Haven, Maine, Tuesday
Jul. 7th, 2020 08:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
betterthanaplanIt was always cooler out at sea, and Fandom seemed to exist in its own microclimate on the best of days, so Duke didn't realize he'd managed to sail from July 2020 to April 2010 until he was pulling into Haven's port and syncing up one of his older phones to use while in town. The fact he'd time traveled at all wasn't surprising, of course, his universe had always run a little behind Fandom's. He'd just been expecting to show up in July of 2009 instead.
It was a little spooky, skipping most of a year in his own home universe.
He shook it off easily enough, though. Having Nathan show up as a welcoming committee to perform a "random inspection" of his hold was so mind bogglingly normal that he couldn't help but fall into old patterns.
"What happened here?" Nathan asked, examining the slightly sticky remains of Duke's Friday night drink, still splattered on the floor. Duke didn't bother to look over.
"Dropped a bottle of bourbon." Nathan looked up at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Duke shrugged. "A legal bottle of bourbon. So . . . unless you want to cite me for an unlicensed punching bag. . . ."
Nathan muttered something about how he'd find something on Duke eventually. Duke nodded.
"I know, I know, 'and my little dog too'." He smirked. "Now. Can we get to the part where you get the fuck off my boat and we never have to speak again?"
Nathan did. Duke didn't actually feel any better once he had.
Meeting up with Gloria went alright, though. They met at the McShaws' old place, which was currently undergoing a long overdue revitalization. It turned out Geoff was back in town too, to help his brother keep the family business going.
"Let me make you my signature dish," Geoff said, as Duke and Gloria settled in at a hurriedly set up table on the deck. "Roasted squab with tarragon!"
Gloria looked unimpressed. "Isn't that a fancy word for pigeon?"
Duke snorted and held up a finger. "I'm not eating pigeon."
"You'd love it," Geoff insisted. "Besides, Haven needs something new."
"Can't argue with that," Gloria said.
"And yet I can still argue with pigeon." Duke shrugged. "Don't you have any fish?"
"Philistines," Geoff grumbled, and stormed back into the kitchen. Duke watched him go with a small smile that grew by degrees when he saw Bill inside laughing.
Some things really were worth the hassle of coming home for.
"So," Gloria said, kicking his foot under the table. "You look like shit, kitten. Spill."
Duke sighed, his smile vanishing. "You're all heart, Verrano. You wouldn't happen to be originally from Jersey, would you?"
"I'm from Haven, and you're stalling. I'm an old woman, I don't have forever here, Duke."
"Lies. I bet you'll outlive me."
"Might just. They say only the good die young. This have something to do with you not bringing along your wildcat?"
Damn her and her old-lady perceptiveness. "Uh. Yeah. We mentioned last time that she sets off my, uh." Duke gestured vaguely to his torso. Gloria nodded.
"You claimed she couldn't be troubled."
"Yeah, still pretty sure of that," Duke said, reminding himself that Haven had Teagues, not squirrels, and that Vince and Dave were far worse at hiding than Leroy was. He could speak pretty freely, here. "She went through some pretty major shit recently and is having a hard time. To say the least. The other day, she — set me off on purpose."
Gloria sucked in a breath through her teeth. "She's not —"
"No, she's okay. Bruised up. Concussion."
"And you?"
"Not a mark on me."
"Duke."
Duke sighed, rubbing his hand over his mouth. "I need to know more, Gloria. You seemed surprised Dad hadn't told me something. Did you know him? Could he control it?"
Gloria leaned forward, resting her hand on his. "Wish I had better news for you, kitten, but no. I never met your dad. I only know the Crocker curse by reputation."
"That it reacts to troubled blood."
"That's right. For good reason." Gloria leaned back with a sigh. "Crockers cure troubles, Duke."
Duke stared at her. He looked around, as though someone was going to leap out and tell him he was being punked. He leaned in. "That. That can't possibly be true."
"It is. My own family used to be troubled. Legend is, your great-great-granddaddy took care of it, so long ago none of us even remember what our trouble was."
