FIC: [Haven] Sea Change II: Part 2 - Duke/Nathan, Mature

[roseveare]

TITLE: Sea Change II
AUTHOR: roseveare
RATING: M
LENGTH: 19,500 words [Part 2: 10,500 words]
SUMMARY: In which Nathan Wuornos agrees to spend the night with Duke Crocker, obviously heralding the End Times, or at least guaranteeing that crooks take over the Cape Rouge in the morning.
NOTES: Sequel to Sea Change. Set after 2.2: Fear & Loathing. What it has of a plot is hiding out in Part 2.
THANKS: To Kattahj and Cryptolect for beta!
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, no profit, yadda, yadda, yadda.
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Part 1: In which Nathan Wuornos agrees to spend the night with Duke Crocker.

Part 2.
In which, obviously, crooks take over the boat in the morning.


The early morning haze of slow awakening is going reasonably well. 'Comfortable' as a concept doesn't exist for Nathan, but there's a satiation humming in his bones on some level, a muted contentedness from last night. His body has been nothing but a machine for completing given tasks for so long that, even if he didn't feel it, the exercise of indulging makes him... real.

He rolls over and is vaguely aware of being impeded by something against his face. He drags open his eyes to the flat black of a gun barrel. The lights are flicked on, and momentarily, he's dazzled. He hears Duke swearing, but with a gun between his eyes, and his reflexes dulled to useless by sleep, Nathan opts not to turn over to see what's happening behind him.

"What the fuck is this?" demands August Capresi, striding around the end of the bed. The thick black moustache and the mat of curly dark hair above blunt features is unmistakeable. He's wearing a large crucifix between the unbuttoned ends of his pale blue shirt. Nathan blinks and squints at the man holding the gun on him, matching face to photograph. Hugh Royston. So whoever's behind him with Duke may well be the third member of the fugitive trio, Vernon Parth. Nathan puts two and two together, sluggishly. They're here, on Duke's boat, which means...

Royston swears as Nathan moves, shoving the gun out of his face. He doesn't care about the criminals right now. Or, correction, he doesn't care about those three criminals. He's still hampered by the sheets as he spins and glares at Duke. "You know these--"

But he's wrong, and for once, plainly, he can see he's wrong. Returning Nathan's gaze, Duke looks utterly lost, and... horrified, even sick. No, he knows nothing about this, that much is certain. He also looks distinctly debauched. Nathan squints at himself in the mirrors still surrounding them, and wishes he hadn't.

He's wrong about the third man, too. It looks like the group have picked up at least one local lowlife since the bulletin from Bangor. Does that mean Parth is still around somewhere?

A choked-off yell escapes him as Royston grabs his hair and his shoulder and drags him out of bed. Landing doesn't hurt, it just pisses him off. He thinks about his gun, which he took off while he was waiting in the galley for Duke last night. He starts a tally in his head, scowling narrowly at Royston and Capresi. He's not the only one subject to the brusque treatment. They've pulled back the covers on Duke, but unlike him, Duke is stark naked, and comically, that seems to be making them more reluctant to manhandle him.

"Okay, I said--" Capresi doesn't have much patience, a fact glaringly obvious from his file. Duke may not know who he is, but he seems to know Duke. "What the fuck is this?" He swipes a kick at Nathan, who fields it on his upper arm, indifferently, not that Capresi notices that part. "Your wife said you were out on your boat having a love-in with your 'bit on the side'." He stares at Nathan, and what delight: homophobia. But Nathan cares less about what this asshole thinks of him than about the gun being waved at Duke by a man who's not known for controlling his temper or trigger finger. "But--" Capresi's disgust disappears into a snarl as he gets over it, or at least gets on-subject. "She also said you have my money. Where is it?"

"Evi said...?" Duke scrubs a hand through his hair, shuts his eyes and expels, with a level of fury Nathan's seldom seen in him, "Fucking bitch!"

Nathan is starting to wake up, so he runs a few calculations of his chances. With three of them, armed, there seems little he can do right now if he doesn't want to get someone shot. He knows Duke has weapons stashed aboard the Cape Rouge, and maybe there's one nearby, maybe even in reaching distance, but he doesn't know and surreptitious feeling around on his part is pointless. He has no choice but to wait and hope the odds increase.

It's still sometime before five o'clock by the light outside. At some point, once it gets properly light and the harbour comes to life, someone is going to start wondering what Duke's boat is doing out there with Capresi's moored up to it. Of course, Haven P.D. or the harbour authority barging into this situation is not necessarily going to do Nathan any professional favours.

They do have one thing going for them before it comes to that. His gun is still in the galley if he can get to it. Capresi has zero interest in Nathan, doesn't know he's a cop, and in the circumstances probably couldn't even imagine it.

"She is a bitch," Capresi agrees, "but is she also a liar, Crocker? Do you have my money?" His gun finds the line of Duke's jaw. Nathan remembers trailing his mouth along the same path.

"I have... money," Duke says, with care. "My money. Which is mine. Look, who the fuck are you? How do you know Evi?"

"You can call me August, and we have old business together, your wife and I."

"You and half the east coast," Duke retorts. "How about specifically?"

"Specifically, the hundred grand she took from our last job." Capresi's mouth twists. He's on the run and desperate. Nathan figures it's something that's become worth calling in because now that every cop in the eastern states has his picture he needs the money to hide out or get out.

"Right. So Evi stiffed you. Like I said, you and half the east coast. What the fuck does this have to do with me, and my... business?" Duke's eyes slide to Nathan, full of slimy connotation that had better be feigned.

"She says the money went into the family pot." Duke gets Capresi's gun practically rammed up his nose, tries to retreat and bangs into the headboard. "I don't care about your relationship issues. I want it back, Crocker, so you're going to pay off your wife's debts."

"Fuck off." The answer is unequivocal. Nathan thinks the hint of a smirk escapes onto his lips. Duke's a stubborn cur, particularly when it comes to the question of anyone taking money off him. Nathan remembers the days of their childhood, Duke as Simon Crocker the drunk's kid, never having squat. Capresi pistol whips Duke casually and he just looks more stubborn -- add Evi's involvement and the rude awakening after last night, and he's probably working up a level of pissed that makes Nathan hope he can get his gun back and end this before Duke gets a chance to end it his way. Which Nathan does not want to know about or even think about, because after last night, he'd much rather think of Duke as petty and benign, even if not an honest man.

