Julia - Jean reveal

[moonshadows]

Troubles have a way of ruining evenings; imagine that. Tonight, it's a stillborn poker game and thick, heavy depression that has me feeling guilty for being relieved that being at the Herald all day keeps me out of the loop half the time. Audrey's just finished filling me in on the mess with the Glendowers and the Rev's wife.

"I can't imagine not having your children for...that long of the year, they're just...out to sea like that. No way of getting in touch." Audrey looks impersonally concerned, like the women begging on TV for just 15 cents a day to feed starving babies in Africa.

Duke, on the other hand, is wearing an expression I've seen a lot in the last two months, one that mostly stopped around the same time I stopped sleeping in my own bed. This topic is hurting him, something confirmed when he gets up to almost aggressively get another beer.

The instant he's out of whispered earshot, I fix the other two with a no-nonsense look. "Change the subject, now," I growl.

"What? Why-"

I don't let her finish. "Do you want to talk about whatever happened the day you dumped Chris Brody on Duke for five hours on your day off?"

Her confusion congeals into unhappiness while Nathan looks interested. "She did what?"

"I was in the back, I can't give details, but they came down the stairs and she talked to Duke and all of a sudden he practically dragged Chris in, sat him at the bar, and dubbed me the Waffle Wench. I didn't want to ask what happened that you were ditching your date," I tell Audrey. "Although that reminds me. Did you ever get any video of Nathan fawning over him?"

"I'm not the only one who came over all mancrush," he protests as Duke sits down and hands him another beer.

"Spreading the love of waffles is a civic duty I take most seriously," Duke says without missing a beat, pretending for all he's worth that there's nothing wrong. "Your vile pancake propaganda must be stopped."

For a few minutes there's nothing but baked goods bantering, and when Duke talks about separating eggs and fluffing whites, my mind plunges into the gutter. Looks like the subject change worked, although now that I know there's something there, hurting him, I know this is an act and not genuine banter.

Then Miss Dense fails to get past Little Mike, who delivers the envelope she wanted to give Duke and leaves with a handwritten coupon as payment. Duke reads the first paper, a blank mask falling over his features. Then he looks at the second one and scoffs.

"What is it?" I ask, but that's not the information I'm fishing for. Is he going to talk, or cover it up?

Duke drops the paper like he's throwing down losing cards. "I guess it's supposed to incite me to riot or something. Grand revelations that my dad pissed someone off enough that they offed him, supposedly. Because I immediately trust information that came from the Rev via Evi."

They discuss the names for a minute or two, but Duke's getting wound back up. I take the risk of being caught playing footsie to reassure him that I'm here, but Nathan and Audrey aren't letting go of the topic of Simon Crocker's death and that's...there's too much there, both things he knows and things he doesn't, and there's no way to change the subject gracefully but Duke...needs to be out of here, away from them before something happens. Thankfully, he's come to the same conclusion and I wonder if he realizes how fast he drank that beer when he leans forward to drum on the table irritably.

"If we're not actually going to play poker, I'm going to turn in."

That's as close to telling them to fuck off as I've ever heard; Duke never goes to bed this early. But it must have sunk in to the other two that he's really not happy because Audrey asks if she can keep the list and that's all either of them say. Duke doesn't even stop to look at them when he tells her she can have it, heading towards the door with angry determination.

"I better go make sure he doesn't fall off the dock and drown," I excuse myself, but I probably didn't need to do that much. Nathan nods grimly at me and Audrey's eyebrow-deep in the list.

Duke's waiting for me on the other side of the door.

It's a quiet walk back to the Cape. Duke's stewing, and I'm not about to pry...yet. He was drinking like that, looking like that, when he thought he couldn't have me. Trying to cover up the pain that was causing him. Whatever the reason he was doing that tonight...if there's something I can do to ease that pain...

I have resources. I'm not afraid to use them.

Once we're safely inside I wrap my arms around him, gently holding him in place, going on tiptoes to nuzzle his neck. "Do you want to talk about things?" I ask softly, freeing his hair from its hairtie and scratching gently at his scalp.

He leans back into my touch. "If you keep doing that, I don't know that talking is on the table."

Good; very good. He's not so upset that sex isn't appealing. "Well, not-talking can help things too, considering..." I don't want to mention what factors are being considered, but when I go in tiptoes to kiss his neck and nibble his ear, he doesn't care what they are.

In short order, we've both been stripped naked and he picks me up. My legs go around his waist, my arms around his neck and I'm kissing him fiercely, inviting a release of tension that will hopefully loosen whatever knot he's got himself tied into. When he lays me on the couch I have to force myself to remember that he needs to talk, and he needs to do it before he can bury the wound again.

"No," I tell him, briefly regretting that he won't be fucking me into the couch, wild with his inexplicable desire for me. "Lay back." Tiny cowgirl's got a job to do, gotta break this wild Gypsy stallion before he breaks himself.

Obediently, he lets himself be mounted and sheathed. Giddyup!

It’s not like this position isn’t fun, it’s just a different kind of fun. Business is pleasure, in this case, and I’ve always been a devoted and motivated employee. That’s why, even though it’s hard to concentrate on anything but how indescribably good he feels inside me, I notice that he hasn’t gone for my breasts. He needs the release too badly to have fun getting there.

I ride him to a shuddering stop and spread myself across his chest, reveling in the satisfaction of a Boss well done, until he’s scraped himself together enough to hold me to him and kiss my hair. Then I give him a count of ten to be able to form full sentences again.

“So…what were you trying to not think about?” I ask softly.

“What do you mean?”

It’s neither suspicious nor defensive; he doesn’t know I know he was hiding something. I lift myself up enough to watch his expression. “Come on, I can tell when you’re doing that whole drink-to-forget slash push-something-away thing.” This is apparently news to him, and while he’s sorting that out, I pat his chest and lay my head back down so he doesn’t feel defensive. “If I can help you…”

“I don’t know that there is anything,” he says, kissing my hair again.

Promising; he didn’t say no, only deflected. He’s going to talk, as long as he knows I won’t let it go but don’t pressure him. “I seem to recall previous conversations about deflection.” I smack his chest with one fist, just enough to remind him, and he pretends to be indignant. Another good sign; he’s playing along. I sit up and ask, “I take it this is deeper than your dad?” but it’s not a question, not really.