"Then how are there any troubles at all?!" Duke asked. "If I can cure people. . . . There's a catch, isn't there."
Gloria nodded. "It's a doozy. To remove a trouble from a family line . . . you have to kill someone who has it."
Duke stared some more. "No."
She reached for his hand again. He pulled it away and she pressed hers against her mouth instead.
"That's — that's why I get strong. So I can —" Duke swallowed. "My dad, did he —?"
"I think so, yes."
Duke's chest had gone tight. "All those nights he didn't come home. Because he was out, what, killing people?"
"The police could never prove it," Gloria said. "I was still an active ME back then, working with Eleanor. There were at least a few we thought might've —" She broke off as Geoff and Bill came out with their plates, giving them both a smile.
"Grilled whitefish for the philistines," Geoff said proudly. Duke started at his plate, no longer hungry. This explained everything. His father's injuries, his weird behavior. The promise he'd made Duke make. The drug-like high of the blood. Even the way everyone had always looked at Duke growing up, like he was a time bomb waiting to go off.
Because he was.
Geoff clapped his hands together, watching Duke expectantly. Bill looked between Duke and Gloria and grabbed Geoff by the arm. "We'll leave you two to it," he said and all but dragged Geoff back into the restaurant.
"You alright, kitten?" Gloria asked softly.
"No," Duke said. "Not particularly."
"Your father wasn't a bad man." Gloria gave him a small wry smile. "Not to start with. And neither are you, no matter what anyone tells you."
"Thanks." Duke tried to give her one back, but he was pretty sure he didn't manage it. "I'm just gonna." He stood up, leaving his lunch untouched on the table. "Tell Geoff and Bill I said thanks."
"I will, kitten."
Duke wasn't too proud to admit that he left the restaurant at a dead run.
He headed to the library, intending to scour the old newspaper archives for murders his father might have committed. The Haven library's archives were a disgrace, just a few boxes of rotting microfiche, but he eventually found a few old men who'd been clumsily stabbed in the early 80s that might've been his father's work; Duke could almost see the logic to it, taking out older people who were close to death, saving the younger generations from their curses. The papers were aggressively sketchy on details, though. All scandal, no real scoop.
And then he found that story. The one about the man everyone called the Colorado Kid. It was accompanied by a blurry photo of a crowd on a beach, a central woman standing tall and stoically proud in the center. Duke recognized her — his own eight-year-old self was tucked just behind her, clutching her hand.
Lucy something. Ripley. She'd come to find him not long after his dad died, before his mom came back to town. Duke didn't remember a lot from that time, and nothing at all from that morning. Watching his father die at sea had been something of a trauma, and finding a dude dead on the beach couldn't have helped. But he remembered Lucy. Her reassuring, brusque kindness. The way she never let him get away with bullying the other kids. She was one of the few people who'd ever held him accountable, without blaming him for every wrong thing under the sun.
He'd loved her, he remembered sharply. A tiny little eight year old crush. He'd never been sure if he wanted to marry her or be adopted by her.
He'd also tried to steal her necklace. She'd ended up giving it to him instead, saying to keep it in case he needed it. He'd been planning to try to sell it, some tiny baby con plot hatching in his little deviant head, but he'd ended up squirreling it away. He was pretty sure he even still had it, tucked away somewhere on his boat.
He wondered whatever happened to Lucy. Like most people who'd ever cared about him, she'd just — gone away.
He shut off the microfiche reader, feeling no closer to any answers. If anything, he had more questions than ever.
Someone was waiting for him on the deck of the Rouge when he got back. The kind of someone who Nathan would probably want to arrest just on principle. The man just oozed "prison".
"Can I help you?" Duke asked, hoping he could kick the guy quickly off his boat. He had sleep to not catch up on, nightmares to avoid having. A locket to find, maybe.
"Duke Crocker?" The man asked.
Duke shrugged. "I repeat: can I help you?"
The man nodded like this was an answer. "Jonas Lester. I have a business proposition for you."
