Desperation

That morning, Nathan woke up hard -- though he didn't know it until he pushed back the covers and happened to look down to find him nodding at himself in morning greeting. With a bleary groan he fell back to the mattress. He gripped a hand to his cock, working it slowly and probably too tightly. Some subconscious trace of sensation must bleed through, because it took a while, a lot of hard work, and a generous application of imagination, but he could still climax.

He wondered what he'd been dreaming about. Something better than this, that was for sure.

When he was done, he lay and stared at the play of sunlight on the ceiling. It wasn't comfort, exactly, but the rare instances he achieved some form of sexual release, even if unfelt, must still deliver their chemical buzz to his system. Unfamiliar relaxation, a quiet power, the aftermath of a rush invisible to the senses that mattered.

Then he got up, cleaned the sheets off, went in the shower, dressed and went to work.

***

Parker was already waiting for him in their office, her face half amused and half dismayed as she sifted through magazines, pictures and amateur DVDs with lurid titles piled on her desk. "You're unusually late. And no coffee?"

Okay, it could take a good long while: he hoped his face didn't redden too much, but couldn't feel the heat in his skin. He eyed the piles instead. "All this?"

"Rev. Driscoll's got a bee in his bonnet about something other than the Haven-specific type of ungodliness for once." She picked up a picture with the tip of thumb and forefinger, angled her head at it, then decisively shut her eyes, and with them still closed, turned it around and offered it for his perusal.

"Pornography?" He squinted. "What is that?"

"Personally, I'm choosing to believe this man has three legs, because otherwise--"

"No, that."

She pulled a face. "I could try to answer, but then I'd have to look at it again. Sorry, but that guy is already going to haunt my nightmares." Her eyes reopened as the paper from her hand fluttered down to rejoin the rest.

"I thought they say bigger is better?"

"Men say. Nothing like that is coming near me."

He laughed at her dismay. "Didn't figure you for this shy and retiring attitude, Agent Parker. What are we supposed to do with all of this? Enjoy ourselves? Redecorate the Chief's office?"

"Hah--" Her breath caught in outraged mirth. "Oh, don't. Don't. Actually, I think a few of the guys have already had their pick of it, so maybe it's just our turn."

"Where did the Rev. get it?"

"Outraged church mothers, that being our problem now. Rev's been coming down hard on the demon of lust this week and this little haul is his congregation's illicit seizures. I know, right? A thirteen year old has porn under his bed, it's the crime of the century. But now he's harping on about who's letting this stuff into the hands of minors. Chief said 'shut it down at the source and maybe Driscoll will quit pissing and moaning'." She could do a surprisingly good imitation of the Chief's voice. "So. Our problem. Seriously, where in Haven even sells this?"

He avoided meeting her eyes: she noticed.

"Nathan Wuornos! Don't tell me you--"

"--might have an idea or two." Defensively, he chased that with, "I was a normal teenage boy, once." Avoiding any mention of his more recent experience, from the time his affliction came back a few years ago, where he'd blazed through everything he could get his hands on trying to pry a reaction from stone-dead skin, until giving it up as a waste of time and chucking the lot out.

"I understand." He watched her pat his shoulder, through the fabric of his jacket, steeling himself not to move from the contact. Her eyes were twinkling, but not unkindly. Though if it hadn't been for that morning, he'd probably be more sore about skirting the subject of his well-known impotence with his female partner in the midst of all the x-rated paraphernalia.

He picked up one of the piles and rifled through it, skimming the contents briefly. Nothing brutal or underage, from what he could see. Just honest filth, for the most part. A few seemed to be special import, Japanese perhaps, going by the faces and the writing, and some of those made him blink -- well, you never knew what turned some folks on. "Maybe we should talk to Duke about this contraband."

Expecting her to chide him for jumping to suspect the smuggler and general ne’er-do-well, instead he got back a wry agreement, "Yeah, I was wondering that. First order of business is to get this boxed up before more goes walkabout, though."

Nodding, he dragged out a large, flat-pack evidence box and folded it purposefully into shape. Methodically and with much satisfaction, he consigned the contents of Parker's desk to it, sealed it with a great deal more tape than strictly necessary, and slammed it back on the desk. "Did notice this ending up on the desk of the only female officer in this station," he said, louder than necessary, though he figured ears were on them anyway. "Funny."

"Are you taking this personally?" Parker regarded him amusedly. "You don't need to. Hey, Wuornos, I've been doing this job a while. I can take it." She elbowed him playfully.

Well, fine that she could say that. But Nathan had to wonder if it was just his own paranoia that suggested they'd tossed a coin over deciding whether to ditch it on Parker's desk or his own.

***

Duke was on his boat, asleep. Nathan watched him humping his mattress through the window and waited a good long moment to make sure Parker saw it, too, then tapped sharply on the glass. Duke shot upright and out of the sheets, butt-naked. Audrey covered her eyes, but peeped, laughing helplessly for all that she scolded, "You're an evil man, Wuornos."

"Spreading 'round the good cheer of the morning," he said. Duke raised various fingers at him, performing a parade of rude gestures from the other side of the glass.

"Just because you're having a bad day... He's right, you know. It is harassment." She waved coyly to Duke, who fled, barely managing to snatch up clothes on the way.

"And that isn't?"

Duke reappeared on deck still fastening his jeans and hopping into a shoe, shirtless. More crossly than he usually let show in front of Parker, he snapped, "I hope you have proof of the murder I committed last night to justify that awakening."

"That a confession?"

Parker slapped his arm, audibly. "Leave it. Hey, good morning to you, Mr Crocker. Pleasant dreams?" "About you, baby." He smirked widely. "What can I do for you, Officer Parker?"

"Pornography," Nathan began.

"--Yeaoooowch!" Duke danced backwards, retreating to the far side of the deck. "Am I hallucinating, or did I actually hear a word like that on your lips? I am shocked you even know about such things."

Nathan rolled his eyes.

Unfortunately, Duke thought about it. And got it. "Oh, right. Sight and sound work for you just fine." His smirk grew cavernous. "All these revelations so early in a morning, eh, Audrey?"

"It's eleven o'clock." She waved a magnanimous hand. "We can wait while you fix yourself coffee and finish getting dressed. By all means."

"I was -- occupied on business last night."

"That mean I'd find something interesting if I searched this boat?" Nathan folded his arms and waited.

"You’d have a warrant for that?"

"Harassment," Parker reminded.

Duke puttered around the deck assembling his usual self. He offered tea to Parker but offered Nathan only a crack about being all out of oil.

"So," Parker said briskly when they were all sitting -- those two were sitting -- companionably. "Pornography."

