TITLE: Gods & Liars
AUTHOR: roseveare
RATING: PG-13
LENGTH: 3400 words
SUMMARY: If a mercurial Celtic deity had to pick anyone in town to argue for Duke's life, why in the hell choose Nathan?
NOTES: Short, weird plotbunny, captured in the interests of posting a relatively cheerful fic.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, no profit, yadda, yadda, yadda.

Gods & Liars

Nathan could see white horses in the spray as he ran down to the shore. Not a fancy of imagination or whimsy, but white stallions ducking and rearing. They moved ever up and down, back and forth, over the same space at the head of the tide, fiercely enough to send out silvery droplets that speckled his skin even from twenty feet away.

The sands wore into pebble beach and at the end of the pebbles, rocks. Nathan skidded to a halt well short of the crashing waves. Closer in, the horses were built on a scale twice normal and so, among them, was the figure of a man, astride the largest of the chargers. Huge and grinning, he was just as much a trick of foam and water as the horses were.

Duke dangled by the collar of his jacket from one large-scale hand.

"What the hell-?" Stunned by the vision, Nathan stumbled and almost fell. With strong premonitions of futility, he drew his gun and levelled it at the man's chest area, where raging seas and bubbles picked out details aping fine tailoring. "Let him go." Outrage and disbelief choked up his words.

The visitation spoke in a surprisingly normal, if booming, voice. "A daring opener! And you are Nathan Wuornos, come to plead for the life of this one. What will you give me in return for him, aside from inconsequential threats?"

Nathan half lowered the gun, but he hadn't ruled out trying a shot anyway. Duke's skin was pale, as blue-and-white as the being that held onto him, and his eyes blinked sluggishly. He looked deeply uncomfortable, hanging there half-dowsed in ocean, hands fixed around the wrist that held him. Potentially some of that discomfort was embarrassment, because neither of them had ever liked to be brought low before the other. Duke sluggishly blinked at Nathan, and the black of his hair and beard, the softer dark shade of his jeans, were almost the only things that easily distinguished him, too, from being a creature of the water.

"Duke, hold on," Nathan said tightly, pinning his gaze. Are you all right? seemed a redundant question when you were being dangled like a cat-toy by a Trouble-induced Celtic god.

"Where's... Audrey?" Duke's lips moved, but his voice already sounded like sea spray. Nathan's ears, better than average, only just caught the sound among the hissing background of the waters.

"Audrey's busy." Audrey was back in town, dealing with a dozen other Celtic deities. A yellow-haired male model called Lugh had delivered a warning their 'friend' was being judged, and Nathan Wuornos should come to this place on the shore and speak for him. It had seemed likely to be a ploy to split them up, but Audrey had been unwilling to risk ignoring it if Duke could be in danger. Nathan hoped like hell Audrey was able to handle the crazed gods back in town on her own. Apparently Shona Doherty's belief in her Pagan pantheon meant that when her Trouble kicked in everyone got to share it, whether they wanted to or not. The gods, therefore, had been appearing to people at random since that morning, handing out gifts with as many drawbacks and provisos as the Troubles themselves. This Trouble was an epidemic all on its own. "Today you just get me," he told Duke.

Duke's eyes slid closed in a despairing manner that irked Nathan no end. "Damn it, Duke! I left Audrey alone for you, I ran all this way, and the least you can do is appreciate that I came!"

Duke's eyes blinked open mostly from startlement and general offence at his tone, Nathan suspected.

"I said, 'What will you give me?'" the sea god cajoled, seeming more entertained than angry at being ignored. "Come now, give me one good reason this man should be returned to you! It's a simple thing, not hard to frame. Tell me, my boy, what's this one to you? He's one of mine, a rogue of the sea, and I can and will take him, unless you have a claim that can exceed that."

"I have a gun," Nathan said, because even if it was a Celtic deity made of water, the direct route still had to be worth a try, and right now he had nothing better. "I've this, too." He held up his badge. "Haven P.D. I don't know whether or not I can shoot you, but if you don't let Duke go in the next ten seconds, I'm going to try."

"Seriously?" said Duke, weakly. "That's all you've got?"

"You're not helping," Nathan told him.