Duke crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. "Go on."
If he could make some money, then maybe this trip wouldn't be a total wash after all.
[NFB, NFI, OOC welcome. Mostly-headcanon prep for actual canon, based on a handful of season one eps. LETS GET THIS PARTY STARTED]
It was a little spooky, skipping most of a year in his own home universe.
He shook it off easily enough, though. Having Nathan show up as a welcoming committee to perform a "random inspection" of his hold was so mind bogglingly normal that he couldn't help but fall into old patterns.
"What happened here?" Nathan asked, examining the slightly sticky remains of Duke's Friday night drink, still splattered on the floor. Duke didn't bother to look over.
"Dropped a bottle of bourbon." Nathan looked up at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Duke shrugged. "A legal bottle of bourbon. So . . . unless you want to cite me for an unlicensed punching bag. . . ."
Nathan muttered something about how he'd find something on Duke eventually. Duke nodded.
"I know, I know, 'and my little dog too'." He smirked. "Now. Can we get to the part where you get the fuck off my boat and we never have to speak again?"
Nathan did. Duke didn't actually feel any better once he had.
Meeting up with Gloria went alright, though. They met at the McShaws' old place, which was currently undergoing a long overdue revitalization. It turned out Geoff was back in town too, to help his brother keep the family business going.
"Let me make you my signature dish," Geoff said, as Duke and Gloria settled in at a hurriedly set up table on the deck. "Roasted squab with tarragon!"
Gloria looked unimpressed. "Isn't that a fancy word for pigeon?"
Duke snorted and held up a finger. "I'm not eating pigeon."
"You'd love it," Geoff insisted. "Besides, Haven needs something new."
"Can't argue with that," Gloria said.
"And yet I can still argue with pigeon." Duke shrugged. "Don't you have any fish?"
"Philistines," Geoff grumbled, and stormed back into the kitchen. Duke watched him go with a small smile that grew by degrees when he saw Bill inside laughing.
Some things really were worth the hassle of coming home for.
"So," Gloria said, kicking his foot under the table. "You look like shit, kitten. Spill."
Duke sighed, his smile vanishing. "You're all heart, Verrano. You wouldn't happen to be originally from Jersey, would you?"
"I'm from Haven, and you're stalling. I'm an old woman, I don't have forever here, Duke."
"Lies. I bet you'll outlive me."
"Might just. They say only the good die young. This have something to do with you not bringing along your wildcat?"
Damn her and her old-lady perceptiveness. "Uh. Yeah. We mentioned last time that she sets off my, uh." Duke gestured vaguely to his torso. Gloria nodded.
"You claimed she couldn't be troubled."
"Yeah, still pretty sure of that," Duke said, reminding himself that Haven had Teagues, not squirrels, and that Vince and Dave were far worse at hiding than Leroy was. He could speak pretty freely, here. "She went through some pretty major shit recently and is having a hard time. To say the least. The other day, she — set me off on purpose."
Gloria sucked in a breath through her teeth. "She's not —"
"No, she's okay. Bruised up. Concussion."
"And you?"
"Not a mark on me."
"Duke."
Duke sighed, rubbing his hand over his mouth. "I need to know more, Gloria. You seemed surprised Dad hadn't told me something. Did you know him? Could he control it?"
Gloria leaned forward, resting her hand on his. "Wish I had better news for you, kitten, but no. I never met your dad. I only know the Crocker curse by reputation."
"That it reacts to troubled blood."
"That's right. For good reason." Gloria leaned back with a sigh. "Crockers cure troubles, Duke."
Duke stared at her. He looked around, as though someone was going to leap out and tell him he was being punked. He leaned in. "That. That can't possibly be true."
"It is. My own family used to be troubled. Legend is, your great-great-granddaddy took care of it, so long ago none of us even remember what our trouble was."
"Then how are there any troubles at all?!" Duke asked. "If I can cure people. . . . There's a catch, isn't there."
Gloria nodded. "It's a doozy. To remove a trouble from a family line . . . you have to kill someone who has it."
