybe Duke won't flinch. Nathan refuses not to do this, when he's no longer Troubled and they finally can, and he doesn't know what lies around the corner.

Muscle memory serves... Duke's hands slide down to cup Nathan's ass, awakening fading bruises shaped to match the current grip. Nathan exults at feeling both the touch and the pain. The latter is dangerous -- a rebellious, remnant spark -- but it can help him here. Being held feels good. Feels secure. Like Duke wants him again. He tries to push aside feeling, tries not to let the sensations show. Not how much Duke can move him, and not how much Duke can hurt him.

His groin feels impossibly hot pressed against Duke's.

Nathan walks them both into the bedroom. Duke's cleaned there, too, and sprayed some scented spray around that tickles the back of the throat. This place was a cave when they came back that first night. They were just too exhausted to care about the things that Nathan notices now, in retrospect.

He pulls at Duke's underwear. His own clothes, it might be better to leave on, as much as possible. Bruises are reminders that will only get in the way. Duke's passive until his boxers are slid down as far as Nathan can reach, then he shuffles and steps out of them himself. His hands reach for Nathan's shirt, and Nathan stops him. "Not yet."

Nathan pulls them onto the bed, backwards, Duke on top.

There's a lightheaded moment when his injuries jar from the landing, but he pushes through it, his hands on Duke dragging him down for another kiss. His strained breathing, he hopes will be taken for arousal. Weight across his thighs is unfamiliar, and arousal is definitely there. It's an ambiguous, mixed up sort, but Duke doesn't need to know that. All he has to do is not panic at being pinned down, with Duke over him, heavy between his legs. In the distance, Nathan thinks he can hear the sound of waves breaking on rocks and sand and pebble shore. He keeps kissing Duke, who can't see his face if he's this close. Nathan can taste salt on Duke's skin. The kisses elicit less and less response. Because Nathan isn't used to feeling, it takes a while to register how wooden Duke's lips have become. But then, he's been able to feel them for three days. Denial is also a possibility.

After a few seconds more, he's forced to pull back and let go. From a distance of inches, Duke's discomfort is confirmed. Who knows what's revealed in Nathan's own face? Duke whispers, "What are you doing, Nathan?"

"I need to know," Nathan responds fiercely, holding on at cost in more pain as Duke tries to roll clear -- sees the pain and stops moving abruptly. "I need you to fuck me, like we did before." His voice shakes with rage and helplessness as it spills out. "You did this to me, damn it. You did this so we could stay together, so don't tell me you can't stand to be with me anymore."

Duke breathes in harshly. "You can't tell me that you wanted to keep your Trouble."

Nathan doesn't have an answer to that he's prepared to give. "I don't care if it hurts. I don't care if it's difficult. I want you, tonight." He challenges fiercely, "Draw my blood! Prove that it doesn't work any more. There's no danger. You remade me so that I'd be safe with you...!" Bitterness soars in that. Even Nathan winces.

"This is what you want?" Duke starts to struggle out of his grasp again, then stops before Nathan's resistance can cause any real harm. "Jesus Christ, Nathan! This is what my nightmares are about, too!" Nathan blinks. "I've lain next to you, sometimes, these last few days, wide awake, not knowing how the hell you can be sleeping, just thinking about... About walking out, taking the Cape Rouge and never coming back, because that's the only way I can be sure I never hurt you again... or anyone else."

"No," Nathan says savagely. "You can't. If you disappear..."

"Oh, come on!" Duke's body jerks in his frustration, cascading a swift panic through Nathan via some hazy trigger buried in his memories. The inside of his head goes cold. Duke doesn't notice. "I know that you're going to choose Audrey. It's... it's okay. You loved her first. She'll never hurt you. She's... safer. Of course you're going to choose her."

A tight, incoherent noise escapes the back of Nathan's throat. It takes everything in him not to fight, not to struggle. Duke won't hurt him now... Trying to refocus on the nonsense coming from Duke's lips doesn't help much. "I'm not--" He stops. He still doesn't know what he's going to do.

There's an irrational sense that if he lets go of Duke now, he'll be letting go forever. Otherwise... Well, Duke is giving every indication he still wants to roll clear.