Duke averts his gaze. “I’m sure some of the baggage he left me with doesn’t help.” He’s fighting himself, fighting the urge to hide everything away, and I let him. “I need up,” he says, struggling to sit. “I’m going to get to it, I am…”

…but not without help. I dismount and claim his shirt while he pads past wearing his best outfit, and by the time he comes back in soft pants I’ve got two glasses of whiskey ready.

Arms around me from behind, teeth on my ear, and when he says, “You know me too well, wench,” his breath makes me shiver.

“Isn’t that what you pay me for?” I tease, handing him his drink, but he doesn’t tease back. This is more serious than I thought. He's having to force himself to talk about whatever it is, and there's no emotional energy left to tease with. It’s not a surprise that he takes a drink, and the bottle, and sits on the couch. I curl up next to him, pull his arm around me, and kiss his hand in silent reassurance. I’m here. I’m not a threat.

Another drink that does nothing to relax him, and he lets out a slow breath. “You remember when I said, Don’t suck out my life force?”

A small laugh of disbelief escapes at the realization that he hadn’t been making an awkward joke. “I had been meaning to ask you about that, but I wasn’t exactly sure how to bring it up…”

He gives me a small smile at the absurdity. “Yeah…so the last time I had sex before you and I got together, I almost died.”

“What?” Adrenaline turns my blood to ice, tiny protective girlfriend at red alert.

He takes the opportunity of me having sat up to lean over and refill his glass. "Yeah," he says slowly as he leans back, and I claim his arm again. "Helena, she..." He shakes his head. "I don't exactly know, but afterwards I started aging."

Duke tells me about the other two men, and how they'd died, but all I can think is that this is only the prelude to whatever's hurting so badly that even after sex and booze, he's still tense like he's being tortured.

"And she got you," I say quietly when he pauses.

"Yeah. I was...distracted. I told Audrey I'd make dinner for her. It was kind of a bet," he adds hastily.

Does he really think his sexual history matters to me? "Duke, I don't care if you-"

"That's what it was, though," he continues. "I told her she needed to relax. She was all wound up and everything when she came in looking for info about Reiser opening night...she wouldn't take the time off to chill. I told her I'd cook her a meal next Friday. She didn't think I could keep to it, considering all the things I tend to be up to at any given time. Like you ever plan anything in advance. And I told her she'd cancel before I would. Turned out I was right." He shrugs, but doesn't take a drink, and it's not as reassuring as it could be. There's too much detail; he cares too much. "I didn't want to be, of course, and I didn't find out until I called her..."

For a moment, I am a being of fire and pure rage contained within soft skin and Duke's shirt.

"...but it was after that when I ran into Helena, who is...was...mesmerizing." He pauses, eyes unfocused, which gives me time to get my temper back under control - or at least, out of sight. "I mean...she asked about dinner and everything was just...on. It was afterwards...the next day, when I woke up with the weirdest hangover ever.” He laughs, but he also reaches for the bottle again and tops off his glass. "Achy, sore, but not...you know? And then...I mean, she was gone, and I just knew what I'd gone and done. Or who, rather..."

"But you're not dead, so..." I wrap my hands around his, over the glass, silently urging him not to drink. "...so the Trouble was fixed, obviously."

He nods, pulling one hand and the glass away to drink anyway. "Yeah, after I finally got a hold of Audrey, there..."

He shakes his head. I try to wrestle down a tiny, furious dragon who wants nothing more than to pillage and burn at hearing Audrey not only stood up Duke, but then didn't answer his calls.

"Anyway, they'd tracked her down to the lighthouse - the other one, the harbor master's. Thought at first she was living there with them, but Beatty - it was her. Helena is her, like some Jekyll and Hyde thing, and the later in the day it got the older..." Briefly, his breath catches. "It was getting towards evening and I could hardly walk. Nathan and I sat outside while Audrey went in to find out what was going on."

"So...Helena was sucking out your life-force? Or Beatty was?"

He shakes his head, and I can feel the source of that terrible pain hovering, about to be revealed. "No...no, our daughter was."

"Your..." For the space of a heartbeat I am an endless void of cold horror; for a single instant I am rage incarnate, screaming my fury to the heavens. Then I am a skinny little 14-year-old girl, and helpless to do anything but cling to him as if he'd fly apart without my tiny body to hold him together.

"I found out the next day," he says in a voice that's trying not to sound dull. "I...was too...well, essentially, dead the day of." A tiny, dry laugh escapes him. "Nate apparently did actual CPR on me. But anyway, that's what caused all the aging. Helena was some sort of baby-making siren. She would sleep with guys, get pregnant in Beatty's body. The babies would suck out their father's life-force to grow over a couple of days and then once they were born, and Beatty held them, the fathers would die."

But it only took one day for Duke. I need to talk to Uncle Vince.

"They...tried to give her to me, apparently, hoping it would fix things, but it made me worse. I guess that's when Nate had to give me...give me CPR. I...I'm not sure."

He drains the glass in one go, which really isn't surprising considering he just essentially bled those words out. I don't want to ask, don't want to poke my fingers in the bloody wound, but it's still not...there's more, that wasn't everything.

"What..." I lick my lips and swallow. "What happened to her?"

"Jean." Duke's voice is so quiet that I wouldn't be able to hear it if I weren't latched onto him so tight. "Her name is Jean. That's what Audrey said. They sent her somewhere. I...I don't know. Another state. Audrey was all the further away from you she is, the less likely you are to die, which is all well and good, but I..." He stops, throttling back the spill of words, trying to control his breathing. "I...she's my child. I'd like to be a part of her life in some way."

The cold void of horror, the dragon screeching white-hot fury, both of them are shoved unceremoniously into the back of my head. Later, I will cry for how badly Duke's been hurt. Later, I will hunt down the ones who hurt him and exact vengeance. But right now...right now, he is bleeding from an emotional chest wound and the skinny little 14-year-old is, ironically, exactly what he needs.  He needs someone to be here for him now, to press a hand to that wound instead of turning blind, ignorant eyes, to be on his side instead of part of the cold, uncaring world kicking him when he's down. Tiny wench, tiny girlfriend, I've always done my best to be there for him, to be someone he can trust to not abandon or betray him.

I swing one leg over and straddle him, my legs wrapping around his waist, and put his glass aside. Softly, slowly, I kiss him and then hold him close, my arms around his back, his head on my shoulder.