Duke stared some more. "No."
She reached for his hand again. He pulled it away and she pressed hers against her mouth instead.
"That's — that's why I get strong. So I can —" Duke swallowed. "My dad, did he —?"
"I think so, yes."
Duke's chest had gone tight. "All those nights he didn't come home. Because he was out, what, killing people?"
"The police could never prove it," Gloria said. "I was still an active ME back then, working with Eleanor. There were at least a few we thought might've —" She broke off as Geoff and Bill came out with their plates, giving them both a smile.
"Grilled whitefish for the philistines," Geoff said proudly. Duke started at his plate, no longer hungry. This explained everything. His father's injuries, his weird behavior. The promise he'd made Duke make. The drug-like high of the blood. Even the way everyone had always looked at Duke growing up, like he was a time bomb waiting to go off.
Because he was.
Geoff clapped his hands together, watching Duke expectantly. Bill looked between Duke and Gloria and grabbed Geoff by the arm. "We'll leave you two to it," he said and all but dragged Geoff back into the restaurant.
"You alright, kitten?" Gloria asked softly.
"No," Duke said. "Not particularly."
"Your father wasn't a bad man." Gloria gave him a small wry smile. "Not to start with. And neither are you, no matter what anyone tells you."
"Thanks." Duke tried to give her one back, but he was pretty sure he didn't manage it. "I'm just gonna." He stood up, leaving his lunch untouched on the table. "Tell Geoff and Bill I said thanks."
"I will, kitten."
Duke wasn't too proud to admit that he left the restaurant at a dead run.
He headed to the library, intending to scour the old newspaper archives for murders his father might have committed. The Haven library's archives were a disgrace, just a few boxes of rotting microfiche, but he eventually found a few old men who'd been clumsily stabbed in the early 80s that might've been his father's work; Duke could almost see the logic to it, taking out older people who were close to death, saving the younger generations from their curses. The papers were aggressively sketchy on details, though. All scandal, no real scoop.
And then he found that story. The one about the man everyone called the Colorado Kid. It was accompanied by a blurry photo of a crowd on a beach, a central woman standing tall and stoically proud in the center. Duke recognized her — his own eight-year-old self was tucked just behind her, clutching her hand.
Lucy something. Ripley. She'd come to find him not long after his dad died, before his mom came back to town. Duke didn't remember a lot from that time, and nothing at all from that morning. Watching his father die at sea had been something of a trauma, and finding a dude dead on the beach couldn't have helped. But he remembered Lucy. Her reassuring, brusque kindness. The way she never let him get away with bullying the other kids. She was one of the few people who'd ever held him accountable, without blaming him for every wrong thing under the sun.
He'd loved her, he remembered sharply. A tiny little eight year old crush. He'd never been sure if he wanted to marry her or be adopted by her.
He'd also tried to steal her necklace. She'd ended up giving it to him instead, saying to keep it in case he needed it. He'd been planning to try to sell it, some tiny baby con plot hatching in his little deviant head, but he'd ended up squirreling it away. He was pretty sure he even still had it, tucked away somewhere on his boat.
He wondered whatever happened to Lucy. Like most people who'd ever cared about him, she'd just — gone away.
He shut off the microfiche reader, feeling no closer to any answers. If anything, he had more questions than ever.
Someone was waiting for him on the deck of the Rouge when he got back. The kind of someone who Nathan would probably want to arrest just on principle. The man just oozed "prison".
"Can I help you?" Duke asked, hoping he could kick the guy quickly off his boat. He had sleep to not catch up on, nightmares to avoid having. A locket to find, maybe.
"Duke Crocker?" The man asked.
Duke shrugged. "I repeat: can I help you?"
The man nodded like this was an answer. "Jonas Lester. I have a business proposition for you."
Duke crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. "Go on."
If he could make some money, then maybe this trip wouldn't be a total wash after all.
[NFB, NFI, OOC welcome. Mostly-headcanon prep for actual canon, based on a handful of season one eps. LETS GET THIS PARTY STARTED]