"Take lover-boy away and find somewhere to lock him up," Capresi tells the third man. "Maybe Crocker will be more compliant when he's no-one to impress." He bends down and grabs some jeans from the floor, leaving Royston to cover Duke, and hurls them at Nathan's face. "Put some pants on."

They turn out to be Duke's jeans, and hang a bit loose on Nathan's hips. He's prodded barefoot out of the room. At the moment, he only knows the gun is poking into his back because of all the mirrors. It's going to be tricky judging this.

He manages to catch Duke's eye over his shoulder before the door's slammed shut, but he doesn't need any hidden signals or secret code. Duke knows just as well as he does what mistakes they're making.

***

Duke can't actually believe this, and he is going to kill Evi. Seriously, it's not as if this counts as cheating on her, after all this time, and after the things they got up to when they were both together and committed, this is unbelievable. Sending armed assholes after him is an overreaction even for her. As to why she'd react this way over Nathan, of all people--

Maybe he emphasized the importance of this overmuch. Maybe she saw something in him that sparked a bout of unprecedented jealousy. Who the hell knows? What he does know is now he has to deal with this crap, and this is not what he needed -- or what Nathan needed, fuck -- to follow on from last night.

But he can see that Nathan slipped into his professional mode from the moment he woke with a gun in his face. He hasn't said a thing to the assholes since they pulled him out of bed. His silence and reserve is heartening, although if the bunch of idiots had the sense to think about it, ever so much unlike what they all seem to have taken him to be. The way Nathan watches from behind those cool blue eyes is... Duke really, really wants to say dangerous, so go on, he'll say dangerous.

From the moment Rounsey Fellowes takes Nathan out of the room, Fellowes is stuffed. He's a small-time crooked dock worker from a neighbouring port who's generally been smoking something that'll effect his judgement, which is presumably why he's working for a man like this August in the first place. One on one with Nathan, Duke doubts the gun will even matter much. Worry curls in his stomach anyway.

His face smarts. He wishes he could've told Nathan about the gun taped behind the bed frame over on that side, but there probably wasn't chance to go for it anyway. Not up against three. Two now, but the gun is too far away for Duke. He tries to start edging over that way, just in case.

But the moment they took Nathan out of the room was also the moment shit got serious. Duke can take a few punches and he's not giving these dicks any money if he can help it. The stash or two he has hidden on the Cape Rouge will stand by in case things really turn nasty. Though what he'll do if they get the idea to try harming Nathan... On the one hand, it could be kind of funny, but on the other...

After showing his face a bit more of the standard abuse, Capresi snarls and chucks his jeans at him. It's been sort of hilarious how prissy these two are when it comes to beating up a naked dude, and apparently they can't take any more. But the jeans turn out to be Nathan's and won't pull on higher than mid-thigh, which is also hilarious, in Duke's new I'm-counting-down-moments-til-I-kill-you version of hilarity. August's other man, who he's called Roy at one point, pulls out drawers until he finds pants that belong to Duke.

"Fellowes should have been back by now," August says. It's really, really difficult not to react. Fellowes is a smear on the wall. They should've sent the other guy; an unknown quantity, but he might've had a chance.

Roy shrugs. "Probably snuck on deck for a smoke." He grabs Duke's shoulder and wedges the gun against his spine as he straightens -- half-dressed albeit commando -- just in case pants give him the extra boost to take on the both of them, Duke supposes. There's a question in Roy's voice. Neither of them like this. "I should find something to tie Crocker up, then go find Fellowes, you think? Police in this town probably already got our faces--" No shit, Duke thinks "--and Fellowes was saying the damnedest things about the police in this town..."

"Not to me," August snaps, eyes narrowing in demand.

Roy coughs up, "Like how weird shit happens here. Really weird, X-files kind of weird, and the police are in on it. You call 'em in and the weird... disappears. Maybe it's a government testing site or something. Cops are all agents, or aliens..."

August snorts, which the crazy theory would be deserving of if it wasn't halfway to being right.

"No, see, he said they've seen it. Some guys he knows tangled with this one cop and they said it was like he was invulnerable, they'd try to land a punch and get nothing. Cops here aren't human."

Duke snorts, this time. "You guys are so special."

Roy boxes him around the ear. By the time he's stopped seeing stars, his hands are tied behind him with what was the one and only black tie he owned, but is now gonna be stretched out of shape because they've yanked it ferociously tight.

"Let's take this out of here." August waves his gun at the door, nose wrinkling. "This room smells of fag."

"Why, thank you," sneers Duke.

The kitchen area still has what's left of their meal from last night on the table. Gay cooties don't stop August from sampling it and pouring himself a glass of wine from the third remaining at the bottom of the bottle. "You made this?" He wafts a greasy finger at Duke.

"I own a restaurant. Dumbass."

On a chair behind August where Nathan slung his jacket, there's also Nathan's belt with his gun and badge. It's like watching a car crash in slow motion. It's so obvious there, it's a wonder they didn't notice it walking in, and it's only a matter of time before they notice it now.

Where the hell is Nathan, anyway? It doesn't take this long to put down one weedy little guy on weed. Not like he doesn't know they're planning to use Duke as a punching bag until someone returns to do something about it. Perhaps Nathan decided to be pissed about last night or this morning and that's why he's holding off. Which would be so incredibly typical. Asshole.

Meanwhile, August eats and struts and pokes into things, not yet noticing the one thing out in the open that blows this all to hell. He's opening cupboards, and Duke would tell him to get out of his shit, only he's hoping it keeps them distracted until Nathan charges in to save the day.

It occurs to Duke that these guys finding out Nathan is a cop, let alone the current Chief, could be very bad for Nathan, given what else they know, and actually, how the hell are they going to stop them from finding that out?

"You got more of this wine anywhere?" August prods.

"That wine? No." He backs off too quick, accidentally bumping Roy, as the gun in August's hand rises and he even hears a faint crunch from the mechanism, he's that close to dead. "Whoa! Yeah, there's wine. It's at my restaurant." Then again, even if it does hurt to see it, it's possible that dulling their reflexes wouldn't be the worst thing ever. "Might be a bottle or two in the bottom cupboard, there." He points his bare toes towards it.

"Maybe we've been barking up the wrong tree," August says, poking about again. "Forget the cash. Boat like this could keep us in more comfort than that little tub. Supplies on board here already, we could easy disappear a few weeks, wait till the heat dies down."