"That word again," Duke said in wonder. "Can you repeat that? It's kind of hot."

"Duke--"

"Of course, I meant you, too, Nate."

"We wondered if you knew anything about how it gets distributed in Haven." Audrey made a stab at getting down to business. "Particularly anyone might sell it to, say, kids under thirteen?"

"Me? I don't touch filth. It's demeaning to women, whom I love and adore. In a respectful fashion, like I do you -- the only cop in Haven it wouldn't ruin my day to wake up to the sight of. Sorry, Nathan." He stopped. "Wait, are you telling me that this is your whole thing today? No bad, weird and dangerous? No death, mayhem and destruction? How the mighty have fallen. Well, not you, Nathan, 'petty' pretty much defines--"

"Stop talking."

Parker said pointedly, "The Rev's having a hissy fit about kids getting their hands on blue mags and movies. We're just happy he's not harping on at us. Maybe this -- petty as it is -- can fix a few bridges."

"You're wasting your time." Duke echoed Nathan's thoughts. "But I'll help so long as you bear in mind that anything I tell you I... happened across. Innocently."

"Save it," Nathan advised.

Parker covered her mouth for a delicately sarcastic cough. "Is there any chance you'd recognise individual pieces, 'innocently'? We got boxes of it at the station."

"...Except you know I don't do that place." He threw up his hands in added drama, paused, and U-turned sharply. "Then again, 'come down to the station to look at dirty pictures with Audrey Parker'. Who could resist an invitation like that? Count me in."

***

Duke wasn't a lot of use. Not a startling outcome in any circumstances. In these particular circumstances, it turned out he had limited interest in picking apart the issues of Haven's zoning laws and which shops too close to schools and major tourist traps were selling adult material they shouldn't be. His attention wandered when conversation turned that way, and when it became obvious that the product on display wasn't going to reduce Parker to blushes and swoons, or whatever the hell he'd been expecting in place of the very dry sarcasm she actually greeted it all with. So yeah, his morning's major accomplishment so far had apparently been to supply Duke Crocker with a box full of free titillation, and he seethed as the guy sat there ignoring them both and flicking through the pictures with occasional noises of intrigue.

"All right--" Nathan slammed a stylistically familiar photograph on the table, making table, box and three empty coffee cups jump. "This looks like Hardesty's, which he swears he doesn't stock any more since they built the school, so I say we start there."

Duke gave a sharp laugh and sat back, abruptly paying attention again. He crossed his arms and smiled blissfully. "I know someone who knows lots about Hardesty's 'special stock'."

Audrey got as far as opening her mouth before the penny dropped and she gave a disgusted sigh instead.

"What? No," Nathan protested.

"Hypocrite," hissed Duke, his voice carrying like a stage-whisper.

"It's okay." Parker waved vaguely. "It's a man thing. I get it. And you know what? I don't even want to know. Let's not go there."

"It was a phase." Nathan grit out, glaring stonily at Duke. "It's over. I threw it out. Which is why I don't know--"

"I said--" She was almost shouting, and barely caught herself and moderated it "--I don't want to hear it. Please."

"Yes, please," Duke echoed. "Only in my worst nightmares am I discussing Detective Wuornos' masturbatory habits. This is trauma, people!"

Parker slammed her hand down on his to stop him pounding on the desk. "Don't push it."

Nathan scowled and took refuge in silence while the more serious aspects of the subject were passed back and forth for a few minutes. He was relieved when a commotion from outside gave him excuse to leap up to see what was going on.

Unfortunately what was going on was that a couple were trying to get way too frisky in the police station corridor. Stan and Bill were trying to pull them apart.

Nathan was still lacking words when he heard Duke next to his left ear say, wonderingly, "I think I've gone blind."

"Get back inside." Though he allowed his point. Not to be cruel, but the frisky guy and gal were a long way from your usual doped-up, loved-up, drunk or otherwise inhibition-free horny couple, and they'd shed most of their clothes someplace unknown. The woman had to be in her sixties, minimum, though the man was rather younger. "Stan, what the hell is this?"

"Public indecency arrest. It's -- it's like we can't keep them apart. Crazy."

"Somebody spiked something but good, that's for sure," Bill agreed, and grimaced as he managed to interpose himself between the two, not necessarily to his benefit. They pried them apart and dragged them off to separate cells. Nathan turned back and closed the door behind him, blinking hard.

"That was Rudyer, from the, uh, the butcher's shop," Duke half-offered, half-asked. "Really?" He looked like Nathan felt. Parker hadn't gone to the door, lucky her, but she was now looking thoughtful.

"First the deskload of porn," she said slowly. "Now an incident like this... Is it me, or is everyone thinking about... Oh, God. Don't tell me. This is a Trouble. This is a sex Trouble. How about I just take off on holiday for real for the rest of the week?"

Nathan and Duke exchanged a low-key look of resignation. It did sort of make sense.

He should have known there was something weird going on today when he woke up with wood.

***

"All right. So--" Parker had a map, a board, and a box of coloured pins. She'd plotted out a bunch of incidents taken from the last 24 hours, minor infractions when considered alone, one hell of a pattern if they were put together. She'd also plotted out... dirty thoughts. "Because we know Rev. Driscoll's thinking about sex, because this whole pile appeared in our jurisdiction just this morning." She pinned a blue pin in the Rev's place. Not far away, Nathan could pick out his own home, not marked with a pin, but well within the defined groupings.

"Pretty funny, put like that," he said, a bit hollowly.

"The Rev. never enjoyed a sin he didn't try to eradicate for the pleasure," Duke agreed. "Should see him bitch on whiskey whenever he comes by the Gull."

"I've seen it." He nodded to the map on the board. "That's looking a pretty pattern now."

What they had was a good approximation of a target, with the more severe incidents in a concentrated ring. It had a couple of branches off from it, but what they were looking at seemed conclusive enough. "The Troubled are people... so this is centred around a person. He or she lives about here," Parker said, jabbing a finger at the centre," and they've been out and about a few times. Once, it looks like maybe to the supermarket. The other... what's over here?"

"Bowling alley?" Nathan suggested with a shrug.

The phone rang on the desk behind him and Duke picked it up. "Detective Crocker speaking." Nathan grabbed it off him. "Wuornos." He listened. "All right. We'll be there with the doc." He put the phone down and scanned the faces of the other two, Parker perkily interested and Crocker... annoying. "Dead body. In the motel behind the bowling alley."

***

Duke was supposed to be hitching a ride back to the vicinity of the Gull and then disappearing, since making loud claims to have been abducted by the police apparently got him a police taxi service. But then when did the man ever do what he was supposed to? It seemed a sex Trouble was too much entertainment to pass up.

