a/n: If you read ch5 within like...2 hours or so of me posting it, you might wanna go back and check, because I added a bit at the end, because I decided I wanted this whole part to stand alone. The "new" section starts when Nick gets to the Bakers' and ends with the coyote, so if you read that, you're good. If not, you might wanna hop back and check it out.

Thanks for the lovely comment! I'd love to hear what y'all think of this one. :) Also, I think from now on I'm going to try to stick to publishing Friday and Saturday. I've got through chapter 13 completely written, and that schedule gives me time to keep ahead of things. This one's gonna be long, kiddos.

teach me how to use
the love that people say you made
The Avett Brothers, "Laundry Room"

June 25 - Shoyo, AR
Hours later they sat in the bedroom together, one on either side of the bed, and kept their final death vigil for Jane Baker. She thrashed in her sleep, and when she woke she called out for John in a thick, choking voice. Nick or Edie would try to soothe her, and she might doze off again, only for the whole thing to repeat a few minutes later.

They watched her struggle for every breath and they just wanted it to be over. Edie couldn't stop thinking about Remy and Nick kept getting up to pace laps around the room. He'd stop sometimes and peer out the window like he was looking for something, but when she asked him what, he just shook his head and kept walking.

It was nearly noon, and Nick was at the window again. Jane's eyes opened, and for the first time in hours she seemed lucid. She turned her head and saw Edie, and a brief smile flickered across her lips.

"You're still here," she gasped between breaths.

"Of course I am. Nick's here too. We're not leaving you."

"Not too much longer."

"Please don't say that," Edie said. She took Jane's hand between her own and squeezed, gently. It was hot and dry, the skin thin as paper. She ran a cool cloth over Jane's forehead and down the side of her face, but she pushed her away with surprising strength.

"None of that now. I need to say something."

Edie glanced up at Nick, but Jane shook her head. "This is for you alone, not him." She closed her eyes, and for a moment Edie thought she'd fallen asleep, but she was just gathering herself. She opened them again and fixed Edie with a firm glare. "Love isn't built on lies, Kai. You know that."

Her mouth fell open. First of all, how did Mrs. Baker know her middle name? Secondly, what the hell was she talking about? She swallowed, and when she spoke again her voice was shaky and rough. "You mean—you mean Sarah and me?" she said.

"No, sweetheart, not your wife. I know you loved her."

How? I never even told you I was married, much less to a woman!

"But she's not who I'm talkin' about." She gestured her closer, and with a pounding heart she leaned in. "You have to tell him, Kai," she whispered. "You have to tell him what you did."

A single tear slipped down Edie's cheek, but she barely noticed it. "I can't," she breathed through lips gone numb. "I've never told anyone. He'd—hate me."

"He could never hate you. Just as you could never hate him. It's not how you're built, my little wave."

She let out a cry and shoved back from the bed so hard the chair toppled. Nick spun toward her, alarmed by the sudden, violent movement.

"What's wrong?! Is she—?" No, he could see that Mrs. Baker's eyes were open and her chest still moved. "What's wrong?" he said again.

She could only shake her head, eyes huge and face pale.

"Aloha au ia 'oe, my little wave. I love you, and don't be afraid. Don't be afraid. John! Don't be afraid, he's coming, he's comin', the coyotes are his!"

Kai pressed a hand over her mouth to muffle a sob and Nick stared first at Jane, then at her, then back to Jane. The woman in the bed grew more agitated with each word, building to what seemed like a scream from the way her face contorted and cords stood out on her neck. She fell back against the soaked pillow, spent, and let out one last, long breath before she went completely still.

Kai stood frozen, both hands over her mouth now, and her entire body shook as she cried. And maybe screamed, he couldn't be sure. He pressed gentle fingers against Mrs. Baker's neck, but nothing moved there. He held his cheek just above her mouth, but he felt no flutter of breath.

Finally he straightened. "She's gone." He waited for a reaction, but Kai's eyes were still fixed on Jane. "Kai?" He went around the bed and touched her arm. Pulled her gently around so that she faced him instead of Jane. Her hands fell away from her mouth but she was white as a sheet and she trembled all over.

"Kai, what happened? What was she talking about?"

She gave herself a rough shake. Her eyes were wide and dazed and staring, but not at him. "I don't—I don't know." Her fingers seemed too stiff to form the words. He took her hands in his and rubbed them, hard, as though restoring circulation.

"Kai, please. Tell me what's wrong. I didn't understand part of it. Was it English?"

A quick jerk of her head. "Hawaiian. I love you. She…she called me little wave."

His brow creased in confusion. "You mean like—like your mother called you? You said little water, but—"

"Either or, she'd sign water but sometimes write or orally say wave," she said in a rush. "She called me Kai and little wave and she spoke 'Ōlelo and she knew about—" She broke off and shook her head again, trying to deny the truth of what she'd seen and heard.

"Knew about what?"

Finally she looked at him, and some focus returned to her glazed eyes. "What did she mean about the coyotes?"

He frowned. Glanced behind him at the window and tugged at his hair. "Last night, after you went to bed but before the storm hit…" A silent sigh. "I thought I saw a coyote outside. Just one. It seemed to look right at me. Creeped me out a little."

"That's why you keep staring out the window. Did you tell her about it?"

"No, of course not. It was too…ephemeral. She would've thought I was nuts."

"I don't think you're nuts," she said.

"I know you don't." He paused. "You didn't tell her anything about your mom?"

