My unicorn got run over by a tractor

Octavia was taking a moment below-decks after her conversation with Claire, and Duke was giving her plenty of space. He was up on the deck, shuffling a few crates around. He told himself he was trying make the space more inviting, but really he was just giving himself work. It was remarkably warm up here for spring in Maine -- he'd checked not long after they'd arrived, and Haven hadn't done another weird time jump or anything while he'd been gone -- and he stripped down. Letting the sun soak in and unknot his shoulders a little.

If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend he'd really gone back in time. Not just ten years to Haven in 2010, but a year in his own timeline, back to a time before Fandom, when he was still just a two-bit smuggler, moving art and booze and unmarked crates around for cash.

He didn't miss it, not really. The life of a roving vagabond had been good to him, but so had Fandom, all told. He had real friends again, not just people who'd hear him out before they tried to shoot him. He had work that he enjoyed, instead of just something he'd fallen into because being a criminal put fuel in his tanks and food on the table. He had Octavia.

He didn't want to go back. But it was nice to pretend, for just a minute.