"Do not go near the body. Do not touch anything," Nathan emphasized. To Parker he said, "Someday you're going to explain to me why you let him do this."

But Parker had a dead body to examine, so her interest in banter had dwindled proportionally. She crouched next to Eleanor while he studied the room. Not much to go on there: standard motel room fare, moderately clean, no blood. Hairs left on the bed. Other bodily secretions on the bed. A lot of them. On the dead man, too, and Nathan didn't need to look -- he could smell it. He was hoping someone else would volunteer the information before he felt obliged to. For the moment, he stuck to, "He was here with a woman. Long, black hair."

"Helena?" Duke asked, a bit breathlessly.

"Still safely locked up as necessary. I called," Parker said. "Besides, he’s not old and it's not her time of... week."

"I hate this town," Duke said. "Now I'm ridiculously horny and have to say 'no' to any sweet, willing, dark-haired chicks. For some people this would not be a problem--"

Nathan scowled back, no mystery about the direction of his aim there.

"There's always the blondes," Audrey consoled, with a flirty smirk that nearly made Nathan chip a tooth.

Duke smiled blissfully back at her. "This is true. Yes. I must be zen about this limitation."

"You're contaminating the evidence," Nathan told him, and made him move away from her.

"You're hilarious, Nate. It's... sad. Really."

Eleanor levered up from the body and stomped to the bed, where she flung back the sheets with a whistle. "Somebody had quite the party in here. Either this place is even worse for changing the linen than I thought, or this guy really overdid it, and -- well, it shouldn't be too surprising to find he really did die of a heart attack. Of course, won't know for sure until I have him open on the slab."

"He died of sex?" Audrey asked flatly.

"You'd be surprised how many do. Body's under stress, excited, worked up, however you want to call it. Technically, he died of a heart attack, best guess. Whatever you want to put that down to, hon. But like I said..."

"Yeah."

Eleanor went out with the body when it was loaded on the van. Nathan, Duke and Audrey lingered outside in the motel car park after it pulled away. "This is the main event," Parker reasoned out slowly. "The rest is just... side effects?"

"This thing kills," Nathan said. "We need to find this Troubled woman. Shouldn't be too difficult. We've a description and we know where she probably lives. Plus we know she’s… memorable."

The woman had been seen by the motel receptionist, and though there was no camera footage, he'd been able to give an overly thorough description. Parker'd tried to shut the guy up and he'd just kept on, while his hands dived into the depths of his pockets and he played with himself.

"No, it's going to be more difficult to confront her when we find her." Parker eyed the two men up and down critically. "No offence, but there are some things I do not need to see, and this Trouble seems to bring the crazy on pretty strong."

"You can't go in without backup," Nathan said flatly, "and the only other female officer we got is a 57 year old radio operator who smokes 60 a day." He gave Duke a withering look. "You go home. Civilian."

"It's a step up from 'criminal'. As for going home, hell, no. This gets better and better. Who says this thing doesn't work as well on women? There was the old dear at the station. It totally works on women, and maybe even... women on women. Did you consider you might be no safer from her than us?"

Audrey sighed and rubbed her forehead. "I hate this case. I want you to know -- both of you -- that if this ends in a three-way, I am going to be pissed later."

"Which is not happening because he is not coming--" Nathan broke off as the rest of that sunk in and both men regarded each other in dismay.

"Ah -- not just you, Agent Parker," Duke said. "Believe me, even you aren't worth hitting that."

***

The bullseye of their map-drawn target was a cluster of houses on a steeply sloping road in a quiet neighbourhood of town, a long way from the world suggested by the motel room. Not that Jesson's motel was actually seedy -- Haven, as a rule, did not really do seedy -- but that place was a pit stop for folks travelling through and did feature a little of the out-of-town sort of trouble every now and then.

"I don't feel crazy," Nathan said, as he got out of the Bronco. "You?"

"You know, if 'feel' is a big part of this thing, you might have an advantage there," Parker said, tipping her shoulder in an apologetic little shrug at whatever she saw in his face. "But no, I can't say I'm... feeling the love."

Duke didn't seem concerned about going crazy, but he wasn't the one who had, that one time. He'd only gotten to watch it. Nathan suspected his presence was mainly because he was hoping to get his hands on Parker else see him humiliated again in some new and different way. "Maybe we'll get to tie you up this time," he muttered darkly, with bared teeth.

"I think you need to re-examine. Sounds to me like you're getting fruity after all."

"I'm not," he protested, as Parker turned to look at him. "You're not taking that seriously?" Why hadn't he chucked the guy out of his car four times over on the drive across?

Audrey frowned and shifted her feet, her hand falling on her gun, then self-consciously moving away. "All joking aside..." Her blonde hair shifted against her cheek, falling across her eyes, shining as it caught the sunlight that reduced her gaze to slits. "...If I have to do the nasty, better a friend than some random stranger, I suppose."

Duke drew in a sharp breath, entirely faked. "That was a proposition, Detective Wuornos. You hear that? She just propositioned… both of us. Wow."

He scowled. Didn't Duke get irony? "Don't get too excited." For him, excited was pointless. If he couldn't deal with his lack of sensation with a stack of porn, there sure as hell wasn't any point trying with a real live woman.

"Besides," Parker laughed, "from some of the back-and-forth here, I'm thinking you might just go for each other and leave me alone. Between the two of you might be the safest place."

The two men studiously took several steps in opposite directions, achieving what distance they could, but leaving themselves wide open for Parker to mock them further.

"Investigation," Nathan said, striding towards a front door at random. "Now."

It didn't take a lot of questioning the neighbours to determine their description could only be one person living in the area. "Bob's wife, Cynthia," said the no-nonsense lady Nathan questioned. "Cynthia Reynolds, number 24. When he got married and she moved up here, we were all having to rein in our husbands." She gave him the sort of scathing, narrow-eyed glare he thought she might reserve for the whole of the male sex. He managed a smile back and a thank-you-for-your-assistance, ma'am, then retreated swiftly down the path, reconvening with Duke and Parker on the sidewalk, who'd both brought back the same answer.

"I feel like I've walked into Desperate Housewives," Nathan said, risking a furtive glance behind his shoulder, where the curtains twitched.

"You watch--?" Audrey began, and his phone rang. As he dug it from his pocket, she muttered something about a 'lucky save'.

It was the station. "We got an ID on the dead man," he said, coming off the phone. "And an address. Someone wasn't keeping close enough rein on their husband." He pointed. "Number 38, over there. Suspect lives at number 24. Someone's already been sent to talk to the family, so we have company on the way."