"I haven't been able to find her, though," he whispers into my hair, lips warm against my skin. "I know all these people everywhere, and no one can tell me anything. If she was twenty cases of dodgy  rum or slightly-used, extremely hot guns I would have no problem but my own kid..."

This is going to be one hell of a conversation with Uncle Vince, but he'll just have to deal because I'm not going to back down. "I'll help you," I promise, holding his head, whispering in his ear. "I can't promise that I can get you in a room with her without you dying..." Yet. "...but damn it, I will track her down!"

Something wet rolls down my back before Duke's shirt absorbs it. It take a moment for it to sink in that Duke's crying, and my world dissolves into a white-hot howl of cosmic fury at everyone even remotely involved with keeping Duke ignorant of his own daughter's whereabouts. It's a damn good thing it's so late at night, even if it's early for us. Beatty will be asleep with her other two babies and the uncles will have turned in already. Silently, I promise that boiling rage that tomorrow it can come off the leash. Tomorrow, I will chew chain and spit nails, soar over the village and spew fire. Tomorrow I will flay my foes alive, scourging them with a flail of sharpened guilt and raw grief. Tomorrow, I will find the trail of Jean Crocker.

Tonight, however, all that gets shoved savagely aside because Duke is kissing me, gentle and tender, expressing without words that my offer has been accepted with heartfelt gratitude, and I need to be equally gentle. After a moment, he presses for more depth, and it's going to be okay, he hasn't broken. I give him what he wants, my fingers going to his scalp, and I can feel him start to respond but with everything that's happened - and everything he's drunk in the last...hour? - he's not going to be upright for long. It's easy enough to get some water in him and put him to bed, and then I curl around him and wait for his breathing to even out so I can do some brooding and planning.

Information is going to be my first priority. I need a plan of attack before I start actually attacking, and uninformed plans rarely work out well. I need to know more about the Trouble that produced Jean, and that means going to Audrey. As much as I'd like to just beat her over the head and demand answers, it's not my place to reveal what I learned in the strictest confidence tonight. An oblique approach, then. Gathering information for Uncle Vince and the genealogy. Then I can go to Vince and Dave and tell them what I've learned, add the children to the genealogy, and see if anything's been done with them yet. Actually approaching Beatty is going to have to wait until I'm armed with information...and bait.

It's hard to get a birth certificate without cooperation from a government body and the hospital, and it's hard to explain the sudden presence of three babies, each a week apart, with three different biological fathers - even in Haven. The Guard has men in the hospital, though, and if I'm connecting dots properly the first unfortunate father was in the Guard. Beatty probably hasn't had the time to do more than worry about what she'll do, and if I come in promising birth certificates for her babies I should be able to get her to agree to let Duke have Jean.

Uncle Vince isn't going to want to let a Crocker out of his sight, even one less than six months old. If Beatty doesn't know where her baby girl is, I'll be shocked. If whoever has Jean isn't also worrying about...

...for a moment, baby supplies swim before me, chasing down and devouring little dollar signs. There will be time to think about that later; I need to lay the groundwork first.

If whoever has Jean isn't worrying about her legal status, I'll be beyond surprised. There shouldn't be any adoption paperwork to delay and even if there is, a birth certificate with Duke's name on it should kill that pretty quickly. Kidnapping a baby and taking her across state lines isn't going to go well for the ones holding the baby. That's a last-case tool, though. The stick in case the carrot doesn't work, and half a bluff because Duke can't take custody of her while the Troubles are active. Maybe a sob story, accompanied by financial assistance? Rare medical condition, communication mix-up, and now the father wants to support his daughter from a distance until such time as his condition clears up and he can take her back? If they're good people, they won't want to keep her with a parent willing and able to raise her. And in the meantime, I know Duke would be more than willing to pay them whatever they need to keep his baby girl healthy and comfortable for him. Maybe, if they're good people, they'd be willing to send pictures or video so he can see her.

I really, really hope they're good people. The Guard can take her by force, relocate her to a shelter family until the Troubles end, and I'm more than willing to take it to court if it comes to that - but the smoother it goes, the happier Duke will be.

Now that I have a plan of attack, the pent-up anger surges forward and all I can do is hold Duke tightly and keep my frustrated crying to tears and broken breathing. How could they do this to him? How could Audrey do this to him? All the times he's helped her without asking anything in return, and she just lets someone take his daughter away without finding out where she's going? Some friend she is! If she weren't...what she is...I would lay some harsh truths on her and lock her in a closet with Nathan, let them work out their issues. But she is, and I can't, and I decide that Beatty's going to suffer in her place. Tiny vindictive girlfriend is going to leave some small, neat, bleeding emotional puncture wounds behind.

Fantasies about foster parents stricken with guilt dance in my head, undergoing alteration as I remember that Audrey Parker was an orphan and should know better, damn it. Is she so self-centered that she thinks being raised as an orphan is somehow better than Jean knowing that she has a father and mother and maintaining contact? Well, she can go fuck herself, I'm going to find Jean and find a way to bring her home and Duke's going to be the best dad ever and...I guess I'm going to be a foster mom.

I wonder if Duke wants kids, will still want kids once he learns about the Crocker family Trouble. I wonder if he'd want them with me, since I'm kind of obligated to continue the Carver line. We'd probably have to have two, one for my Trouble and one for his, assuming Jean got her mother's. But then the Cape would be overcrowded. Would he give up life at sea to be tied to me, and to Haven? Would he just take Jean and decide he's done, would he understand me finding someone whose family Trouble was killed by the Crockers to impersonally father my obligatory heir?

I need to not think that far ahead. Resolutely, I smuggle closer to Duke and concentrate on his breathing until everything else fades out and sleep takes me.

 

In the morning, Duke's still dead to the world and I feel like a steam engine stoked and ready for the long haul. Two painkillers and a glass of water go on the bedside table, well within easy reach, before I do my workout. They're still there when I come back to shower and dress. Fruit in a covered bowl, with a glass of Pedialyte, on the table. Write a note that I'm going to busy doing research, but that breakfast's in the fridge. Cook omelets and potatoes, cover his and put it in the fridge. Eat mine. Time to go to war.

The kitchen of the Gull is my battleground. I start with bacon. Audrey stirs upstairs; I put on coffee. Five minutes, and I pick up my phone.

Cooking breakfast for Vince and Dave. You want in?

Be right down, she texts back.

