My unicorn got run over by a tractor

Most days, Duke was fine. Better than fine, even; he'd been essentially rebooted, after all. Turned off and back on again and all his caches had cleared and -- yeah, he honestly didn't know anywhere near enough about computers to make this metaphor work. He'd been in a dry dock of sorts. All patched up and back in shipshape.

Most days.

He couldn't remember most of the dream when he woke, his heart triphammering in his chest. Just the sense of utter helplessness that had accompanied it, and the sense that the gremlin man -- Croatoan -- was lurking at the edges, smirking in delight. He sat up in bed, trying to force his breathing back under control, and hoped he hadn't woken Lucifer or Octavia.

He really liked being fine. He wanted that feeling back, dammit.

HE slid out of bed, trying not to disturb anyone, and went to go hunt down a coffee.

[for the partners]

Duke had had some time since his last therapist appointment to start slowly processing what his therapist had said. Specifically what the man had said about what he believed was the foundation of Duke's issues. A diagnosis if you will.

Which Duke had finally made time to look up and read about after getting home from the diner. And mull over over a cup of tea.

Sure, it wasn't the first time someone had suggested that he had PTSD. He'd kind of just assumed he had that, by now. But C-PTSD. The complex version. The one most associated with survivors of hostage situations or child abuse.

He sipped his tea and stared into space. And wished it didn't make as much sense to him as it did. Wished he didn't check off quite as many of the usual symptoms as he did.

"Fuck."

[for the partners if they wanna]

Duke was looking much healthier walking back to the boat than he'd been heading into work, today. He was also looking way more frustrated.

"Arthropods!" he called as he slouched up the gangplank. "Humidifier! Guys from Rome!"

Someone had had to release a trouble at the diner today. The good news? He'd managed to control what came out. The bad news?

He had absolutely no idea how to make it stop.

[For the partners and SO MUCH SLOWPLAY please!]

Duke was having one of those days. The ones where he was still in bed well after his partners had gotten up to start their days. The ones where he would quite possibly still be there when they came back to bed in the evening.

Some days he'd push himself, even when he was in this mood, and manage to crawl out of bed at least long enough to rub his brush over his teeth in the bathroom and shove a spoonful of peanut butter into him, without either Lucifer or Octavia having to push him through it.

He wasn't sure yet if this would be that sort of this sort of day, yet.

The singing, though. That part was new.

( Cut for lyrics about depression )

He slumped at the end of the bed, staring at the door to the rest of the boat.

"Come back here."

[for anyone with a reason to show up, sure!]

Duke had been giving Octavia space for the last few days, since Ilian had left. He wasn't avoiding her in bed or anything, but the moment he woke up he was up and about, puttering around the boat or just generally finding things to do elsewhere.

He told himself he was giving her space for her renewed grief. That he wasn't hiding from his own feelings about meeting one of her loved ones from the Ground.

He knew he was lying, and that was driving him nuts.

Living on a boat required pretty constant maintenance, but he'd actually managed to catch up on everything the Rouge needed, so this morning, instead of heading for the engine room or the wheelhouse, he hit the water, swimming laps out into the depths of the port and back until his whole body burned and even a simple recovery stroke had him taking in too much water. He pulled himself back up and out and sprawled on the dock, catching his breath and soaking in the sun.

This was nuts. Something needed to break. And at the rate he was going, it was going to be him.

[expecting one, but can be open before that thread!]

It had taken some doing, but Duke had managed to get his hands on some outrageously expensive skincare products to lavish on Lucifer during his "spa" pampering, and he'd done his best to prep both the pillow room and the sauna on board the Rouge to match. He'd picked up some lotus silk pillow cases, and 700 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets for the massage table (so he wouldn't slide off when things got hot and sweaty).

All of it in silver, champagne, white with occasional pops of jewel tones, to match the color scheme of the white caviar pearl infused cremes and lotions.

Duke really hoped Lucifer liked it. He was only just realizing as he looked at it checking for any final touches needed that it might be a little too 'Silver City' for full relaxation.

He decided to go get Octavia and Lucifer before he could go full neurotic on that question.

[For the partners! And likely slow play somehow even with all three of us in the same timezone for once!]

Duke was doing homework. Therapy homework. Duke had never done a lick of homework in his entire public school career, but here he was, pen whirling between the fingers of his left hand, staring down at a sheet of paper with three columns on it, doing homework.

It mostly involved the pen twiddling. And drinking. There was rather a lot of drinking happening. More drinking than he'd felt the need to engage in in a long time, actually.

And here he'd thought that regular therapy would make him want to drink less.

(It had. His regular talks with Linda were a major factor in the fact that he hadn't felt the need to drink heavily in so long. But this was -- this was homework about his mom. And whenever possible, Duke preferred to do anything thinking about his mother with bourbon within reach.)

[Open to the partners, or any visitors who might stop by!]

Duke woke to the gentle rocking of a boat at sea. In most worlds, this was a perfectly normal way for him to wake up.

Not in the one that this Duke came from.

He sat up sharply, looking around. He was in what looked like a fairly well-appointed room, in the middle of a giant bed, between two other people.

"Dammit. I thought I got past this prank crap when I got out of the Academy."

[for the other two in the bed. Duke is now Detective Duke Crocker, from the trouble free AU in 4x10, "The Trouble With Troubles"]

Octavia was a raccoon.

Duke sat on his deck, cradling a cup of coffee in his hands and staring out at the water.

Octavia was a raccoon.

Again!

It wasn't really a disaster? He kept reminding himself of that. She was perfectly safe and healthy, se was just . . . a raccoon. There was absolutely no need for the flood of adrenaline currently washing through his system. Or for all his varying urges to try to fix something. Rewire his nav system again, maybe. Work on the plumbing. Octavia was just going to be a raccoon until she wasn't again, and there was noting to be done about it.

He hated not being able to do anything about things.

[open, should anyone want to visit the moody smuggler!]