They filed up the steep steps to 24, through sweet-smelling bushes that joined forces with the other sensualities of the day to send a shudder up Nathan's spine. "You feel anything?" he checked, and got two negatives. Just him then. Extra-sensory turn on. Great. Duke Crocker bringing up the rear of their procession could be counted a jangling intrusion on all his working senses, though; maybe enough detraction to keep him focused.

There was no answer at the door, but it opened when Parker tested the handle. "Stay here," she warned Duke, while the two of them entitled to carry and to actually be there drew their guns.

Inside, the house was quiet and tidy. Nothing particularly seemed out of place. A door rocked back and forth, creaking, in the breeze from the open kitchen window. Nathan sensed movement in the play of shadows on the wall and turned to find Duke at his elbow.

"Damn it!"

"Creepy house," he whispered back matter-of-factly. "Figured I'd rather be next to those folks who're going armed."

"I'll shoot you myself, and almost did."

Downstairs proved empty and unremarkable. They ventured upstairs, an airy space full of sloping ceilings and light, and there found a woman -- the woman -- sitting next to a dead man on the bed of the master bedroom.

She looked up with dry eyes and hollowly said, "I didn't mean to do it."

Nathan spasmodically moved to cover his nose with the back of his hand, jerking the gun held in the other out of line with anything. God. "He's been dead maybe three days," he supplied thickly. The recent fine weather had done him no favours.

"Nathan," Duke said, something slow and very strange in his voice. "Do you feel that?"

"No." Blurted angrily, automatically, because he took it for just another part of 'no, I don't feel anything' never sinking in. But covering his nose and turning away from the corpse had meant turning away from the woman. Turning back was a mistake.

The glimpse he'd had of her before had showed him a curtain of dark hair to mid-back and the infinitely dark pools of her eyes. The briefest impression of a cream dress spotted with tiny white daisies, too pretty and clean and innocent for what he knew. Now, he saw full breasts, ivory skin, the perfect swell of her hips where the dress gathered, the compelling slice of leg showing from creamy thigh to sandaled foot. The red of her lips was pornographic by itself. Not cosmetics -- he thought -- they'd gotten that way because of the uses she'd been putting them to.

"Jesus," he muttered, instantly hard as a rock, and somehow knowing it without needing to look down at his jutting pants. But he dropped his hands from his nose and steadied the gun, the smell of death having ceased to register at all. "Stop it."

"Stay with me, guys," Parker said tightly, giving him, in particular, a rather intense glower. Why him and not Duke, who was actually dribbling?

"I can't stop it." ...Right, the Troubles were so seldom amenable to any form of control that wouldn't irrevocably fuck up the lives of those afflicted by them. Of course she couldn't control it. "I wish I could. I want it stopped." She looked at the body next to her. "I killed Robert. You think I wanted that?! You should... shoot..." She nodded at the guns, gulped a deep breath and closed her eyes.

"We're not going to kill you," Parker said. "We want to help you. Can you tell me what happened?"

"You don't understand." There were tears in her eyes now. Nathan knew he was a scant margin away from diving forward to take her and... take those tears away. For that reason, he rather presciently swapped his gun hand and thrust the other arm out just in time to catch and restrain Duke from such a lunge. "She said hold it together!" he barked.

Cynthia Reynolds was continuing, her eyes straying away from Parker to their antics only briefly. "I... think I'm in control, and then... the urge comes out of nowhere. It's worse when I'm around people." She covered her face with her hands and said through them, blurred by fingers and tears, "You need to kill me or you need to leave."

Nathan couldn't feel Duke's struggles against his grip, as such, but it was getting hellishly difficult to keep his balance and keep his feet put. He growled something at the other man about restraint and Duke's panting, red and sweat-streaked face turned from the woman to him. The utter loss of control was startling. "Don't you feel that?"

"It's getting worse," Nathan told Audrey, with a sinking sense of dual horror and hope. No, he didn't feel that. He could see her, and smell her -- though that part was still countered, to some extent, by the dead man -- and that was bad enough. But there was another component to this, one he lacked. Except... he sort of could feel it; the tightness in his belly, a hyperawareness of his groin.

Audrey said, "You have to tell me how it works or we can't help you. I need to know what happened. Cynthia... it's Cynthia, isn't it? Please tell me." She crossed over to the bed, casting Nathan a look that said 'get him out of here'. He started to comply, dragging Duke to the door.

Behind him, he heard Cynthia whisper, "I have to have men. Nothing else works. When it starts, I... can't do anything else. I've tried everything. Since it began, there's nothing I've been able to eat, or drink either. I can't keep it down. I tried everything the supermarket stocks, but... it's the sex, it... it does something. Only that. Then the hunger goes away, for a while. If I try to resist the hunger... people start going crazy."

Shit. He didn't want to leave Parker alone with this one. The poor damn woman had already fixated on a way out, and he was sure as hell that Parker shouldn't have to be the one to do it, if it did come to that. But he was stuck hauling around Duke, and who could've guessed his presence would turn out an impediment?

"I can't believe... that you can't feel it," Crocker growled. "You really are... about as alive as... a brain in a jar."

Nathan hauled back and punched him. Necessary. For his own good. Duke's jaw slammed sideways; he shook himself, blood splattering from his lip, and there was more sanity in his eyes as he said, "One day I'm going to shout police brutality."

"Do that," Nathan said. "Look, can you keep a hold of yourself long enough to get out on your own? Parker needs help." As he spoke, he eyed a cupboard off the stairwell and figured that even if it didn't lock, that chair over there could probably be jammed securely in front of it.

The gunshot rang out behind them before he could act on the thought, and he shoved Duke away as he rushed back for his partner. "Parker!"

Instead of Parker, it was the woman coming out of the bedroom door. At him. She was ten times more potent than she'd been. Switched on, now, no longer restrained. The barest hint of humanity remained in her eyes. Too quick for thought, she bowled him over. He felt neither the impact with her body or the floor, as usual just got left blinking at the sudden change of perspective. Cynthia Reynolds straddled him, animal-wild, her hands tearing at his belt and zip.

Duke pulled her off.

The absence was shocking. His body was definitely registering her effect on some level, because his heart hammered -- he could hear it -- and when he raised a hand he could see his skin red and slick with sweat, and his breath was coming too fast. He lay staring up at the light-play on the ceiling dazedly for a lot longer than was really excusable, his brain fielding forgotten fragments of his dreams from last night, until the sounds in the background snapped him out of it.

He rolled over and got as far as his knees. Duke was screwing the woman against the door of the cupboard. He stared, not really knowing what to do with the vision in front of him, of Duke Crocker with his jeans down to mid-thigh and his fast-moving buttocks gleaming in the spill of sunlight from the window.