The coffee's ready by the time she lets herself in and comes to the kitchen. I pour a mug and set it by the stool, and she sits and sips while I get the onions in the skillet with the bacon and start on the peppers.

"So what's the occasion?" she asks.

"Phil Reiser," I say, plating some bacon for her to nibble before chopping the rest up. "He was the old body you found with the tattoo, right?"

Audrey nods warily, a strip of bacon in the hand not holding her mug.

"That means he was Troubled, and Vince and Dave are going to want to know what happened, figure out who killed him, if they're going to need to smooth anything over with the next of kin..." The peppers go in and I stir the skillet before reaching for the mushrooms.

Audrey looks uncomfortable. "I hadn't thought about that."

"And that's why I'm bribing you with breakfast, so you tell me all about it and I tell them and you don't have to."

She laughs at that. "You twisted my arm. Okay, it was just around the time the Gull opened..."

While I prepare the grill and the eggs, she tells me the story about Beatty and Helena. Naturally, she omits the reason Duke got snared and dismisses the decision to send Jean away with a laugh and 'Can you imagine Duke as a father?'

"Yeah," I say in as neutral tone as I can manage, keeping my back turned while I attack the grater with a block of cheddar jack.

Three piles of southwest scrambled eggs are covered to melt the cheese. Two of them go into take-out boxes, and I plate the third for Audrey before washing up. Then she goes to work, and I go to my next battle.

 

"Why, thank you!" Uncle Dave says as I hand him one fragrant container and a plastic fork.

Uncle Vince squints at me. "What are you bribing us for now?" he asks, half teasing, as he takes his breakfast.

"Well," I start as innocently as I can, "I was hoping to be able to use some contacts."

"Here it comes."

"Let her talk, Vince!"

"There's three potentially Troubled children without birth certificates." Uncle Vince pops open his container and reaches for the fork; so far, so good. "Two of them are in Haven."

"Beatty's adopted newborns?" Dave asks.

"They're not adopted."

Vince puts his forkful back down. "Oh. Oh, dear. Phil Reiser?" He shakes his head sadly at my nod. "I'll talk with his family. There were only two deaths, though."

I meet his piercing look directly. "Audrey figured out that it was Beatty holding her baby that killed the father. The third baby, a girl named Jean, was sent away from Haven and her father recovered."

"We'll need to track her down," Vince says between mouthfuls of egg.

"I'm going to talk to her mother in a bit, but I want to have bargaining chips ready in case she isn't feeling cooperative. The promise of birth certificates should work just fine."

"You'll have them." He looks at me again, expression saying clearly that the time for evasion has ended. "Who fathered the third child?"

"Duke Crocker."

Dave nearly chokes on his eggs. "Duke? Duke has a daughter?"

"A daughter that he is greatly distressed to not be able to locate," I point out.

They look at each other. "I didn't think he'd care," Dave says in a tone of disavowal.

"But he does, and I'm sure he'd be...grateful...to get proof that she's safe. Isn't that so, my dear?"

I meet both of their gazes. "He can't take custody of her until the Troubles are over, but he wants very badly to be a part of her life. We can use this, but it has to be done carefully."

"You can promise him a birth certificate, too," Vince says with a nod. "We'll let you handle it. Jean Crocker. Poor girl, I'm not sure which Trouble is worse."


I need more intel before I approach Beatty, and the Uncles can't help me here.

"Yeah," Gloria drawls casually when the HPD morgue number picks up. "Waddaya want?"

"Advice," I answer dryly.

"Stop at four shots of tequila," she shoots back. "Wait, you're tiny. Stop at two."

"That kind of a day, huh?"

She sighs. "I'd say you have no idea, but your mom probably told stories. What's eating you, kid?"

At the last moment, I decide against unleashing the bombshell. "Running an errand for the uncles. Need to talk with Beatty about birth certificates for her babies, and I'm looking for advice on a good bribe."

"Food," Gloria says immediately. "Something that can be scooped and nuked and nuked again, and preferably breakfast. I can only imagine how rough mornings are on her with two little tykes. Make it something good and solid. A new mother needs as much nutrition as she can shove in her mouth while the baby's distracted."

"Breakfast it is. Thanks, Gloria."

"You're sure this is for Beatty," she teases. "Duke didn't get you knocked up?"

Well, that's my face on fire. I take a deep breath and remind myself that she doesn't actually know we're sleeping together...

...yet.

"That's what the IUD is for," I tell her recklessly.

"Julia! Are you...?"

That makes me grin. "Thanks for the advice, Gloria."

"Julia!"

I hang up without satisfying her curiosity. Gloria's too canny to risk screwing things up for me by asking questions, so this is perfect revenge for her unwittingly accurate gibe.

It's a short ride back to the Gull where, unsurprisingly, Duke isn't. After last night, I doubt he's even made it to the kitchen for breakfast yet. Oven on: check. Disposable pan: check. A dozen eggs, a loaf of thick-sliced bread, a pound of sausage, a pound of cheddar, milk, spices. Start the sausage cooking. Grease the pan, crack the eggs into a bowl, add milk and spices. Each slice of bread gets soaked thoroughly before I lay it in the pan, and the now-cooked sausage gets spread in a layer on top, followed by half the cheese. Then another layer of soaked bread, the rest of the egg mixture poured on top, and the rest of the cheese. Then into the oven it goes, and I make some hearty sandwiches with the bread before I put it away and jot down what supplies I used. Coleslaw and potato salad and I mark the take-out boxes before putting them in the fridge and cleaning up.

Duke's still not up and about by the time my strata is done. It gets a lid crimped on with potholders and I borrow a real pan to carry it in. Breakfast in the pan, lunch in a bag, both on the back seat of Mom's blandly sky-blue Camry, and I head over to Beatty's.


Beatty answers the door with a baby in one arm and a haggard expression.

"I brought lunch," I offer by way of hello, and she flashes me a tiredly grateful look before opening the door further and welcoming me inside.

The other baby is asleep in a crib. The house is a mess. I doubt she's gotten a free moment to worry about the legality of her offspring since they were born.

"If it's too early for lunch," I call on my way to the cluttered table, "I have a hot breakfast strata here." When I glance at her, she clearly wants that hot strata and doesn't care why I brought it. "Is that Benny?" I gesture to the fussy infant on her hip. "Can I...?"