Laughter, he had already noticed from the pantheon in town and the jolly chaos they were causing there, was a big thing with Shona's Troubled gods - laughing and drinking, fighting and fucking, and this guy was as fond of his skewed sense of humour as the rest. He threw back his vast head and laughed.

More than ten seconds had passed, the target was distracted, and Nathan had just about had enough. Still, he was more or less viewing it as getting the subject out of the way, rather than with any real hope, when he pulled the trigger. The bullet splashed upon entry and sent ripple-rings out over the large, watery form, which smoothed over in seconds and did nothing much.

"This is humiliating," Duke observed as Nathan put his gun away. Duke looked bluer, more transparent, as though he'd faded further into the sea. Even his beard seemed less dark and distinct from the aerated waters. "You thought that was going to work?"

"So it doesn't work," Nathan said, mostly to sense-of-humour guy, and it did strike him Duke was at least in like-minded company. "No offence, Mr - what do I, uh, call you?"

"Manannan MacLir, at your service." The god in the waves gave an ironic bow. "There were days when that name would have been known, but probably not in these parts, so I'll forgive your ignorance."

Duke sniped, "Aren't you going to ask him how to spell it for the arrest warrant?"

Nathan wasn't even sure he could safely say it, working with numb lips. He ignored Duke, adjusted his position astride the rocks as a shakiness from his braced left leg suggested something was about to give, and asked, "Why do you want him? He makes a mess and lies a lot. There are plenty of other seafaring men in Haven."

A snort and a curse on the edge of hearing delivered Duke's disdain. The shake of the deity's head said, wrong answer. "It's true that I don't appreciate liars so much." His eyes glittered on Nathan, sun reflecting off moving water.

Nathan stared into the spray and contemplated his chances if he took a leap forward through all of that... They were water, god and horses alike, just water. The bullet had gone straight through them. Could he grab Duke, pull him loose and leap into the sea beyond? Could they swim free or would they both be pounded against the rocks or drowned in the breakers?

"Don't do any... anything crazy." Duke choked and spluttered as a large wave submerged his face, and he came out the other side of it with even more of his colour and life leeched away. Even so, it seemed he had seen the focus of Nathan's gaze.

"He's not going to last much longer, my boy," advised Manannan with an arch note of apology. "Better think fast." Considering he was the one orchestrating the situation, the god's concern was only annoying. Nathan amended his stance again, bracing his feet. The incoming tide flared water between the rocks he was balanced upon. Behind Manannan and his sea horses, the rocks were submerged deeper, the water offering more of a buffer. He could make that dive, perhaps. Duke was a good swimmer... Duke was also not in much condition by now to be cast amid the waves and asked to take on a desperate struggle for survival.

Nathan waited. Offering up distraction from his intentions, hoping for some other option, his lips shaped, "What the hell do you want me to do?"

"It's... a game," Duke struggled visibly to get the realisation out. Manannan was right. The cold, the inability to breathe, would catch up soon. "Heard of this guy. He likes to... screw with people. Teach them lessons. You're gonna have to play along."

Nathan gave him a flat, sarcastic stare, but it was impossible to maintain for long when Duke seemed inches from dead. He demanded roughly, "If you want him, why kill him?"

"Ah, but if he dies in the sea, then he's mine for good," asserted the god. "Pirates, smugglers... these dishonest types are a disgrace to fill the waters, for sure, but mine all the same. A liar, you say? Tell me then, why should you want this man back?"

Seriously, no, Nathan thought. Standing here being asked to defend Duke's continued existence... it was like a bad joke. "You said you wanted someone here to plead for Duke, but you asked for me. That's fixing the odds ahead of time if anything is!" He grit his teeth and hurled out furiously. "I don't want him back!" Saw the groan on Duke's features, and picked up quickly, "But he's been useful. He helps us, helps people. Audrey likes him." He took a breath and announced, stubbornly, "He's a criminal, but he's not all bad."

Manannan hefted Duke on the end of his arm, considering, weighing the evidence, then shook his head.

If Nathan let a trickster god kill and carry off Duke because of their ridiculous old feud, Audrey was going to string him up. Just possibly, he needed to cast off his unwillingness to engage with their particular subject and invest himself in this. If Duke's life was going to be the cost of his reticence... He asserted, sure it was one inarguable fact that added up to all he'd said and more, "He doesn't deserve to die."