It must have taken about sixty seconds for his brain to flag up the reminder, This is how she feeds. She's feeding on him. And the other reminder, This is how she kills. Lips parted, eyes distant and needy, she was utterly focused, utterly distracted.

Nathan lurched upright, keeping his jeans up one-handed, took the three strides necessary to reach them, caught her by the hair and slammed her head back against the door until she went limp.

Duke kept going. Sickened, Nathan hauled the unconscious woman away. With a lot of interference, some yelling, some punching, he managed to get her lifted across his arms and carry her to the bedroom, where he slung her on the bed next to her dead husband. He extricated Parker's smaller body from the room the same way and lay her more gently on the floor, then slammed the door and wedged the chair in front of it. By the time he’d finished, he was gasping like he'd run a marathon.

He half-fell onto hands and knees next to Parker. She was unconscious, but her breathing and her heartbeat sounded fine, even if he couldn't check her pulse. There was a little blood from the cut on the side of her head. He'd seen smashed glass in his glimpse of where she'd lain in the bedroom. Cynthia had hit her with a vase.

He supposed he should check Duke. He didn't want to -- the man was growling and hunched over himself, across by the cupboard, and his stunt with the unconscious woman had been pretty vile, even if Nathan rationally recognised he'd had no control. He'd been the crazy one himself the other week. He settled for asking, "Are you okay?"

"How... how would I be okay?" Duke growled, and unclenched himself enough to look up. Veins stood out at his temples and he looked about ready to burst.

"I knocked her out," Nathan protested. "She's locked in the damn bedroom. You should be fine."

"And you know these rules how, huh? Audrey's Audrey, that's what she does. Tell me how you'd know? You can't even get it on with the succubus, so how would you know anything about how it works?"

"I'll punch you again." But under the bleak promise, he could see that Duke was a mess, and that it wasn't going away.

Duke was shaking. "I'm... sorry. Look, I didn't mean -- I'm sorry. But I'm not fine, Nathan. It's some kind of... overload. She drives you crazy, then she... feeds off it. And you just keep going. God, I need her." Dragging his jeans up, he took a dive for the blocked door. Nathan tackled him around the knees, bringing him down. The floor was bare, varnished boards and sounded like it hurt, but then Duke was oblivious to it and so was he. They grappled, and whatever effect she'd had, adrenaline and desperation, it made the other man stronger than normal, and the realisation came on quick that he wasn’t going to be able to keep him down. Nathan was a so-so brawler, the advantages provided by not being able to feel a hit countered by an inability to really judge leverage once it got down to close-quarters. Chances were that if he drew his gun on Duke, the other man would laugh at him, because wasn't the point meant to be keeping him from getting killed?

So Nathan adjusted his grip from the collar of Duke's shirt to... elsewhere, drawing out a startled cry that changed its texture to a deep groan as he moved his hand. "What do you need, Duke?" he grit out.

The only answer he got to that question was non-verbal, as Duke thrust into his hand. He didn't really want to watch what he was doing, but not-watching made it almost impossible to do at all. At least the other man had stopped fighting him, although if he decided he wanted more than this there might be another kind of fight on his hands. But with Parker down and Duke... crazy, maybe this was the one chance he had to pull this together. In the weirdest way possible. "I want you to know I'm viewing this as emergency medical aid," he said, working Duke's cock and trying to pretend it was just... well, his own. Since the amount of sensation was the same either way. "Count yourself lucky I can't feel, or there's not a chance in hell I could bring myself to do this."

"Yeah," Duke choked. "I can't believe you're doing this. This is crossing boundaries, Wuornos." He sounded better, though -- saner -- and he looked better than a few minutes ago.

"Told you, I can't feel it. For all I know, I could be causing damage. Permanent, function-impairing damage."

"Aaaand right now the fact I don't even care really underlines how desperate I must be." Duke squeezed his eyes shut and gasped, neck arching, the back of his head bashing the floor several times as his whole body jerked with his efforts to thrust harder into the hand Nathan wrapped around him. "I really wish it hadn't been Parker she knocked out."

"Thank your stars it is," Nathan spat, thinking that straddling a man like this put him in a pretty good position to wrap a hand around his neck, too. "I'd hunt you down and kill you."

Duke laughed weakly, opened his eyes, and made everything a hundred times more awkward. Nathan tipped his head down sharply. Paying attention to what he was doing suddenly seemed much easier. If he did, maybe he could do a damn better job of it and get this over quicker. Emergency aid, he reminded himself. Life and death. He had to think of it like CPR. Exhausting, invasive of privacy and dignity, and hardly pleasant, but very necessary.

"Just to mention it while you're about this," Duke said with difficulty, striving for a light tone, "but I hear you can't tell any difference between a man's mouth and a woman's. Just, you know, in case my condition deteriorates further."

Nathan jerked his head up, unintentionally causing their eyes to lock again. A moment later, Duke's gaze slid very slightly downwards, fixing on his own startled, parted lips. When he realised Duke had come, he choked out a yell of dismay, and tried to remove his hand and himself from anywhere near the bastard just as fast as possible. He tripped and fell on his ass, slimy hand slipping on the floorboards when he tried to catch himself. Furious and disgusted as he realised semen had got on the front of his jeans, too, he jerked to his feet. "You want me to punch you again."

"Yes. Yes, I do." Duke had collapsed on his back, limbs a sprawl, face starting to take on a more normal colour, its stretched lines smoothing out. His voice sounded exhausted. Kicking him was easier, plus not necessitating actual skin to skin contact. "Ow." Duke was blinking, and shell-shocked, and now bruised, but he was obviously no longer in danger for his life, either from his heart exploding or being driven to release Cynthia Reynolds to finish what she'd started. Nathan swung away, sure his own face was flushed in humiliation. Other worries spiked his heart rate and he went to finish checking on Parker.

He grabbed a frilly doily covering an occasional table and used it to scrub off his hands and the front of his jeans before he touched her. His hands quivered all over the place. His body was shaking with reaction, and even if he couldn't feel the discomfort, it carried through to him in other ways. Light-headedness. Even more disconnection from the world than usual. He couldn't make his thoughts track properly. He'd... did that qualify as sex? With Duke Crocker? He must've been affected by Cynthia's powers more than he'd realised, even to entertain it as any sort of acceptable course of action, emergency aid or not. "Parker. Come on, Parker." He shook her shoulder. She stirred, but only sluggishly. She was still under. He got out his radio and managed to score enough of the controls with his shaking fingers to call Laverne and ask her to get everything and everyone out there ASAP.