Duke chokes. They want to take his boat? It's war.

"What about these two?" Roy gestures vaguely at Duke. "What about Vernon and Ryan?"

A scowl answers him. "I'll think of something. These two, they can go over the side once we're out to sea. Well... maybe keep the cook."

That's just unfriendly. In Roy's favour, though not much else has been so far, he looks almost as unhappy about that plan as Duke is. Then he freezes. "...Sorry, Cap... What's that on that chair by you? Looks like a piece."

Damn. The nasty turn of conversation kept it from being uppermost in Duke's head for thirty seconds, but it wasn't like he didn't know it was going to happen. August puts down the fresh wine bottle he found and picks up Nathan's gun only briefly -- before dropping it with a violent curse and grabbing for the badge with it. "Jesus Christ!" He hurls the badge at the table, dislodging a few remaining cream cheese puffs, and Roy nervously picks up the badge and studies it in turn. "I don't believe this! This is just... brilliant." August lunges for Duke, clamps both hands around his neck, and slams him against the wall. "You. You knew about this."

"Yeah. Of course, I was so totally going to mention it to you, because we share all our secrets," Duke quips, with some difficulty.

"Holy shit," is Roy's contribution, his voice becoming shrill. "This is the guy! It's this guy--"

"Right," August snaps, "Crocker's fucking skinny boyfriend is a fucking cop, I know--"

"No, it's the guy!" Roy's got a severe case of jitters. "Wuornos! Wuornos, the one Fellowes said his buddies got messed up by. The freakin' alien cop!"

"There are no alien cops!"

Duke could wish the flunky would stop winding August up, because he really needs to breathe. He manages to croak out something resembling the word 'air' and August loosens his grip. A little bit.

"You're fucking a cop, Crocker?" Oh, so now the guy's amused. "How did that happen?"

"Oh, you know," Duke croaks. "Love, lust, funny things. Hell, I married Evi."

"Shit, that guy was--" Roy's catching on. What delight. "You're fucking the alien cop?"

"Shut the fuck up, okay!" Duke snaps. "He's not an alien. You, on the other hand, have something seriously wrong--" He definitely will have, when Duke gets hold of the mouthy piece of shit. Alien, indeed. It doesn't matter, in that moment, that he's said and thought worse about Nathan. That's him, and it was meant, you know. Affectionately.

Anyway, Roy interrupts him with a frown and a sort of I-have-a-gun twitch, so he doesn't get to complete that thought.

Duke strains at the tie around his wrists. It doesn't do any good, and the scented oil he snatched from the nightstand isn't helping much. The binding is slick, but it's too damn tight to wrench either hand through.

"So wait, whether the guy we sent Fellowes off with is some kind of freak cop or just a cop, he's still a cop..." Roy's fight through this conversation towards intelligent comprehension is almost funny. "Isn't the more important question what in hell's happened to Fellowes?"

No, Duke thinks savagely, tired of these idiots. The important question is what's happened to Nathan.

***

Apparently the destination that's been chosen for Nathan to ride out the rest of this adventure is one of the equipment lockers up on deck. He doesn't rush to make his move; his captor is distracted and Nathan lets enough minor chances slip by to know they're a habit and what sort of moments they'll occur. The man isn't a hardened criminal like the other two. He's been smoking pot, which Nathan can smell on him, and he seems to be in pain. There are a few raised, red sores on his visible skin and he keeps scratching at them, and his gun dips whenever he does.

He scratches while he's waiting for Nathan to climb into the locker, getting steadily more nervous the whole time, not liking Nathan's reactions -- lack of them, perhaps -- or just plain not liking holding a man at gunpoint. The guy's even started a few of the sores bleeding. Nathan winces, and hopes it isn't catching.

And he moves, ducking easily away from the line of fire and lashing out at the too-low gun hand with a bare foot. The weapon goes skittering across the tops of some boxes and bounces into the sea. Damn... that could have gone better. No time to fret over it now. Capresi's man might be hopeless and almost helpless, but Nathan still intends to make sure he's down and going to stay down.

Something in his face stop Nathan's hand inches from landing a punch.

The man's eyes have gone very wide, his breathing laboured. It almost looks like a panic attack, but then at the same time, those spots of his have developed black dots in the centre of them, almost as if... as if something's growing out--

Nathan has time enough to think Trouble and instinctively duck and start to roll clear before a web of sharp black spears punctures the air around them. Capresi's man yells, terror in his voice. Nathan doesn't yell, but he can't move any further, either. He's caught up on something, and whatever it is tugs and yanks him about as the Troubled crook tries to move.

The guy is howling a litany of curses interspersed with a good deal of "What the fuck?!" and trying to bury his face in his hands, which is one reason he's giving Nathan so much grief, because a long, thin black spike jutting out of his left arm is stabbed through Nathan's right, below the elbow. Jesus, the guy has -- he has spines, like a human porcupine. Two to three foot long spines. There's not, fortunately, too many of them. Maybe one every six inches or so across his body. Enough to stop anyone hoping to get near him, all the same. Nathan notices another one, from the guy's knee, stuck through his thigh.

"What the fuck?!" the howl repeats.

Nathan discovers he can't pull back off the spines, because something is catching and sticking, but there's a wrench on a box nearby he can just about strain to reach with his free hand. He lifts it up to his skewered arm and brings all the strength he can to bear on a sharp twisting motion he uses to snap the black spar off an inch or so clear of his flesh.

Capresi's man screams and thrashes, trying to pull clear and obviously wanting to run. Unfortunately, Nathan's still caught and loses his footing, getting dragged along. As they both fall, he picks up more scratches from thrashing spikes, but thankfully no more get embedded. He balances himself on fingertips, wrench and one foot, trying not to either get pushed further onto the spike in his thigh or tear out a chunk of his flesh that he can't feel but will surely regret someday.

"Calm down!" he shouts. Maybe a new tactic is called for.

"How the fuck should I calm down?" screeches the crook. "What's happened to me? How come you aren't even freaking out?!"

"You're not from Haven, are you?" Nathan demands. "Wait. Stop moving. Breathe. Answer the question."

"I...I'm from Hampton." Small town down the coast.

"But pretty close. Bet you've got family from these parts."

"What... how the fuck... Why'd you ask that?"

"They're called the Troubles."