"I get that you're trying to 'fix' this, in your own fashion, before you go. But some things can't be fixed, and the most romantic couple on Earth couldn't fix this in three days." He adds sarcastically, "That's not us, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Then what are we?" Nathan growls, breaking through whatever barrier's been stopping him. "I need to know! Where are we, what's left?!" There's already enough stacked against him making a rational decision here, according to Gloria. "How am I supposed to know anything, choose anything, when we've been left like this?!"

Damn William. Damn him. Nathan grinds up into Duke's naked groin, tries to lunge up to recapture him, ends up gasping as fire explodes in his ribs and neck. He flails to continue that motion anyway, and Duke gives in, grabbing on to steady him. Duke's eyes are still wide with shock at... what?

The thought that Nathan might choose him over Audrey?

Duke carefully places hands on his shoulder and lower back and holds him until he recovers his breath, making a joke out of the idea that Nathan was imagining he could muscle him into anything, in their comparative physical states. "Holy shit, Nate," he hisses, after a while. "Calm down." He breathes. Nathan finds himself matching it, after a moment. As further time passes, Duke starts to nuzzle into his shoulder, and they work their way back to kissing again, softer, less like the world ends tomorrow, which doesn't add a great deal of clarity to the situation.

"Okay..." Duke eases the word out on his out-breath, very slow. Things have gone oddly calm. "What do you want, Nathan? Not tomorrow, not in the future, tonight. What do you want to do?"

Stubbornness kicks in. "I want you inside me. If it's our last chance... and that could be because William kills us tomorrow... I want to feel it."

Duke sighs. It's resigned, like he knew what he was getting into when he asked. "All right. But. How sore are you?"

"Almost good." Nathan hesitates, but he doesn't lie; his ass still hurts, and there's nothing he can do about that. If they do this, it's not going to be without a certain amount of discomfort.

Duke touches his face, curiously, though his own has developed a sheen of sweat, and an unmistakable pallor. "Do you still... like the pain? Now that you can feel it?"

"Not really." He feels a fraud for reducing a complex answer to that, but it's the essentials of what Duke wants to know. Yes, it is going to hurt him. No, he won't enjoy that part. Yes, he wants to do this anyway.

"If we see how you fare with the preparation," Duke says, swallowing, "will you promise to go along with what's sane? I'm not going to be hard, rough, fast, or any of the things you're always kicking me to do. It will be very slow, and very careful. Can you settle for that?"

Nathan can do that. Especially since he's starting to wonder about the sanity of any of this approach. It was all so much clearer in his head, before he tried to lay it out and explain. "Can we get these clothes off of me?" he asks, writhing and tugging at the collar of his shirt. He's so warm. They writhe around and when they press back together, Nathan's on top. Duke probably engineered that, but he's less worried now that he's fairly sure he won't freak out if things are the other way around, now that it's just the practicality of being easy on his current injuries.

It does occur to him, though, that he may have unfairly cornered his lover. "You don't have to do this if you really don't want to." His clothes are in a heap on the floor and their cocks are slick, hot, throbbing pressure where their bodies meet.

Duke groans at him. "Do not say that after telling me what's at stake."

"Which was why I wasn't planning to tell you," Nathan says, irritably, before being left incoherent by sensation as Duke reaches down, lines them up and thrusts, the heat of their shafts sliding together. Duke swears and catches him to spare his injuries as he loses his balance and almost belly-flops.

"You're still a freakin' newbie at this whole 'feeling' business, but of course you want to jump in at the deep end as usual," Duke gripes.

"I was thrown in there anyway," Nathan says, "remember?"

He regrets it as real pain crosses Duke's face. "Why are you so pissed about that? Of all the things, losing your affliction... Okay, I was stupid on cosmic levels and it's only down to luck that I didn't kill you, but I didn't kill you, and if I hadn't done it, we couldn't even be together..."

"Not now." Nathan grabs his face and kisses him to shut him up. When he pulls away, Duke silenced, he crawls to get the lube.

He would do the preparation himself -- Duke is still so tentative around his body -- but he can't easily stretch to reach down there with the restrictions upon his upper body movements. He lies instead on his back with his legs bent up and wide, and rolls the lube toward Duke for his attention.