"It's a good truth," Manannan agreed, consideringly. "But you'll have to give me a stronger one still to outweigh my claim. It'll take more than his own merit to keep him in this world."

What the-? The unfairness of it stung... but from what he knew of old gods and stories, their interactions with humanity were seldom fair. "Seriously?" Nathan spat. "Even as I watch you kill him, you want me to play word games?" His gun was again in his hand and he looked for something to shoot. Duke's eyes had slipped closed, and Nathan could no longer see him trying to breathe through the waves that covered his face and then washed clear again.

Just at the point he thought the game already lost, he caught the mumble, almost one with the song of the surf, and saw Duke's lips move feebly: "It's like asking a man with no hands to juggle."

"Duke!" Nathan barked. "Don't give up, damn it! You've more insults at my expense where that came from! Show me you're alive! Duke..." He slung the gun away and darted forward, a precarious dance of feet he couldn't feel across uneven, slippery rocks. Only the tips of many of them were visible, and some were submerged completely. At the limit of where he dared step, as close as possible to the figures moving within the spray where it encountered the rocks, he reached out his hand, and-

He was sure their fingers brushed, but he missed Duke's hand. The head of a watery horse coming down from its lunge rammed his midriff, bowling him backwards across the rocks again, falling, splashing. His head was covered for a moment by a tide pool before he rolled clear, coughing and thoroughly drenched, with one hand and knee in water and who-knew-what damage to the rest of him that had been slammed against the rocks. His ribs, which had felt in the moment when the watery blow landed, and felt like he'd been slammed by a truck, were numb now. Everything still worked well enough to drag himself upright and plant his feet again.

"A bold argument!" Manannan applauded, and his hands clapped with the sounds of slapping waves. Duke swung precariously over his elbow. "But a mite unsophisticated. Still, you have my attention well now! Speak away!" He re-hoisted Duke, ensuring he was held clear of the surf, but after the effort of reaching out, Duke looked to have lapsed into unconsciousness. Nathan hoped that it was only unconsciousness.

"He could need CPR-" Shit, and several uncomfortable thoughts slammed home. The closeness it would involve, Duke's lips and his... more importantly, how would Nathan be able to tell if Duke had a pulse? If he was breathing? "Let me save him! You're not a sea god, just a symptom of someone's Trouble. Once Audrey stops this, you'll be gone, and Duke will just be dead!"

"Fair point." Manannan see-sawed his hand upon the air. "Am I a symptom of a curse, or was I simply summoned by a curse? Will I get to keep this one at all?" His expression hardened. "A winning argument, perhaps, but not in this exchange. Abide by the rules, and you tell me why this man should not die."

Nathan shook with frustration - probably cold, too, after the partial dunking - and fixed his eyes on Duke's limp form hanging there, water flowing over his skin, blending with his clothes and hair. Any moment he could be lost entirely to the god, sea spray and horses, becoming so alike them he might never be retrieved. Nathan thought of trying again to make that leap, tear Duke from their grasp... yet if the horse's body had been solid, their hooves would be the same. Drown or be trampled, and Duke, unconscious, couldn't swim, couldn't avoid the bludgeoning blows. It was no choice any more.

"Please," Nathan said desperately, at a loss for anything else. "I've known him since we were five years old." His voice trembled. Cold, he told himself. He could hear a pulse raging in his ears, even over the noise of the sea.

Manannan nodded impassively.

"He's my friend."

The deity's lips parted, and he leaned forward over the mane of his stallion, his attention caught, his manner intent, dragging Duke up over the horse's neck. He rested both elbows on him there, safe and free of the waves. Nathan heard spluttering, and saw water stream from Duke's lips. Duke's limbs moved weakly.

"All right!" Nathan shouted, part overwhelmed by his relief, part suddenly furious as he realised where, all along, this game had been intended to go, and which answer Manannan was angling for. Which meant he already knew, and all of this was about the damn made-up god humiliating Nathan - forcing Nathan to humiliate himself - before Duke. "Fuck you! He's more than that to me! Is that what you wanted? Do you want me to say that I've been watching him since I was thirteen, but that I'd never say that in a million years? I'd never give him that satisfaction!" Because wouldn't Duke Crocker, to whom he'd never been more than a target for mockery, find that the world's greatest ever joke? "Is that your price?"