The guy drops into silence. For a long moment it's just the sea and the gulls and both their strained breathing. Maybe he's heard of the Troubles, at least heard a few whispers.

"What's your family name?" Nathan asks. "Both sides."

"I ain't telling you that!"

"Fine. Go talk to all those other folks lining up to help you."

"...Shit! Fellowes and, uh, Cardeman, but my mum's family don't get along."

Right. There are Cardemans living up on a ramshackle farm off Crane Bluff. Dad always said never get into a brawl with any damn one of them. "Cardeman, then... You got this from your family on the Haven side. Plenty of people in these parts have these... afflictions. This the first time it's happened?"

Fellowes looks at him like he's grown an extra head. He takes that as yes.

"Look, I'm caught up and neither of us want that. How about you think about these things going away?" Fellowes maybe tries, but not overly hard and it's not working. Probably still too freaked out for that approach from anyone but Parker, whose calming effect seems supernatural in itself. "Shit." Nathan succeeds in bracing himself a bit better, acknowledges that he needs to be out of this ludicrous fix, and that however Troubled Fellowes is, even if he does need help, he's still an enemy.

Nathan uses the wrench again and dives clear, trying not to whack either of the spikes still in him against anything. Fellowes howls again and Nathan shouts back, "Sorry, alright, but -- problem solved."

Fellowes can't be blamed for not appreciating that much. Nathan backs off, managing to seize a quick exploratory study of his impaled arm. It's just pierced the fleshy part at the side of the elbow, he hopes, and it's thin enough there's maybe not too much damage. It's barely bleeding. The broken end and sharp point stick out either side. He's more worried about the deep wound in his thigh, which is harder to check. Fellowes trumps both as the major concern at the moment.

"You asshole," the crook complains. "You didn't have to do that."

"You skewered me. Fair's fair."

"Wasn't like on purpose!"

"Come on," Nathan snaps. "We're not friends, but you've got an obvious problem here. One I happen to know something about. You need me, so listen up. Lots of these Troubles, they're brought on by stress. Panic makes them worse, so work on calming down." He's still fairly close to the locker Fellowes was intent on putting him in. Inside it, there's a mop in a bucket, among other things. He edges closer. The mop handle is long enough to keep Fellowes back if he freaks out again. May not be the most elegant weapon, but better than being turned into a pincushion.

"Cap's gonna kill me," Fellowes whines.

"You've worse problems than him. Focus." How does Audrey do this again? Maybe she'd try shock the guy into getting a grip. "If you can't retract those things, you can't even walk normally down the street. You won't be able to get close to anyone, even if you want to." He knows about that one. "How are you going to live if you don't get a grip on this? Just --" Sit down, he was going to say, but doubts Fellowes can even do that "--breathe, easy there, and think calm thoughts." He gestures to the sun rising over the sea. "Think about getting a less stressful job," he adds, because he just can't resist, though it earns him a miserable nod. "And better steer clear of your buddies. They won't understand this."

Fellowes, he judges, isn't a danger -- at least not on purpose -- to anyone right now. He lets his hand fall back from the mop and instead backs off. Nathan is not exactly happy leaving the guy hanging around up here while he still has the others to deal with below, but can't see how to restrain him and thinks it's entirely possible Fellowes will be too busy dealing with his... issues... to cause any more problem for Duke and himself.

So he leaves Fellowes alone to his sorry state and circles to the other side of the deck. Turns over pieces of Duke's deck furniture in what ends up being a futile search for the weapons the crooked bastard keeps secreted about for these kinds of situations and thinks sourly that it says something about a guy, that he plans for these kinds of situations. Possibly Duke moved his crap because he knew Nathan was coming aboard. He wonders if it's worth hopping across to Capresi's boat to search.

Boats are noisy places; wave action, goods shifting on deck, the creak and groan of the vessel. He's still aware, beyond that, of Fellowes sniffling and moving around. But it doesn't seem much excuse for Nathan to be obliviously holding a chair upside-down in both hands when Hugh Royston's strained voice says from behind him, "Put it down and turn around."

He's not keen to add another bullet wound to his recent damage tally, so turns, raising his hands carefully. Royston's eyes widen at the spike in his arm. "What the hell is--? Hey, how are you free? What did you do to Fellowes?"

"Nothing. The man's got problems of his own." Nathan jerks his head towards where he can still hear the swearing and scuffling. "Wouldn't get too close, if I were you."

With the weapon still covering Nathan, Royston backs off until he can crane his head to get a view of his afflicted cohort. His eyes bug and a trail of sweat slides down from his forehead. "Jesus! What the fuck is going on? How'd you do that to him?" The muscles in his hands bunch and he's on the verge of pulling the trigger.

"How did I--?" Nathan swallows the words and sighs. In so many ways, this morning is turning into the perfect follow-up to last night.

***

"God damn fucking-- get down there!" Roy's panicked voice and stamping steps precede him. "Fucking freak fag cop." Duke's hopes sink; a moment later, Nathan limps in, hands on the back of his neck, followed by the freaking-out crook. "Cap, man, something weird happened to Fellowes. His -- he's still up there yelling about it. He's turned into -- man, I told you, this mutant alien shit--" He jabs Nathan in the back with the gun. Nathan's shoulder moves fractionally, but he doesn't notice.

"Nate!" Duke blurts.

The blue eyes are more arctic than usual. Something's happened. No shit. Duke looks for the source of the limp, spies blood on Nathan's jeans... his own damn jeans. What the hell is that thing stuck through Nathan's arm? Once he's seen that, he picks out the other more easily, thin enough he couldn't see it at first.

"Fellowes is Troubled," Nathan says.

"He'll be more than troubled when I get hold of him," August explodes. "You! Fucking cop! On your knees."

Things twist in Duke's gut, but Nathan keeps immovably calm as he slowly drops, hands still behind his head. "So you know. Should also know there are a couple of wiser decisions you can make here." August sidles behind him and jams the end of the gun in his ear. Perplexity crosses August's face as that fails to get any reaction, and he grinds the gun, harshly. It has the effect of shoving Nathan's head sideways and making him look ticked off. In the interest of continued experiment, August kicks him in the back, and screws up his face like he's caught a bad smell and squints from Nathan to Duke. "You're kidding, right? That must be a truckload of fun in bed. So I suppose, what, you two like it rough?"

That gets a reaction from Nathan, whose bland mask falls away as he blinks in confusion.