"You've done this a million times," he reminds, with an edge. "You didn't actually do it the worst of the last times."

"Jesus. Shut up," says Duke, crawling almost on his belly across the sheets, up between Nathan's legs. "I'm going to gag you." A different kind of arousal gathers in Nathan, the old familiar one, and he smirks.

"Not while we do this," Duke amends. "You don't think you might need your mouth to say, oh... for example, things like, 'Ow,' and, 'that hurts,' and, 'stop the fuck now'?"

"I might say 'ow'," Nathan allows.

As it happens, he doesn't say anything as Duke slides a lubed finger inside him, or when he joins it shortly with another. It's different than he imagined. Tighter. More painful... more painful, probably, even when he's not already sore. Duke gauges something from his breathing of what he's refusing to voice. "It gets easier. You just need time to adjust, let the muscles relax."

Duke should know. He didn't like this at first.

"I'm all right." Then, Duke's fingers encounter something that sends his nervous system a cascade of sparks so powerful he almost passes out. "Not... not too much of that, or you'll finish me off." He whuffs a loopy laugh at his own turn of phrase.

Duke shoots him a shirty look. "This is why I keep saying start smaller." He adds another finger, and lays his head on Nathan's thigh, and kisses him there, then starts nibbling along the crease down toward Nathan's groin while his fingers continue. Duke licks up Nathan's shaft and engulfs the tip of his cock for just a moment. The noise Nathan makes isn't particularly stoic. Duke laughs at him. His fingers draw out and his hands slide to grip Nathan's hips. "God, I want you like this. I wish I'd chance to re-learn you like this. It's not fair that... You should get to live, to feel. It shouldn't have to end up being more like a punishment."

He levers up onto his knees, moves closer in between Nathan's legs, and hesitates.

Nathan puts his hands over the hands still on his hips, flattening and capturing them there. "We can do it. William doesn't get to ruin this. We can... beat him." He chews the words a bit distastefully. They sound too pat to him, for what's at stake.

"Please don't talk about William while we're trying to have sex?" Duke asks plaintively. Putting a joke on it. Making it funny. That's what Duke does.

Nathan feels Duke slide into him, hot and stretching, still painful in spite of everything, and the world focuses down to the inescapable penetration of his body. He starts to breathe fast -- there's a moment of panic that it is too much, that he might overload on this sensation, his heart bursting here and now -- and his whole body rushes with heat. The sound of the ocean fills his ears, rushing and violent. Things he's forgotten. Things he'd never felt to start with. How tight flesh is straining flesh. Stretch and resistance. The overwhelming fullness.

"Stay with me." Duke's hands clasp his face. "Stay with me, Nathan."

He mumbles something. He doesn't know. He still can't make that promise. Then he realises Duke is only talking about the now.

Nathan isn't used to arousal that doesn't require effort. He visualises, focuses, runs it over and over in his brain; finds other buttons to push, and punches them all he can. That's been the way for... a long time. Varyingly successful, and only really honed in the past few months to become an experience worth bothering with. This... is effortless. It's like flying, when for years he's only been able to crawl.

"Open your eyes," Duke's voice says. "Come on. You've done this. You've had sex since we... came back."

Yes. Sitting up with Duke struggling to stay on top of him, and on a bunch of pain pills which Nathan realises abruptly may have numbed more than pain. He's due another dose now, and the world is sharper... although the world has been sharper in general, today, so it may be him, not the pills, after all. There's a very real difference in intensity. "You made us fall off the bed," he mutters, and opens his eyes as he bucks upward against Duke.

Duke obligingly starts to move more, though far from vigorously. Soft and slow. Very gentle. "Wasn't my fault," he grunts, "that your numb ass can't handle orgasms."

"It just... needs practice." A line about Duke needing to teach him dies on his lips. Nathan doesn't want to lose this -- can't imagine living without it -- but Audrey always overpowers him. Tomorrow, he doesn't know what he'll do or say.

He loses the thought thread entirely as Duke spills into him and he feels it, and it's a closeness that all but shatters him, for all they've shared it a hundred times before.

***


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