Behind him, as he got off the phone, he could hear clothing rustling, the creak of floorboards, the snip of a zipper, as Duke started trying to put himself back together. Which made him realise he hadn't yet, and he re-fastened his pants. God damn -- he was still hard. Not that it mattered in the least. Even in terms of personal embarrassment, there was nothing that could top what he'd already done today.

He wasn't ready to face Duke again yet, but made himself turn around as the other man awkwardly cleared his throat.

Duke's wide eyes slid down and grew wider. "You, uh... look like you need someone to return the favour," he said, capping the words with a lame laugh and looking very, very awkward. The fragility of his grin, under the circumstances, was the only reason Nathan didn't plant his fist in the middle of it.

"I'm fine." No-one was touching him for the next week, he swore. He glowered darkly at his arch-enemy, who now had the unlikely claim of being one of only four people he'd ever got that close to; not that he was telling him that statistic. "You're... still alive."

"You're happy about that?"

He supposed it was obvious why that sounded less than convinced. "I'd be pretty mad right now if your heart had exploded anyway."

"I guess so." Duke backed off and kept his distance as Nathan crossed the room, either from embarrassment or the very accurate awareness that he was both armed and in a particularly homicidal mood. Duke opted to kneel down next to Parker, speaking her name encouragingly and stroking her face. Gentler than Nathan had been, which wasn't difficult when you had a nervous system that could properly judge pressure. One wary eye was still reserved for him, as he approached the blocked-off door. Did he really look like he was going to lose it that badly?

He tested the chair. It was wedged secure, but the room beyond was too quiet. Nathan set his ear to the door for a lengthy interval. Then he drew his gun -- in the background, Duke ducked -- kicked the chair out of the way and flung the door back.

Empty, corpse aside. Wide open window.

And he'd thought this day couldn't get worse.

***

In the chaos of the arriving ambulance for Parker, the coroner's van to cart the corpse away, and the prisoner transport that was no longer required, at least until they could track down Cynthia Reynolds again, he could forget, briefly, the events of twenty minutes previous. All right, maybe not forget, but subsume it under a million other things screaming for his attention. Including the Chief, who'd turned up with the rest. "See you've gone and got your partner put in the hospital now," was his acerbic observation. Parker'd already got her ride to the E.R. He wanted to be with her to make sure she was all right, but knew he couldn't. "What is that? Variety? Just tryin' on something new?"

The one bright spot in all of this was that the arrival of the authorities always sent Duke scuttling into hiding. Under what rock, he probably wouldn't find until all the rest of the cops were no longer around. Or maybe he'd gone after Parker. Nathan warmed to that idea more than he'd expected. She should have a friend there, and she considered Duke that. "Chief. I didn't put Parker in the hospital. Mrs Reynolds did that. She's got some kind of, of, I don't know how to -- no, I actually can't describe it to you... dad. Except the Crazy Scale on this town just hit an 11." He gulped down a deep breath. This next part was going to go great. "It's got to be me. No-one else can approach her."

"Aw, horseshit," the Chief grumbled, lighting up a cigarette and sending Eleanor into a flap. God, forensics. What they were going to find in this room-- He couldn't think about that. Hell, maybe it wouldn't even be the worst thing Dr Carr had ever covered up. "She kicked your butts. It happens. Don't get personal about it."

"That's not-- she's dangerous. She... affects people. Physically. With my... problem, I have some immunity to her. Look, Parker's out of action and there is no way I can explain this to everyone else. Can we leave it at that and, say, just this once, you trust me? Please?"

The Chief gave him a long, narrow-eyed, canny look through the trail of smoke from his cigarette, maybe taking in that he was standing even stiffer than usual and maybe even noting the jacket that he'd taken off and held across his arm, obscuring his crotch. "You're serious."

"Very. I should be out there, stopping her, right now." Maybe she'd got enough of what she needed from Duke to hold herself together for a few more hours. On the other hand, maybe the interruption just meant she could be killing someone else already.

Chief Wuornos huffed smoke through his nose. "I don't know what in hell's goin' on that means you're so hot to take charge after you been avoiding it your whole damn life, but who am I to argue? Fine. I'll put the warning out, Nathan, to find but do not approach, and you do whatever you need to."

Thanks might be appropriate but he couldn't bring himself to say it. It wasn't like he wanted to do this again. In fact, signing up for round two seemed a lousy idea, considering the state of play after round one. He managed a nod. He did appreciate the Chief coming through with the show of trust, if not the rest of the commentary.

"Careful." The gruff addition halted him momentarily as he turned to leave.

The Chief was lighting another cigarette directly off his last one, face strained and grey in the bright sunlight, looking much older, somehow, than it seemed he ought. Nathan tried not to think about it as he continued at a run out of the door.

***

"Nate!" He jolted and almost drew his gun, but it was just Duke, waiting in ambush next to the Ford Bronco. His face had lost the scarlet hue and imminent-stroke strain completely now, and was just pale and harried.

"What are you doing here?" Nathan snarled. "I thought you'd gone with Parker."

"Excuse me? Parker's a big girl, she'll be fine, and if you mean 'shouldn't I be getting checked out' -- no. And hell, no. Because then I would have to explain why I'd need to be checked out, and that is happening never."

"No." He stopped as Duke opened the passenger door of his car, backing out again as the other man started to climb in. "Speaking of things not happening. Out."

"Considering you just saved my life in an absurdly personal fashion and look like you're rushing off to do something stupid, do me the favour of a conversation." Duke's face as he leaned on the roof of the Bronco, looking across at him, was startlingly open. At least, until he pouted and wheedled, "Don't just love me and leave me?"

There were people around, notably the woman he'd interviewed earlier with a bunch of other interested neighbours, starting to pay attention to the conversation. Nathan swore under his breath and jerked his chin at the car.

He drove out of the street and around the corner, and about a hundred yards further before pulling in again. "All right, get out."

"Nathan!" Duke exploded, hands flying up.

They sat there a few minutes, until Nathan stopped being able to hear his blood pressure and thought he might venture speech.

"You're going after her." In the end, Duke beat him to it.

"You're not," he shot back. "She nearly killed you once already. And I still don't know why you were there." Duke being there at all was, he thought with a certainty, entirely responsible for the last half hour. That meant it was all Duke's fault, like so many other things about his life.

"Right. Of course it has to be you. Just incredible. Your sexual dysfunction, it's like a superpower."

"Fuck y-- no, fuck off. Fuck off." Yeah, he'd absolutely changed his mind about the phrasing of that halfway through.

"A really, really uncool superpower." Duke's hand was on his shoulder, where he really did not want anyone's hand to be. He stared at it. Duke completed his consoling grip-and-shake anyway. "Man, I'm sorry. But you're Speedball."

Nathan groaned. "Are we going to make a joke of this when it could save lives today?"