Not about to waste a golden opportunity, she hands me the baby and hesitates all of two seconds before finding a plate, a fork, and a serving spoon. Surprisingly, Benny falls asleep almost as soon as I perch on the couch, and Beatty joins me shortly, devouring a plateful of strata like me when I'm starving.

"I'm sorry," she half-mumbles between mouthfuls, "I don't mean to be rude or ungrateful. It's just been hard..."

"And I showed up out of the blue. I understand," I say soothingly. "I came to talk to you about birth certificates for your children."

She swallows, hard.

"Vince is going to pull some strings," I continue, and she relaxes and resumes eating. "All three of your children will have birth certificates. Even Jean," I say before she can swallow her mouthful. "We just need to know where she is."

"Of course," Beatty assures me. "Let me get you the address..."

The plate is briefly abandoned to the couch while she rummages in some papers, scrawls something on the back of an opened envelope, and offers it to me. Name, street, city, zip, all legible and in the correct state. I juggle Benny slightly to shove it in my pocket while Beatty goes back to her brunch.

"You know things are going to be complicated with Jean," I start cautiously.

Beatty nods miserably. "I didn't want to let her go. I still wish I hadn't, even though I can barely keep up with the two I have. But the foster parents she's with are taking good care of her."

"I meant that her father's still alive."

"He can't have her," she snarls instantly. "She'll kill him. He can't have her."

"...until the Troubles end, whether for twenty-seven years or for good."

Beatty looks uncertain. "He can't have her," she repeats, but it's an uncertain plea.

Now is the time for vengeance. "When the Troubles end, he's going to push for custody and he'll have a strong case. It could get messy. With how Jean was rushed away, it could look like kidnapping, conspiracy..."

"But I had to give her up," she half-whimpers. "He was dying."

"I know that, and you know that, but even Judge Boone can't accept that in a court of law."

She covers her face with both hands. "I'm going to lose my baby. Even if Duke doesn't take her away from me, her foster parents will adopt her and I'll never see her again. I can't take care of a third child. I don't have the energy or the money."

I give her a moment to lament before saying gently, "I think you should let Duke have full custody."

"Never," is the immediate response, hands lowering so she can glare tearily at me. "That drunken degenerate isn't fit to be a father."

It takes me a long minute to fight my temper back down, and I know she's seen the fire in my eyes. "Which is better - Jean growing up in Nebraska, where you'll never see her, or Jean growing up in Haven with a father who loves her so much that he cried telling me about her?"

"He..."

"Cried. You don't know Duke like I do; no one does. I can count the number of times I've seen him cry on one hand. He grew up having to steal to eat even the cheapest crap food; now he owns the Gull and everything that can be gotten fresh or locally, is. He wants Jean to have everything he didn't," I press relentlessly, "and he has the money and connections to get it."

She's not convinced; she's still glaring at me. That's fine, I can play dirtier.

"Do you hate Duke so much that you'll deny your daughter the right to see her father just to spite him?" My tone is cold and sharp; my words are icicles I'm stabbing her with. "Do you hate him so much that you'll give up ever seeing Jean just to keep him from doing the same? Her first step. Her first word. Her baby smile, her innocent little laugh. Her excitement on the first day of school. Which is worse, her never knowing her mother and father and her siblings, or seeing Duke's scribbled face on her kindergarten family portrait?"

It's too much; Beatty covers her face and cries tiredly.

"I want to see her. I want to watch her grow up. Promise me I'll get to see her," she begs.

"You'll give up all claim on her?"

"Yes, yes. I promise. Please, Julia..."

"I know what it's like to grow up never knowing your birth mother," I tell her quietly. "I promise you that Jean will know her mother...if you give her to her father."

"I promise," she says darkly. "I better not regret this."

I hand Benny back to her, and she cuddles him possessively. "I'll make sure you don't. I'll put the strata and the sandwiches in the fridge for you, and Uncle Vince will be in touch to get full names. He'll let you know when the birth certificates are ready."

She doesn't look up as I do so and leave.


The folded envelope in my pocket burns with potential as I drive away. I'll send a letter first, something frantic and hopeful. With money. Good people or not, babies are expensive and money as a good-faith gesture will go a long way. I won't mention this to Duke just yet; not until I get word from the foster parents that they'll give Jean to her father without a fight. I know him well enough to realize that he'll obsess if there's any uncertainty.

I wonder if Duke will let me make dinner without a fight.



All day I'm expecting a text or call from Duke, but my phone is silent and it doesn't take much to convince the Uncles to let me off early to take care of the wild and dangerous gypsy they think I'm keeping on a leash. He hasn't put in an appearance at the Gull, so I sort things out and do a bit of damage control and then appropriate some steak for personal use.

The Cape is quiet. Duke's breakfast is barely half eaten and has been sitting out for so long that the eggs are dead. The beers that were in the fridge are gone. And it's only 3:30. Looks like I'll get to make dinner without a fight, but that's not exactly comforting. In short order I have Spanish rice cooking, steak marinating, and vegetables being reduced to small bits. The steak follows as the skillet heats, and then it's nothing but delicious sizzling and clouds of fragrant steam.

The arms that wrap suddenly around me would startle me more if I hadn't been half expecting it, and Duke nuzzles my hair briefly before laying his cheek on the top of my head and just soaking in my presence.

"Boss?" I ask carefully, stirring as best I can with a gypsy latched to my back. "You okay?"

One hand releases and makes a so-so motion before returning to my side.

Another shuffling of things, and I manage to turn the heat down without dropping the wooden spoon, laying it instead on the edge of the stove. Duke loosens his grip enough to let me turn around and hug him back. Judging from the tenseness of his back and the smell of his skin, I don't think he's even felt good enough to shower today and I feel a stab of irrational guilt that I didn't text or call him - but I would have felt worse inflicting sudden sound on him in this state. So I just hug him, my cheek against his chest, until he takes a deep breath and releases me.

"You made dinner," he says in a vaguely-accusing tone. "What have I told you about that?"

I kiss him briefly. "Bonus clause. You can pay me later. Right now, you need to go sit down and get comfortable while I make sure it doesn't burn."

Shooting me suspicious and confused looks, he backs away and settles into the corner of the couch. The rice...is done. The steak and vegetables are done. I take a moment to mix the two together in a serving bowl, grab a spoon, and stick it in before remembering he could probably use some fluids. Tall glass of juice it is. Then it's just kicking off my jeans and shimmying out of my shirt and the serving wench is ready to take up her duties.