Duke yanks at his wrists again and has to deal with the fact he can't rip the guy limb from limb for that comment, which is so far from the truth of last night. He snarls, "You don't know anything." Nathan who was silly and gentle and, okay, the odd bit of clumsy, but that's not his fault.

"It's all right, Duke," Nate says, trying to bring him back down and level. Duke laughs because he wants to fucking cry. All of this shit, right after--

"You let me down, man," he pants through the anger and pain, taking refuge in banter to find a better headspace, if he can. "I thought you'd be John McLean-ing your way through these assholes in no time."

"Sorry. Didn't expect the porcupine-man."

"Porcupine-man? Seriously?"

Nathan shrugs, tips his eyes toward the guns on them. "Seem to remember last time I was out on your boat, things went kind of like this."

Duke chokes. "If it helps at all, I think last time was meant to end sort of like this began."

"You two quit that," August gripes. "Making me nauseous... Aw, shit, I gotta ask, do you really--"

"Damn it, Cap, forget them," Roy blurts, stressed enough to raise his voice to August. "I told you, something's happened to Fellowes. I never saw anything like it."

"Right. Aliens and mutants." August is scathing and pissed, clearly approaching the end of his limited patience. "How about you leave the Twilight Zone and get back into this reality, Roy? This shit--" He kicks Nathan again, who just rolls his eyes. "--It's medical, you moron. Happens in the real world. Some kinda nerve disorder. Like the guy in that Dragon Tattoo movie? No pain. No aliens. Mutants, either. Get it?"

Duke wonders how comprehensively Nathan is going to kill him for getting subjected to this. Groans inwardly and achieves something with his hands -- which have been numb for a while, and maybe that's helping -- that finally gains him an ounce of give. The crashing from above deck gets louder, and there's a bang and a draught that tells him someone just opened the hatch. He frowns and automatically looks up. There's a sort of scraping sound, interspersed with pained panting, from the top of the steep wooden steps. "Guys?" a thready voice whines.

Nathan curses under his breath.

"Watch them," August orders. "I'll deal with Fellowes."

As August moves away, Nathan's head snaps around to the remaining man. "Royston." His voice is very low and urgent. "He'll kill him. You have to let me stop him." Why he thinks he can reason with a dude who's about as paranoid by now as an entire UFO convention, Duke doesn't know.

Nathan tries to rise, but Roy's way too shaky and trigger-happy. His head keeps turning after August and the commotion at the hatch, and he's not happy about that either, but he's shit-scared of Nathan. In other circumstances it would be hilarious how these guys seem to regard Nathan as the Terminator.

Duke can see in every line of Nathan's body that he's going to move, and he'll get himself shot trying to save some Troubled petty crook that he feels sorry for. Duke yanks at his hands fiercely, and he thought they'd gone numb a moment ago, but damn it's a struggle to keep it quiet when he finally frees them at no small cost in pain. August's choked-off cry and curse helps muffle whatever noise escapes him, but that's the shitstorm everything's waiting for.

Nathan swings upward, aiming the point of the spike embedded through his arm at the shoulder of Roy's gun arm. Duke's left hand is ablaze with agony but he's just about fast enough to get there and drag Roy's gun down. The resulting shot is close enough he feels the air disturbance pass by his foot as it fires. His hand screams at the movement. Fuck. Fuck. Next time, he's leaving such stunts to the guy who can't feel them. Nathan twists the spike in Roy's shoulder, making him howl even louder than Duke. The gun hits the floor and bounces somewhere under the furniture. Nathan drags Roy over to the kitchen counter, where August chucked the belt with his service pistol. He grabs his cuffs and fixes them on Roy, awkwardly. "Duke--?" He lifts his eyes, full off urgent supplication, offering out his service pistol with his free hand.

Oh, hell, no.

Duke is busy holding his left hand together, or that's what it feels like. He has a vague idea that things need forcing back into place, and he incredibly doesn't want to do it. The last thing he needs now is to be performing heroics in the name of stopping crooks from killing each other, crooks who can go to hell for all he cares, since they hauled him out of bed with Nathan on his own damn boat.

"I'm stuck." It's imploring and ridiculous. Nathan's stood there fixed to Roy's shoulder by his elbow.

Fucking unbelievable. Nathan's service pistol, that inclination of his head toward the steps... August is swearing a streak and Fellowes is audibly whining, so nothing irretrievable has happened yet. Duke doesn't want to move, but because it's Nathan asking, somehow it's automatic that he unclench his right hand and take the weapon.

God fucking damn it. Haven P.D.'s favourite auxiliary. Again.

Behind him, he's partially aware of Nathan saying, "Move," to the unlucky Roy, whose noises of pain increase sharply.

Approaching the steps, where August has his feet on the bottom few rungs, Duke is promptly floored by holy shit! and the sight of the guy with spines sticking out of his body trying to push his way down through the hatch. It looks more surreal than monstrous, in part because of the obvious losing battle he's fighting to get through the far too narrow space.

Surprise seems to be the reason August hasn't shot him yet. Maybe a touch of morbid fascination as to whether he'll actually manage to get down. It's crazy, and there's no wonder Nathan returned looking so bland.

Duke forces his attention onto where it's supposed to be, aligning the gun in his hand with the guy's centre of mass, and speaks a warning, "August."

August barely looks at him, frozen in an upwards gawp, and the fact he hasn't reacted -- not to the commotion back there, not to Duke's appearance, or even the gunshot -- is a bit fucked up, but without the advantage, if such it can be called, of growing up in Haven, Duke's not sure how he'd be processing this right now himself.

There is chance, briefly, to consider how this plays out if he shoots this guy to stop him killing Rounsey Fellowes. He supposes Nathan would claim to firing the shot, and it's his gun after all. But in the end, it's neither here nor there. Duke has the advantage of seeing it start, while August's reactions are still sluggish-to-nonexistent from, well, exposure to Haven, and he's already on the steps. Really it's not surprising, the way Fellowes is shoving and carrying on, that if he's going to get down in any fashion at all it'll be the hard way. Duke watches him start to lose his balance, and doesn't stay around for the rest.

He bumps straight into Nathan, with Roy's gun in his hand and still dragging the howling Roy; catches his shoulder, turns him around, and hustles them both the other way. It's almost a running tackle. "Coming through!"