Even he had to conclude that admitting his farcical and fiercely private attachment... affection... whatever it was, was worth less than Duke's life. Only Duke was conscious now, and listening, his head turning, his eyes wide.

Nathan shouted, hands fisted at his sides, "Are you happy now? Give him back. I'll contest your damn claim! He's not yours, he's mine!"

"Indeed." A bright smile filled Manannan's face, for a moment even dazzling Nathan with its brilliance. Then, he was staggering as Duke's body was flung effortlessly across the intervening distance into his arms. He didn't manage to stay upright, but he did stagger back several steps before his legs folded, avoiding the largest of the rocks and deepest of the tide pools. Then his balance disintegrated and Nathan protected Duke by the not-wholly-intentional strategy of falling underneath. "Yours is a greater claim."

Nathan raised his head and stared back at the god incredulously.

"He's one of my own, my boy!" the sea god exclaimed, with enormous cheer. The horses were sinking, diminishing; the flowing manes, the spray of Manannan's hair, spreading out and becoming indistinguishable from the rest of the spray. "Did you really dream that I would kill him?"

Then he was gone, leaving Nathan with his arms full of a semi-conscious Duke, aware of a constriction in his breathing from the weight on top of him or damage he'd sustained in the earlier fall. He yelled curses, a lot of them, as loud and raw as he could muster, at the empty air and faceless waves.

A game. Duke had said it. That was all a game?

Well, it was one that hadn't done either of their shivering, sodden bodies any good, and so much for the favour of gods, real, imagined or Trouble-forged. Nathan struggled from beneath Duke, who even if he had most of his colour back and no longer looked inches from death, probably ought to be taken somewhere warm and dry fairly soon. He moved sluggishly when guided, so they staggered together as far as the top of the beach and the spot too close to the tide-line where Nathan had skidded his Ford Bronco to a halt. There, they fell into an exhausted lean against each other and the side of the truck. The sea was already wetting the driver's side wheels.

He really should get back to town and Audrey, in case she needed help dealing with the rest, Nathan thought, weary and unhappy. Duke was alive, but once he realised exactly what he'd overheard, the fallout from this was going to suck. It might even be a relief if there was still work Nathan could do elsewhere - distract himself from that awful admission and the way he'd been forced to strip himself bare.

Except he couldn't go anywhere while Duke was pressed full-length against him, arms clutching like an octopus: as soon as Nathan managed to dislodge one, two more seemed to develop a grip on him. Maybe Duke was clinging to his warmth, because although Duke's colour looked better, it wasn't like Nathan could tell how cold it was. So, fighting the unnerving desire of Duke's forehead to bury itself in his shoulder, Nathan gripped his hands either side of Duke's jaw and dragged his head up to examine his eyes.

Duke's eyes weren't particularly hazy. Nathan had not expected to be meeting them so sharp and alert, or he wouldn't have done it. "I thought I was a gonner," Duke said, and his head lolled again - or was that lunged? - this time into the crook of Nathan's throat.

"Don't-" The behaviour was mystifying, and it took a moment before it hit Nathan that Duke was acting with purpose. He jerked his chin up, freezing his struggles, trying to process... Processing was derailed when he realised that Duke's hands - those hands, what the hell...? Nathan couldn't feel them, but he could turn his head far enough to see that one was definitely planted in the vicinity of his ass. "Duke, what the hell are you doing?" The question started off in anger, but doubt pulled ahead and outpaced it.

If this was really happening, did he really want to be angry about it?

Duke lifted his face from Nathan's neck, his hands rising too. His lips were reddened by the sting of salt water and Nathan's stubble, a little fuller than usual from... kissing... and he said, "I don't think he was trying to screw with you for the hell of it, Nate." He coughed out a small noise that was almost a laugh. "I think he was trying to do me a favour."

"Some favour," said Nathan, clutching Duke's shirt furiously. "He half killed you." Thinking that Celtic deities were manipulative assholes and if that was their idea of matchmaking, they could-

"Some favour," Duke countered, twisted his hand in Nathan's collar, and kissed him properly.

Nathan decided he wasn't going to argue the point.

END