Duke still looks suspicious but warily hopeful as I sashay across the state room, bowl in one hand and juice in the other. Both of them get set on the back shelf and he gets an up-close view of my cleavage before I seat myself across his lap.

"What-"

A kiss neatly interrupts him while I get a spoonful out of the bowl. "Shhh." I tug his lip gently with my teeth before offering him the spoonful. "Just let me do all the work."

He doesn't make any further objection, holding me as I feed him and myself, peppering his face and neck with light kisses between bites, until his fingers go wandering down under the waistband of my panties. We give up eating at that point, at least until the other hunger has been satisfied.

Duke sighs, head tilted back, slumped against the couch with his arms loose around me as I lean forward to drape myself on his chest in contented afterglow. In a tone of exhausted resignation, he asks, "Why are you so awesome, tiny wench?"

"Do you want me to stop?" I tease, nuzzling his neck.

His arms tighten slightly and his breath catches. "Well, no. Just...all I did today was mope around the boat being a useless lump of misery, and you cooked me dinner, fed me, and then..." A brief caress emphasizes that I'm still naked and straddling his lap. "I think I'm entitled to a little confusion, because seriously, what did I do to earn all of that?"

You bared your soul to me and bled out a secret that hurt so much, you couldn't eat for half the day. I don't say that.

"You didn't eat breakfast," I tell him loftily. "I missed lunch because of my errands, so I was hungry and I figured you needed something better than cold eggs and potatoes, and do I really need a reason for this?" I finish, grinding against him slightly.

Duke groans at the motion. "What are you up to, plotty wench?"

I nibble his jaw. "Can't tell you yet, Boss. For your own good. Trust me."

He turns to capture my mouth with his, and words are forgotten for a while. 

"Thanks for putting up with me," he murmurs into my hair when he can think again. "And for...listening. Last night."

Listening. Either he doesn't remember my promise to find Jean, or he can't let himself hope. Either way, I'm absolutely not saying a word until I've got something that can't be doubted.

"You make it sound like a chore," I counter lightly. "I've put up with worse. But I do have to warn you that if you go for the booze before tomorrow night, I'm going to invoke the 'knock my stupid ass out for my own good' bonus clause."

Duke grimaces. "Probably a good idea." Grimacing again, he releases me to scratch at his scalp, then lets his hands drop with a groan when I scratch it for him. "Okay, another good idea: I shower and get my stupid ass clean and then find a way to thank you for being a tiny awesome wench. Aside from giving you the night off, unless you'd rather work instead of putting up with me some more."

I level a stern look at him. It's somewhat ruined by his gaze dropping to my breasts. "Duke, I originally took those shifts so I could spend more time with you!"

"You..." The rest of the sentence never makes it past the look of utter confusion.

"Please, Boss." I don't quite resist rolling my eyes. "That can't be a surprise, not with all the time I hung around as a teenager, before you started paying me."

Nope. still confused. "But...we..." A gesture I take to mean 'you live on my boat'. "...you don't get sick of me?"

And now it's my turn to be confused. "Wh- why would I get sick of you? I've only been back for two months, give or take." And we've only been sleeping together for a week and a half.

Shit.

My blood turns to ice. We've been sleeping together for a week and a half, that's got to be- he has to be feeling smothered with all this monogamy.

...and a taste of honey's worse than none at all...

"Are you..." The words feel like they should be getting caught in my throat. "...getting sick of me?"

For a bare instant, Duke's face reflects the terror I'm feeling, and then I'm getting kissed in a very reassuringly emphatic way. If I'm any judge after a week and a half, we're headed for round three and that's just fine by me. More than fine, actually. We're tipping slowly over in a controlled motion, Duke releasing my lips to kiss my throat, my shoulder, my breasts as he lays me on the couch.

"No," he murmurs against my neck. "Amazing tiny wench."

Then he proves, without words, how amazing he thinks I am. It's very convincing.

By the time he's done, it's an effort to open my eyes and smile back at him as he kisses me lightly, looking pleased and relieved.

"Alright, wench," he murmurs between lazy kisses, "I need to wash off the shame of my moping, but I'll be back to thank you for dinner."

"Mmm," I agree from my sea of afterglow.

The shower's still running when I manage to scrape my brain back together, so I find and don my scattered clothes before cleaning up from dinner. Lunch? Late lunch. Definitely going to need something else in a few hours. It's still early though, and I racked up some significant potential bonus pay, so I grab the work laptop and to back to the couch to start on payroll before Duke can do it. If I claim some bonus pay, he won't bother combing my contract to make sure I'm claiming all of it. He's thanking me with money, and I'm refusing to take as much as he wants to give me, and everyone's satisfied.

Unless he figures out what I'm doing and we argue about it and then have sex. Then everyone will be satisfied.

Naturally, the moment that giggle slips out is the exact moment Duke strolls back in wearing low-slung jeans.

"Yeah, yeah, I should have realized you'd clean up," he grumbles good-naturedly. "Are you doing payroll? Don't I have a clause for that? I want to see a big, fat bonus on your paycheck, and no arguing."

"Already working on it," I chirp at him.

"Good."

Duke turns on some music, probably to mask the sounds of whatever he's doing in the kitchen, but I don't mind. Mostly because he sings snatches here and there and everything feels cozy, like when we were working on the Cape together and I'd pretend that when she was done, I'd move in and we'd sail off together. Of course, now she's done and I've moved in and we're staying in town anyway. Whatever; I'm not going to rock this boat reaching for girly dreams. Not when what I've already got is so amazing.

The lingering aromas from our late lunch serve to disguise any telltale scents that might clue me in on what he’s making, and of course music drowns out the sounds, so it’s somewhat of a surprise when suddenly there’s a spoon in front of my face and a gypsy draped over the back of the couch, grinning. Whatever he whipped up is chocolaty, but that’s all I can tell from a brief visual inspection. I accept the bite, rolling it around in my mouth to identify flavors and textures. He’s used some of my ice cream, and there’s something fluffy and creamy and a hint of some very nice rum. By the time I’m done and looking for a second bite he’s sitting beside me on the couch, spoon held out enticingly.

Naturally, he pulls it out of reach to steal a kiss before letting me have it.

Gull finances resume with regular infusions of decadent chocolate apology. Duke leans over to peer at what I’m doing, and a few bites later points at the laptop’s screen.

“You missed one,” he says helpfully.