Behind them, the rolling thuds and squawks from Fellowes belong in a slapstick comedy. The noise August makes and the wet slap of the final, heavier, dual impact... less so.

Nathan cranks a wondering peek over his shoulder, a firm hold of Roy by the scruff of his neck. "I cannot believe that just really happened."

"Yeah? Well, it couldn't have happened to a more deserving guy," says Duke.

***

Fellowes is unconscious, having somehow managed to bash his head on the way down. Capresi is dead, with holes in six or seven places, the most significant being a bullseye through his right eye socket. It creates a sight Nathan won't forget in a hurry, before the spikes thankfully dissolve in response to Fellowes' unconscious state.

"Of all the ignominious ends I have ever wished upon people, being landed on by a guy covered in spikes... well, it's a classic. Who can argue with that?" continues Duke, who seems under the impression that if he belabours the point for long enough this will become funny. He grins encouragingly at Nathan, seeking a positive response. "...Who was this, anyway? Since you seem to know."

"August Capresi," Nathan fills in. "Yesterday morning's bulletin. He's killed five people that we know of, so I doubt many will mourn him."

"Oh, right. Good, then." Sounding like he could care less, Duke turns his back abruptly and there's a sick noise as he uses the edge of the kitchen counter to pull a broken or dislocated finger back into line. Duke swings around again with a coat of sweat on his face and his eyes disturbingly bright. "Better," he gulps. Nathan's not one to comment, so just gives an acknowledging nod.

He goes and handcuffs Royston to the toilet -- literally, both arms around the bowl -- which may be cruel and unusual but he's not in the mood to care and it will be easier to sort this out without having to keep an eye on their remaining scumbag. Nathan's very relieved to no longer be attached to the guy.

It does mean he's bleeding now. So when he's dealt with Royston he casts no more than a cursory glance to determine the other two are still dead and still unconscious, then returns to the kitchen, where Duke's already produced a first aid kit.

Nathan's elbow drips freely on the floor, but he can see the wound and it doesn't worry him overmuch. The other... he looks at Duke and decides that after last night, it's pointless to make this a problem. He unfastens his loose jeans and drags them below his hip. It's a deep puncture in a tricky spot, and bleeding more than he likes. There's no escaping a visit to the hospital at the end of this. For the moment, Duke helps him patch up and it's... not awkward, though some of that may be the fact neither of them are really talking. When Duke finishes, he comes back up Nathan's body slowly, hands sliding over skin he can't feel -- checking for hidden injuries, Nathan realises, on the verge of a complaint -- but when their faces are finally level again he brings them together for a kiss.

The kiss is full of the dubious tastes of early morning and Duke's blood. Nathan sighs into Duke's mouth and wants to go back. Re-do waking up next to him, and see how that goes. But that chance has been lost. He brushes his hand over the back of Duke's neck, hoping it provides reassurance but numb to the hair and sweat and tense muscle he can only imagine beneath his fingers. A little of his drive from yesterday still remains, but it's fading, and he's forgetting -- that brief experience of sensation, after so many years without, he can't keep it with him, even if he tries, and there are too many other things that desperately need doing right now to even try.

"I hate that something like this always happens," Duke says, drawing back. "I hate myself saying that."

Nathan still has Duke's jeans sagging around his knees. He steps out of them entirely and goes to find his own in the bedroom. Last night seems a million years away. It's also light outside and they're probably a hazard to shipping. All this and it's still not even time for breakfast. He returns fully dressed down to shoes and socks, except one sock he couldn't find, saying, "Need to move the boat. Get these three back to the station. Morgue. Whichever fits."

Duke doesn't answer; he's gone quiet again, and that isn't a good sign, because usually his mouth not moving is a signal of a lot of thinking happening. Nathan leaves him to it for now, takes back his service weapon, replaces belt and badge, removes Fellowes from his deadly embrace of Capresi and chucks a sheet over the dead man. He'd really like to restrain Fellowes somehow, but it doesn't seem a workable idea. Best hope is he stays unconscious until they can stick him in a cell with Parker on the other side of the bars. Maybe the Cardemans will be able to offer some helpful input, and Nathan plans paying a visit up there. He wonders if the station's weapons locker has any spears. You'd think they would have more non-standard arms on hand. Maybe that's something he needs to look into as the new police chief.

He climbs the steps, and outside takes himself on over to Capresi's smaller vessel. First ensures there's no-one else aboard, then fixes it up so they can tow it back into harbour. He engages in a hollered exchange or three with passing fishing boats. Definitely time they weren't here.

Heading back below decks of the Cape Rouge, he finds his jacket and phone, which he waves at Duke, who's sort of dressed now but still grim-faced and locked in thought, pacing the galley. "I have to call this in." Parker first and the rest later, though Parker won't appreciate the early awakening with no gift of coffee to compensate.

"Evi," Duke says, looking up. In that one word, there's exasperation and heavy reluctance but something else that's new -- fear. Nathan stares at him, waiting for the rest. "This -- she wouldn't do this for no reason. This was a message." Duke scrubs his hands over his face.

"What's the message?"

"'Help me'." Then, Duke's diving for the steps. Nathan follows with the phone already at his ear. It takes a dozen rings to get Parker and she sounds as charmed as he'd expect by the wake-up. "I need you over here at Duke's boat. Nobody else, just you." He trusts her to take the urgency from his voice and hangs up on the rest of her questions. Yes, he will be paying for this later. "Duke! Duke, damn it--" Duke is charging for the wheelhouse to take them back to harbour, and that's what Nathan wanted, but not like this. "Duke, slow down."

"They've got her, Nate." This isn't the sort of panic that comes from indifference and burned-out love. "Think about it. She sent them to the Cape Rouge, to me, with a fucking armoury and a police chief aboard, and I've been too pissed at her to even get it."

Nathan picks one thing up clearer than the rest. "You told your wife about--?" The plea in Duke's eyes stalls his scandalised anger. He thinks instead and says, "One of Capresi's gang isn't here."

Duke nods, set to resume his charging about. Nathan grimaces. Duke needs him, and apparently this isn't even at the police and coroner and questions stage of not-over-yet. He says, "I'll get an answer out of Royston. Parker's coming." He jerks his chin at the shore. What the hell are they going to tell Parker, anyway? At least with the change of jeans and his jacket back on she won't know he's injured, and that'll make a few things easier in the short term.