A shrug in reply. "You're the tortured, self-sacrificing one. Don't begrudge me my role as devilishly handsome comic relief." At least he'd removed the hand.

"Don't touch me again."

Duke gave him an indefinable look and then nodded, with seriousness that belied his prior words. "Yeah. You probably did earn that one. Sorry."

Nathan's phone rang and he groped it out of his pocket, staring at the name on the screen before answering. Parker. Took her all of half an hour. "You all right?"

Sharp, impatient-- "What happened?"

"Crazy woman knocked you out, tried to whammy me, whammied Duke. He's fine. How are you?"

"My head is splitting, they want to do a scan, and--" some distraction in the background; an exchange he could only half hear "--and they're threatening to take away my phone. Come and arrest them?"

"Can't. I need to find Cynthia Reynolds. Sorry, Parker."

"You're going after her?" Concern flared down the line.

"No, it's all right. I'm -- immune. You focus on getting better." Reluctantly, because it was for her own good, he ended the call.

"You're not immune," Duke argued from the passenger seat.

"Parker's gonna be fine," Nathan told him.

"Yeah, I said that, so I know. And you're still not immune. Her thing, it works on you. I saw it."

"Not all the way immune, then, but she doesn’t make me crazy like everyone else. I can stop her. God knows nobody else has a chance."

"Snipers. Long distance."

"Jesus, Duke! She's a scared housewife! She doesn't want this, anymore than I want -- this." He gestured uselessly with his numb hands.

"Hey, whatever your problems are, and they are many, yours don't kill people. She’s deadly, Nate."

"So was Beattie! And you explain why we're bringing snipers out to take care of one unarmed woman." He brought his temper back down to a simmer, with effort, and groaned. "Shit, I don’t know, Duke. Parker's knack with these people didn't work, and I don't even have that."

Duke said, "You have already demonstrated once today the lengths you'll go to save just about anyone."

Nathan didn't need the reminder. "Your involvement with this ends here. If I have to save your life again, I'll do it by cuffing you and leaving you for the tourists to gawp at."

Apparently that was a threat that washed, because in short order he was finally alone in his car. He moved to put his cuffs away.

Duke's hand was there, sliding through the half-open window, a finger snagging one of the rings and twirling it before relinquishing it again. Waggling the finger in mock chastisement, Duke said, "Really, Nathan? You little minx."

He started up the Bronco, not quite fast enough to run over Duke's foot.

***

He quartered the streets of Haven, keeping a keen lookout for Cynthia Reynolds, or any of the telltale behaviours that would indicate she'd been nearby. He'd asked Laverne to fill him in on 'any more of those weird sex-related disturbances'. There'd been a few maybes around Renson Street, not so's they pointed anywhere specific, but enough that he was already in the area when another call came through on the radio: "Chief says tell you the Reynolds have a second property for the summer vacationers at Renson's Cove, Nathan." Laverne's smoky voice curled down from his ears to coil seductively within his belly despite the fact he knew she was 57, overweight enough for two, and married. He figured that was a clue. "He also says Martha Tapper made him one giant stewed beef pie for supper tonight, and if you keep your scrawny butt intact long enough he might let you share."

He gave a brief snort of mirth. Supper with dad weighed against Martha's pie? Pie usually won out in that equation, but truth was it had been one hell of a day and if he got through it, facing Garland Wuornos across the dinner table was probably the last way he'd want to end it.

"Thanks, Laverne," he said, steering the Ford Bronco with renewed purpose. The house didn't have a number, but there were only a half-dozen houses on Renson's Cove and the mailbox said 'Reynolds' on it. It perched by a gate at the base of a near-vertical garden lushly over-planted with flowers, leading up to a little tourist shack. He hoped the place wasn't rented out at the moment, or her hideout would lead directly to her next victim. She'd had at least the wits to get there, and it wasn't a bad spot, fairly isolated along the cliff road. If her half-dozen neighbours were screwing like bunnies, it wouldn't be the worst thing her trouble had caused.

He could feel it again, gathered in the base of his stomach. The effect grew keener as he ascended the fairy-dell steps up the garden, curling and rickety, and made his way to the little house. He remembered what she'd said earlier. If she was overspilling this bad into the area around her, it was an indication she hadn't taken another victim yet, but it could only be a matter of time.

Nathan tested the door, then kicked it open. Inside was a contrast of bare wood and lace-edged floral patterns familiar from the style of the Reynolds' main home. Also, one unravelling woman, who turned and lunged initially towards him before catching herself in the frame of the kitchen door and hanging there, eyes like needy holes, hands warping the wood of the door jamb. "You! What are you doing here? Get out!"

Duke was wrong, he thought. It wasn't her fault she'd killed people. The first time, she'd probably had no idea it would happen. The second time... driven by the pressure of need, and maybe she’d not realised it would happen the same way again, hoped she could control it. Now, knowing her Trouble killed, she was that far gone but still trying to save his life.

"I came to... stop you. Help you." It was hard to focus with the 'o' of her red lips open and inviting before him. Down on the edge of his vision, he was aware of his own physical reaction. He was guessing that if he could feel, he wouldn't be rational.

"You think you can help me?" she half-yelled, equally aware of his reaction.

"Hey." His voice echoed like a whip crack within the wooden walls, harsher than he'd meant. "I'm Troubled, too. You can't hurt me." Hoping like hell it was true. "I'm not going off the rails yet, so why don't you just calm down. Talk. We need to talk." That was what Audrey did -- talk to these people. Not what he did, so much, but it had worked with Landon Taylor.

"Talk." She mouthed the word with utter astonishment. Her body ploughed into him and sent him sprawling. His back bounced off a wall and then hit the floor, knocking the breath out of him and the gun from his hand. He figured she considered herself way past talking.

Atop him, she slid her hands under his shirt. He couldn't feel her touch on his skin, but he could feel something all right; his body tuning in to hers, every nerve somehow set afire and locking in on the magnet of what she projected, even if they weren't ultimately communicating it to his brain.

He reached between their bodies and grabbed her hands. "Listen to me. I want to help you. We can still figure this out."

He saw sanity flicker in her eyes, helped probably by her victim for the first time not reacting as they ought. She leaned forward and for a moment he was only aware of her breasts in his face and their bodies pressed closer, and his own sanity was hellishly difficult to hang onto. Then he was aware she'd done something else, but didn't know what it was until he looked at his hand, registering some obstruction, and discovered his gun under his palm. She'd reached for it--

"No help," she whispered. "Only this." She moaned against him. "I have to. I -- I'm hungry." Her fingers tugged at his jeans.