Of course, he’s pointing with the spoon so that’s less than helpful, but I look and…I don’t see where I missed anything. “Where?”

“Right there,” he insists, pointing with the spoon again.

When I turn to ask for clarity, he kisses me.

Oh. Right there.

The look on my face makes him laugh, and he offers me another spoonful in apology. I stick my tongue out briefly and then kiss him before accepting.

“See?” he says, arguing a point that hasn’t been made yet, “That. That, right there. You put up with me all day and somehow…I don’t annoy you by being my usual smartass self.”

“You make it sound like something new, Boss,” I retort, rolling my eyes and opening my mouth for another bite of dessert. “I’ve known what you’re like since I was a teenager.”

“Yeah, but that was a few hours a day. Not…living with me. Listening to me complain about being awake every morning, putting up with my antics every night. Doing my freaking laundry. I’m astounded you haven’t mutinied and thrown me off my own boat by now.”

“You put up with me as a teenager,” I start, but he shoves chocolate at me.

“You put up with me as a teenager.”

Well, that just brings us back around to the monogamy thing. “I’m astounded you haven’t kicked me out of your bed,” I say quietly, putting the laptop aside to watch his expression. “I mean, I heard all about your sexual exploits in high school and it’s…I can’t help but think you must be feeling stifled with just one partner.”

Remorse was not what I was expecting to see on his face. His mouth drops open, but nothing comes out, and he shakes his head as if he could rattle words loose. “No,” he says firmly. “Before you and me, I hadn’t had sex since…”

“Helena?”

“I did tell you that. Okay. So…about two weeks before you got back to town.”

So about two months that he’d been celibate. Probably the only two months since he first lost his virginity, but a near-death experience would put a damper on things for a while.

“And before her, yeah, I’d sleep with one or two – but they didn’t…” Duke hands me the mug and spoon so I can finish while he rubs his face. “Since you…there hasn’t been anyone else. You’re all I need.”

Because I can keep up with him. He doesn’t need to find two or three women a day or go around sexually frustrated because I’m as horny as he is. I prod the last few bites of dessert with the spoon. “That just means I can keep you satisfied.” I don’t look at him. “Not that you don’t want variety.”

“Variety?” He lets out a bark of incredulity. “You mean like the couch versus the floor versus the shower and the counter and the bed and in the store room at the Gull and you on top and me on top and…” Another headshake. “In one day we have more variety than I’ve had in a week with anyone else, anywhere in the world. I don’t want anyone else, wench, and I’m not interested in anyone offering. When I said you’re all I need, I didn’t just mean in bed.” He blinks. “Not even if we kept it to just the bed.”

That makes me laugh a little, and he grins at me in relief.

“I wanted you living with me even when I thought you wouldn’t want me,” he says, taking the mug out of my hands and putting it on the table so he can hold them. “I’m not going to go screwing around with anyone else. I don’t want anyone else. I want you.”

Duke wants me. Duke Crocker wants me, and wants me enough to swear off sex with anyone else. I…no, this can’t be real. Am I asleep?

“I’ve had a thing for you since we were fixing up the Cape together,” he admits shyly, and now I know I’m dreaming. “In fact…I kinda…had fantasies about us sailing off into the sunset together.”

Nope. Those are my teenage fantasies. There’s no way this is the real Duke, which is a shame because I’ve never managed to taste anything that clearly in a dream before, but I must have passed out after all that sex, and I’ll wake up to Duke doing the dishes with tousled wet hair.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Duke demands suddenly.

“Because this is a dream, and you’re a figment of my subconscious spouting my teenage fantasies?”

He looks confused for a moment. “Wait, your…really? When I was…being a little shit, you still wanted…?” The words trail off as he stares at me in awe. “Wench, how are you not a figment of my subconscious?”

“I’m not dreaming?” I ask in a small voice.

“You’re not dreaming,” he teases.

“You really don’t want to have sex with anyone else?”

“That would be a waste of perfectly good sex,” he jokes. “Why would I settle for second best?” Then he reconsiders. “Please don’t hold Evi against me. That was a mistake. A stupid, stupid mistake that I regret immensely and have I mentioned how hot it was that you drugged her?”

Now it’s my turn to tease. “Hot enough that you had to drink yourself unconscious?”

He gestures at his crotch. “This hot.”

The laptop gets moved to the table.

“So, let me be perfectly clear,” Duke says, emphasizing his words with the motion of his hips. “I have wanted to do this since you were sixteen, and you are the only one I want to do it with. Not Evi, not Audrey, and if Helena shows back up I expect you to keep me safe even if it means knocking me out and carrying me off.” He stops and kisses the resulting pout off my lips. “Can you carry me off? I am sort of tall and you’re tiny.”

“I’ve carried you to bed, Boss, I’ll damn well carry you off like so much pirate booty.” I grab fistfuls of his hair and pull his head down to kiss fiercely. “Gee-up, Crocker.”

When the ride has come to a complete stop, Duke flops back on the couch while I fish on the floor for my clothes.

“And that concludes our demonstration,” he says, waving one hand vaguely. “Any questions?”

“Permission to rub it in Evi’s face, Boss?”

That gets a laugh. “How do you plan to do that without her announcing it to the entire town?”

“Make sure there’s no witnesses, of course,” I shoot back.

Evi’s an outsider, and a proud woman. She won’t admit a weakness unless she can turn it to her advantage, and given our first meeting, admitting that Duke would rather fuck me than her is going to stick in her craw something fierce. There’s no way she can twist that around; especially not with town history making it common knowledge that if I were the last woman on Earth, Duke would give serious consideration to gay sex.

“Tricksy plotty wench,” he says with blatantly insincere sternness. “Did you finish payroll before I interrupted you?”

I pull the laptop back onto my lap. “Not quite.”

“Finish that for me, then? I’m gonna call the Gull and make sure nothing’s on fire. What did you say about me not being there?”

“That you were still asleep when I left and I had no idea what was going on and I was going to check on you.”

He pauses the hunt for his phone to give me a disgruntled look. “Thanks.”

While he’s looking, I pull mine out and dial him, but it goes straight to voicemail just as he curses from across the room.

“Dead?”

“Dead. This explains why I haven’t heard from Audrey.”

“She didn’t call me, though,” I say doubtfully.

“Then it must not be important.”

There’s silence while he plugs it in and I keep working.