Royston's hugging the toilet and rattling off paranoid theories that make him sound crazier than a sack of cats, which will hopefully make him harder to believe when he's claiming Haven's Chief of Police is sleeping with small-time smuggler and restaurateur Duke Crocker. Their hold over Fellowes probably solves the other half of that problem.

Royston is disturbingly terrified of Nathan, who barely has to issue any threats. Royston spills everything, including the location of the harbourside building where they left Vernon Parth and Evi Crocker, and Nathan returns to Duke with the news as they're coming in to dock. He has to grab Duke to keep him from haring off the moment they're secure.

"Wait for Parker." They can't leave this like this, and he's not letting Duke go alone.

Parker shows up all bed hair and dishevelled curiosity, and Nathan barely has time to bark out the basics to her before Duke drags him away-- "Capresi's men on board. One dead, one unconscious, one locked in the head. The unconscious one's Troubled, keep your distance -- damn it, Duke! -- Shit, Parker, you can kill me later. Evi Crocker's in danger. I need to get this." With that, they leave the whole lot in her lap. Duke only thinks he's kidding that Parker will kill him later.

Ten seconds out of sight, he does think of pulling out his cellphone and resuming the conversation while racing on Duke's heels, answering a few of the other relevant questions any sensible cop would think to ask when faced with the gift of a dead body, a raving nut job and a human teasel.

***

There had been times Duke thought Nathan's closed-off reserve and narrow field of vision, particularly when it came to police duties, something he could never appreciate. In the circumstances, hell, he had to admit that asking the guy you screwed last night to help save your wife was... rude, and most wouldn't be taking it so well. At least, Nathan seems to be taking it well in the heat of the moment. Fallout later -- Evi first.

Roy's interrogation pointed Nathan to a wooden shed that serves as a fishing store. A look of neglect and disuse that little of Haven's small, bustling harbour has suggests it probably only a matter of time before the harbour authorities start making pointed enquiries of its listed owner. Duke guesses that'll be less time now it's become the den of a gang of murderous, kidnapping, thieving scum.

Nathan leads the way in under the peeling remnant of a blue and yellow sign reading Haven Fisheries, aggravatedly casting back warning glances because he wants Duke to be holding further back, and would prefer, Duke definitely gets the feeling, if he were waiting outside. Tough. Evi's his wife, and Nathan was handing him the gun earlier. The man can't have it both ways, so he'll just have to suck it up. If Nathan hadn't looked ready to shoot him, Duke would be in there first.

If they've hurt Evi... well, he can't resurrect August Capresi to kill him again, and can't really fault the spectacular way he managed to get himself killed. But he might have to go through Nathan for a shot at the other three.

Another warning look, and this one says calm down in the bargain so he looks down and adjusts his hold on Roy's gun to something more normal. Nathan's subsequent tip of the head is almost as eloquent and it says, get ready. A second later it says, now.

Duke doubts anyone with that large a hole in his leg should be kicking doors in with such gusto.

He's almost first through the gap anyway, but the sucker August left doesn't stand a chance. Evi -- God, Evi. She's tied to a chair in the centre of the cold, damp shed, wearing just a tank top and jeans. The white top is splashed with red, and there's more blood on her face. "Evi!"

"Duke," she slurs, accusingly, as he rushes to her side and drops to his knees to tear at the knots on her wrists. "You're so fucking late."

"You should be grateful I came at all." His tongue's almost on autopilot. Fucking Roy, he thinks, recognising the freakish tight knots, regretting every chance he had to kick the asshole that he didn't take. He armed himself up when he left the Cape Rouge, so solves the problem with his knife. "Really. Your friends are not welcome at my orgies any more."

Nathan shoots over a quelling look. He's subdued the other guy, Parth, and it didn't take any great energy or trained cop antics to do it, since the dude was half asleep in his chair when they burst in. Strewn around are a few sleeping bags, empty bottles, full bottles -- at least one of which Duke suspects is filled with pee -- and it's no mystery how the big bad city crooks have been spending their time in Haven.

It's embarrassing having Nathan right there while Duke suddenly has his arms full of Evi. She clings to him like he's an anchor, but then she's had a rough night. "I knew I could rely on you."

His shirt is already a lost cause but he's not thinking about that -- really -- as he uses his sleeve to gently wipe the blood from her face. His gaze finds Nathan over her shoulder, flickers back to her face. "Yeah? I should've remembered there are always certain things I can rely on you for, as well." Because damn it, getting beat up does not equate automatic forgiveness. Himself. Nathan. Hauled out of bed together by thugs. Bed, together. Thugs.

She pulls back a fraction to follow his gaze, staying perched on the edge of the chair. It's obvious she doesn't yet want to risk standing up. Duke massages her hands between both of his, ignoring the pain in his left. They're freezing cold and he remembers how numb his were after half an hour of Roy's bondage special. "...Sorry," she says to Nathan, with a wince. "Thanks for... coming through, Mr Police Chief."

Fine, so him she apologises to. Duke squashes her hands, crossly. "What the hell were you doing, Evi? Mixing with people like that?"

"Auggie? Met him when he was nineteen. He used to be cute. Now every time he shows up I can't get away from the asshole fast enough." She groans, wresting a hand free to feel her face, poke exploratively at her split lip.

"Well, your problems with that one are over," Duke says. She returns him an expression that's comprehending but doesn't give much reaction to the news 'Auggie' is dead. Maybe it's Nathan's presence. Or maybe that relationship was more complicated than he's had chance to think about. Jesus. "Evi. Shit, why do you do this to yourself?" He grips her hand and leans forward till his forehead rests on her knees, and he can't... This goes back and back and they've done this so many times.

"Hey." She slaps his face. It doesn't have any force, but anyone's guess if that's deliberate. "Don't make your policeman jealous. We're not together, remember."

"Duke," Nathan says sharply. Duke looks up with a jolt. He's... honestly too tired and too wrung out by this point to worry what Nathan thinks of this anymore. Nathan, who was open and real with him last night as he might never have been with anyone... certainly not while weighed down by his affliction. And this morning Duke... screwed him, he supposes. Screwed him as predicted, even. Although Nathan is managing to look remarkably sympathetic at the moment for a guy simultaneously engaged in grinding a gun into someone's earlobe.

"Take your wife home," Wuornos says, voice all gravel and sea spray. "I've got this."

"Nate..."