He was hard enough that she struggled to release him. He lay on his back, breath coming in shuddering gasps, as she pulled at his clothes and finally succeeded in conquering the constriction of his jeans. No, he wasn't immune. The truth was, he felt so little to remind him he was alive these days that the pieces of her that crept around the edges of his limitation were seduction enough on their own. Sometimes, without touch, it started to seem as though he only piloted his body, as if it weren't a living part of him but a blunt machine, his brain the only real thing there. He couldn't feel her touch, but she could make him feel something, and he was so numb to the world that if she could make him feel anything, she could make him feel... alive.

"I'm sorry," she said. She'd been dry-eyed before, next to her dead husband, but there were new salt tracks from her eyes now. "I can't survive any other way." He wondered what she felt anymore after the past three days. If it was all starting to blur. If it was just headed towards turning into a different kind of numb.

She was already straddling his hips. No great surprise that she wasn't wearing underwear beneath the pale dress. He still had to look down to see her slide onto him, to stray his hand up the hem of the dress and lift its spotted daisies above her pale thigh to know he was inside her. What sense of arousal he had was fierce, almost consuming, in spite of it.

He sat up, gathering her in against him, trying to be gentle. Her movements were insistent, but he couldn't feel them and she didn't seem to mind as he rolled their bodies over, putting her underneath. Her lips parted, red and inviting. Her eyes glistened, whole universes sparkling in them. He could feel her curse starting to take hold within him, the desperation and abandon, the sound of his thudding, straining heart. "I'm sorry, too," he said hoarsely, giving in to temptation to cover her lips with his, and feel the tingle, the essence of heat there that was more than he'd had in years.

He pulled back in time to be well clear as he blindly, clumsily clicked back the trigger on his service pistol and shot her in the head.

That he'd done it surprised even him.

Nathan stared down at her, limp, quiet and dead. Her face was serene, satisfied. She hadn't seen it coming; at least he'd been able to give her that. He'd put her down as quietly and cleanly as he could. The exit wound in the back of her head was relatively contained, but blood was spreading on the floor.

He felt suddenly, horrendously sick, with the taste of her still on his tongue -- taste, that was normal, that he could do anyway. The rest was gone. She'd made him a man again, temporarily. God knew how he'd managed to stop it before it went far enough to kill him.

He stuffed himself back in his pants and fastened them up, rearranged her dress around her so she lay with more dignity, and got as far as the furthest wall of the room from what remained of her, where he started off leaning, just for a moment -- just one moment to get himself together -- but gravity and exhaustion pulled him down until he sat hunched.

For his own dignity, he'd really expected to have longer to pick up and reassemble, but at least his hypersensitive ears caught the click of the door, so he'd already raised his head and somewhat uncurled by the time Duke inched inside.

Duke looked around very nervously, and took in the body on the floor and Nathan at about the same time. Tension visibly drained out of him and his shoulders sagged with relief.

"Listening in on the police frequency again?" Nathan said, and wished he hadn't spoken at all, because his voice sounded horrible, a raw mash of all the things he'd hoped not to let out. It wasn't fair. This time, Duke was the one who'd gone crazy, and it still felt like he'd ended with every crack and weakness out there on display.

"Found your car," Duke said simply, eyes wandering the quiet devastation in the cosy room. "I waited a while, but you didn't come out. After the gunshot, figured it was time to man up and come in. In case you needed... help."

The silence stretched uncomfortably enough to demand reply. "I don't need your help."

"Yeah, of course not." His shoulders rose and fell as he spread his arms; fed up, worn down, and that made two of them. "But Parker's not here and I figured -- and you've got to figure it, too, somewhere inside that hard skull -- better someone who knows the full story."

Haven P.D. His dad. Nathan pried himself off the floor by inches, using the wall's support. He stood and crossed the room reluctantly, looked down at the woman's body, unconsciously mirroring Duke's stance on her other side. "I didn't... get there," he said, rubbing his forehead mostly as an excuse to obscure his eyes. "Neither did you--" with her "--so hopefully there shouldn't be any hard-to-explain DNA evidence."

The other man's poleaxed horror indicated he hadn't thought that far forward. "No." Duke shook his head firmly, and his words gathered confidence and anger as he continued. "You know what -- I'm not even going there. I'm going on faith that Eleanor Carr covers up that shit by rote, after all this time. And you should, too. Nathan, let's get the hell out of this morgue. We can wait for the circus back down in the street."

***

Duke was right, for once. Leaned against the Bronco in the bright, crisp air, he started to come down from it, as he never would have in the same room as Cynthia Reynolds' body, still smelling her sex and her blood. Sunshine and sea salt, pollen and mown grass chased the rest away, except the faintest tang that lingered on him and his clothes. He needed to shower. Fortunately, he was the only one in the department with an overactive sense of smell.

He'd done what he needed to, probably saved lives even if not the one central to this, and his physical status -- well, nothing had changed. This was just another taunt from the shadows about what he couldn't have. It had gone deeper than most, but he should be used to them by now.

Especially given most of them came from the man next to him, whom he couldn't seem to avoid since Parker had come to town.

"You know, after this and Helena, I'm starting to think I should give up chicks altogether," Duke said, proving the point. Chances of that happening hovered somewhere around ludicrous, so the man had no reason to say it outside of Nathan's Trouble-enforced celibacy.

He ignored the jibe and tried to keep himself focused on the practicalities. "We should get our story straight on what we're going to tell Parker. Stick to the bare bones. She'll understand. I had to shoot a woman -- means I'll already have firearms re-checks and the damn psychologist crawling up my ass. She won't insist I talk about it."

"What?" Duke stared at him like he'd gone nuts. Again. "It's Parker. She's going to know. Shit, she already frickin' predicted it!" Nathan glared. "That's not what happened."

"Right. Sure. 'Emergency aid'."

He wasn't sure what Duke was getting at, but was ever certain he could assume it something he wouldn't like.

"You didn't feel it anyway."

"Exactly," Nathan grit. Always with the taunts. "I didn't feel it. So as far as we're concerned, I might as well not have done it."

"Exactly!" Duke stalked off, slamming the door hard after he climbed in his truck, where it was badly parked on the verge across the way. Nathan briefly wondered what had bitten him, but as he pulled out, a couple of Haven P.D. units and Dr Carr's van appeared over the sloping road down from the town, so he figured the crook had sensed them and knew when to clear off, like usual.

Relieved it looked as though it might just be possible for things to return to their usual, Nathan straightened himself and did his best to get his head back in the game for the descending aftermath.

***

"...For the last time, I didn't do anything with Duke, Audrey!"

"Yeah? You keep telling yourself that, Wuornos."

Despite his best efforts, it became the refrain of the next few weeks.

END