“So why wasn’t I leaving the boat today, tricksy wench?” he asks, and when I look up he’s shrugging a shirt on.

“Completely legal errand?”

He thinks about it.

“Your drunk ass tripped and you hit your head and being upright wasn’t an option?”

“I just hit my head two weeks ago, wench, you’re turning me into a klutz.”

“That was a Trouble,” I tell him with wide-eyed innocence. “This is being drunk. Big difference.”

Duke sticks his tongue out at me. “I’m going to reassure Shelly that I’m not dead. I shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes. Don’t run off with my boat.”

“Too late.” My eyes never leave the screen, fingers still working. “As soon as you’re gone I’m sailing for Bermuda.”

Silence. When I look up, he’s staring off into space with an appreciative expression.

“Boss?”

“Sorry, just…you…bikini.”

But if I’m in a bikini – don’t think about how disappointing that sight must be – what would Duke be wearing?

“Payroll,” Duke says, snapping his fingers to get my attention, then leaning down for a kiss. “And I’ve already made dinner, so don’t even think about it.”

He gets a theatrical sigh. “Oh, alright.”

When I finish payroll, Duke’s not back yet and I have no idea how long it’s been but a shower sounds like a splendid idea, so I help myself and saunter back out to the state room in nothing but a towel wrapped around my hair.

Duke’s still not back.

Fine. I’ll just steal a shirt from his drawer instead of off his body.

The thick white one looks comfy, so I slide it on and go back to the state room, picking out a book to read while I wait. Naturally, I hear footsteps just as I crack the book open, but I'm curious so I keep my head down and watch through my lashes as the door opens.

Duke peers around the door before striding in like he's walking into a trap, the door swinging shut behind him. Then he takes in my attire and stops dead with a look of complete astonishment before shaking his head almost ruefully, like everything has been usurped by me, sitting there in his shirt. I contrive to look up innocently as he approaches, and his expression is one of duty performed gladly as he scoops me up, the book falling to the couch so I can wrap my arms around his neck for the journey to his bed.

Truth be told, I'm feeling a little guilty about him lavishing so much attention on me when he's the one who had a lousy day, but it's hard to feel guilty when he makes me feel so good.

"I'm sorry I was late," he says quietly as I snuggle against his chest. "I was afraid...I mean, I called, but..."

"But I was in the shower and didn't hear the phone?"

Duke kisses my forehead. "I'm sorry you have to put up with me."

Michael, blubbering as he limps off into the night. I snuggle closer. "I'm not sorry at all, but apology more than accepted."

"How are you not sorry?" he asks incredulously. "I'm a horrible, disreputable gypsy pirate."

"And I'm the wickedest wench in the West," I counter. "Besides, it's not like you treat me the same way you treat everyone else."

He strokes my hair. "That's true," he says after a thoughtful silence. "You get special consideration for being an awesome wench."

"You reap what you sow," I tell him loftily, lifting my face for a kiss, which he obliges me with.

"What did I sow, exactly?" He's skeptical, and I lever myself up for another kiss.

"Wild oats."

I thought it was funny, but he's frowning in confusion.

"How does that get me a tiny wench, exactly? Normally, that gets death threats, and..."

Bastard children. Fuck. I swing a leg over his lanky torso and settle directly over his groin, grinding lightly. Brood through this, Crocker.

"Forbidden fruit," I say lightly as he groans and reaches for my breasts. "And now that I have you, and I can see what all the fuss is about, I want more."

"As you wish," he says mildly.

And a-way we go.

"So, how was your day?" Duke asks as we catch our breath. "Seeing as mine pretty much sucked completely. I didn't ruin anything, did I? Vince and Dave not out for my blood?"

"Productive," I tell him loftily. "But it didn't really pick up until lunch."

"Wicked woman," he breathes, kissing me gently in thanks. "But now, I think, it's time for dinner."

Dinner. Which he made to thank me for lunch. "I did work up an appetite," I say with wide-eyed innocence. Then I grin. "You helped."

"Yes I did," he agrees, pleased with himself. "And since you so graciously helped me eat lunch..." The smile he gives me melts my brain and makes me feel like a girl. "...I'm going to return the favor."

Duke carries me out to the couch and sets me down, kissing me briefly to tell me to stay put, before retrieving dinner from the fridge. He comes back with a bowl of something noodly and a glass of the latest fruit mixture, setting the latter down before kneeling and twirling a fork with evident satisfaction. There's colorful bits clinging to the noodles and a shrimp speared on the end, so I open my mouth and let him feed me.

It's cool, it's spicy, it's zingy, it's delicious and Duke knows he's hit a home run before I even finish chewing. He settles down to feed his tiny girlfriend, pleased as punch, and I'm more than happy to let him. Even if I do feel a little like a baby bird being fed by an adoring parent. It feels like a noble sacrifice to stop when my stomach groans and ask if he's going to eat any.

"Only if you're done," is the unrepentant answer.

"Eat, Boss," I tell him firmly. "I didn't come back and make you lunch to have you skip dinner."

I get an apologetic kiss for that. "You're right. I'm sorry. I fed you all the shrimp."

He laughs as I mock-scowl at him, but he eats. I snuggle up to him while he does.

"Seriously though," he says as he finishes, putting the bowl down to hold me gently to him. "Thank you for being so awesome. I don't...if I ever..."

"Got a sentence in there somewhere, Boss?" I tease.

"I know I can be an asshole," he says quietly, nuzzling my hair. "Don't let me be one to you. I think I have clauses to cover everything, but if something comes up that's not in any of them..."

"You put one in to cover unforeseen circumstances not already covered," I tell him. "Goes from one hundred up to five depending on how much I want to hit you."

Duke relaxes with a silent little laugh. "Good, good. Don't want you looking for another job because I'm..." A vague hand gesture.

"Don't worry, Boss. If you get out of line, I'll call you on it. Before I want to hit you."

"Tiny awesome wench," he breathes as he lifts my face to kiss me.

If he thinks I'm awesome now, what's he going to do when I tell him that not only did I find his baby girl, but once the Troubles end, he'll get her without a fight?

Best not to dwell on it, I think as I kiss him back. One step at a time. Baby steps.

"What are you laughing at, wench?" Duke demands with mock-outrage.

"Imagining the look on Audrey's face," I answer innocently.

Duke laughs, shaking his head slightly. "You are a wicked wench, Julia."

I snuggle back up against him contentedly. "I know."