"Last night... Thanks." It's one word Duke definitely didn't want to hear, though he doesn't realise until he hears it. Thanks says it was a favour. Thanks says it's over. "We both know it's not going to work like this, not really. Not until I can feel again. But thanks for trying."

"Doesn't mean you can't... try again... every so often," Duke manages. God, they can't have this conversation now, but if they don't, they won't have it later. He knows, abruptly, how Nathan felt yesterday.

But he has Evi, bleeding and half-broken -- or at least not quite herself -- in his arms, and he really needs to take care of this. They'll have some conversation later. That much, he promises himself.

"Okay. Okay, Nate... but this isn't over."

Nathan's eyes are dark, unreadable holes in his face as he watches them leave, and Duke feels them burning his back long after they're out of sight and heading to Evi's hotel, with no clue from all of that about what Nathan was thinking... or, dare he say, feeling... at all.

***

So Duke handily escapes the questions, and the aftermath, or at least postpones them indefinitely. It occurs to Nathan he should have asked which hotel Evi is staying in, but it won't be too hard to pick up later, since her face tends to stand out against the overly white background of Haven.

He updates Parker by phone, swings around to the station to hand over Parth for the unlucky Stan to book in before morning coffee -- can't find any sympathy for that one, sorry, Stan -- and returns to the Cape Rouge with a heaviness inside him he's sure the next few hours will do nothing to shift.

The interior of Duke's living space is occupied by a flock of folks including Parker, EMTs, the stand-in coroner and two uniformed officers who'd be about ready to come off-shift, if he had any sympathy for them, either. It's unrecognisable. Instead of Duke's crazy ideas for entertaining a nerveless man, there's a half-empty bottle of rum and a few cans scattered near the TV. Parker catches his eye and he eyes her back, unsure what shows on his face, unsure he wants to face the conversation that's brewing between them.

As it happens, he's left to stew for hours before it's finally just the two of them alone in the Chief's office, and by that time, even if he can't feel the discomfort, he knows his stomach's been turning itself over so bad it'll be a relief to get it out of the way. Parker has armed herself with what he believes can only be very loosely referred to as 'coffee' after so many sweetening additions, and plants in front of him a tower of steaming, industrial-strength black. She goes back to shut the door. The instant it's clicked to, she begins the interrogation.

"Speak. I saw the state of Duke's boat. I tidied Duke's boat. You said you were going to be with Duke last night." A sort of helpless confusion infringes on her forceful forthrightness. "To me, it looked more like he'd had a woman there, but he didn't, did he? There was... no baseball."

It's non-judgemental -- if anything, kind and carefully neutral. All the same, everything about her lets him know he can rule out evasion as an option.

"Well," Nathan hazards in an oh-so-deliberately muffled voice, which he muffles further with his coffee cup as soon as the words escape, "there may have been some pitching and catching involved." He suspects his face goes red as a beet.

Parker's jaw drops, probably as much from the fact he just said that as the confirmation of her suspicions.

"Oh my God, you -- you slept with Duke." The words drag out of her slowly. "You and Duke. Slept. Together." She stops, visibly re-checking that thought, doubting herself, doubting him, even though it must be all over his face. What is that look? Half disappointed, maybe, in his better hopes. The other half... as if she's stumbled across an unexpected treasure. "That--" she dives forward to pull his arm down, so the base of the coffee cup he's been thoughtlessly gulping from bangs on the desk and spills a little "--is red hot." She looks down as he moves away from her touch. Just because... it's not a good time right now. He hopes she understands that. But her confusion is only more intense. "So did you--"

"No, I didn't feel it," he says, and thinks the ghost of a smile escapes onto his face. Duke. Only Duke. Crazy asshole. "But I saw it, and heard it, and smelled and tasted it, and... experienced it. I guess sometimes you just have to make things happen anyway?" He offers her his tentative conclusion.

"...This is either an epic Trouble or a sign of the apocalypse."

"It's not," Nathan protests, though he knows she's mostly being funny.

"...All right. So what now?"

"What?" He really has no clue what that is in her voice. "What now nothing. Evi. The Troubles. Being Chief." You.

"Oh my God," she says again. "You, Nathan Wuornos, deliberately had a one-night-stand with Duke Crocker. I think my head is going to explode. I'm beginning to doubt I even know you at all."

He hates both her words and his own, because they make it sound casual, and it wasn't. But then, he thinks she knows that, beneath the freaking out. Because she does know him, and it doesn't matter that he can't feel, he wouldn't do something like that with his body without it meaning everything.

As she turns around scrubbing her fingers through her blonde hair, he grabs up and gulps again from his too-hot coffee. Damn it, if his mouth gets burned, it's burned already. He needs it.

"Hey." She stops flailing and spins back to him, one finger raised demandingly. "Just who did--"

"You are not going to ask what I think you're going to ask. And no-one is ever going to tell you," he rushes to cut in, and with the horrible realisation that if asked, Duke will tell, swiftly adds the harder reminder, "Parker? This is one of those times when people with filters between brain and mouth stop talking."

"Hah," she says, and spins a bit and pulls at her hair some more. "Oh my God. Oh my God. If only to have been a fly on that wall," she quips cheekily at him, and grins. They've been candid about sex before, but this conversation is too much for Nathan to take. He sinks down bonelessly in his chair.

Parker isn't usually so free with touching him, but she leans over and puts a kiss on his forehead that'll probably keep burning there for a month.

"I'm glad you got something out of it." That hangs a long time, before she adds, killing the silence. "I'd better go find Duke. Straighten things up over the Cape Rouge. Check on Evi. Check on... Duke."

"Yes." Duke has Evi, but Nathan isn't happy with the way things broke up, and it's probably best if Parker is the one to field this, right now.

Her phone chimes to announce a text message and she plucks it out. Upside-down, Nathan's not able to get much other than the sender: speak of the devil, as the proverb goes. When Parker looks up again, her expression is dangerous.

"Okay, Nathan, spikes? Really? " She's grabbing her jacket from the chair, barging past him to grab his jacket and car keys and shove them at him. "And you were going to mention this to me when?"

He realises Duke sold him out -- of course he did, because if there's one thing Duke Crocker can be trusted to do, it's that.

Parker is never going to believe the hospital visit was forgotten honestly. Even if Nathan dodged the bullet on having sex with Duke and dumping the morning-after cleanup and a boatload of dead or traumatised crooks on her... for this one, there is most certainly going to be Hell to pay.


END