"No, nothing. I told her I'm from Louisiana, and that I'm a baker. She also knew Sarah was my wife, but I didn't tell her anything about Sarah at all."

He rubbed a hand over his face, for once enjoying the tug of pain from his injuries. At least he knew that was real. "Okay, so. You said Remy sounded just like your dad before he died, so maybe it was the same kind of thing. Only—nice."

She frowned. "Why didn't you get to hear from your mom?"

"I'd rather not, thanks," he said, dryly. "Freaky coyotes and scary dreams are enough otherworldly weirdness for me."

"You dreamt about him last night?" she said. "During the storm?"

He gave a grim nod. "A bad one."

"Me too."

They stood watching each other a long time. Some of the color had returned to her face, but he could tell she was still badly shaken. He couldn't blame her.

Finally, "Did she tell you about the dress? Her honeymoon dress?" she said.

"Blue with lace."

"I looked in the closet earlier. It's there." She glanced at the bed and her face creased with emotion. "We should clean her up. Get her ready."

"Take her to the funeral home to be with her husband."

"Yeah," she said on a nod. "That's a good idea." Her head moved on rusty hinges until their eyes met. "I'm going to clean up a little bit, then we can get started. Okay?"

"Take your time," he said.

Another brief, distracted nod. She slipped past him and toward the bathroom, and he turned to watch her progress until the door shut behind her. For several long moments he couldn't move. His worn-out mind tried to process what had happened in the last ten minutes or so, but he honestly wasn't sure. He knew he hadn't imagined it, and he believed in a lot more weird shit than he had just a week ago, but….

The bathroom door jumped in its frame as something heavy and solid hit it from the other side. Startled, concerned, he rushed over and knocked. Of course he couldn't hear whether or not she wanted him to come in, so he waited a few seconds and pushed it open.

She sat on the floor, her back against the tub, her head bowed. He frowned and stepped toward her. Something shifted under his foot, and when he looked down he saw a large pair of metal scissors. Frown deepening, he bent to retrieve them before approaching her. There was no blood anywhere, on the scissors or the floor or her, so that was good. But something was different.

His eyes narrowed as he studied her, then went wide as he realized. Her hair!

She tipped her head back to look at him, and it swung around her shoulders, jagged and uneven. A long dark rope lay curled in her lap. She'd cut off her hair.

"Kai…?"

"It was in my way," she said. "Stupid to have hair that long now anyway. Soon we won't have access to a regular shower and it'll just get all dirty and gross. It's hot and it catches on things and—" She broke off and heaved in a breath. "Sometimes I do impulsive things when I'm upset."

He gave a slow nod and lowered himself onto the floor next to her.

"How bad does it look?" she said after a moment.

He waved his hand in a so-so gesture, then nudged her and flashed a quick smile to show he was teasing. "I can maybe help you even it up some," he said.

"That would be nice. Thank you." There was a long, long silence. She bit her lip and thought about what Jane—her mother?—had said. Lifted her hands to say something, but then let them fall back into her lap.

Love can't be built on lies, she thought. Internally she snorted. Good thing we're not building anything, then.

She looked down at the braid in her lap and held up the severed end with a rueful little laugh. "Honestly it was either this or try to seduce you, and fucking on a bathroom floor isn't one of my top fantasies."

He almost choked on his own spit, and he had to cough a few times before he had himself together enough to sign. "I'm sorry?" he said, because any of the other options that flashed through his head were out of the question.

"I tend to use sex as a distraction from feeling my emotions." She paused. "Hence cheating on my wife rather than just telling her I wanted a divorce."

"Ah." He frowned, then tilted his head in a shrug. "You know I'm here for you in any capacity you might need."

"Ha! Yeah, I'm sure you are." But she grinned as she said it, and he grinned back.

His expression sobered as he glanced around the room. Studied the linoleum so clean it almost sparkled. The matching towels. The fancy soap and the tray with candles and pretty little decorative rocks. At last his mouth quirked. "I've fucked in worse."

Her eyes followed his before landing on his face. "Hm," she said. "What, the unquenchable hormones of a twenty-something cis man?"

"Sort of. Not exactly." He settled in more comfortably and pulled his knees up, feet flat on the floor. "I told you I took off when I was eighteen. Wandered around and picked up odd jobs here and there. Sometimes the jobs weren't as easy to come by as others, and, well. I needed money." He spread his hands to indicate the bathroom, as though to say you do the math.

She did, quickly. "Hm," she said again. She eased herself into a mirror of his posture and for several long minutes she was quiet.

He wondered if he'd just blown it. Maybe some things were better kept secret.

In truth she wasn't sure what to say. She had questions, but she didn't want to insult or upset him. Or pry, though she felt that point between them had passed. At last she said, "Did you…" She frowned. "I mean…you…it was because…" An annoyed sigh. "No one forced you, right?"

"Oh." He shook his head, quickly. "Nah. I mean, another kid I knew suggested I try it, because he said it was usually easy money, but it's not like I had a pimp or anything. Just sometimes when I needed some extra cash I'd…" He trailed off and cast her an uncertain glance, but she waved a hand.

"Don't worry about being delicate on my account."

He let out a breath. "I'd suck a few cocks, or maybe get mine sucked, make a couple hundred bucks, and then I could afford a place to stay and something to eat. It was never a big deal, really. I was selective. A lot more selective than some of the guys I knew who did the same thing. And I was safe, always used protection and got tested a lot. My only real worry was that some guy'd pull a badge some time and then I'd really be fucked."

Her mouth quirked. "Did that ever happen?"

"Yeah, once." He scowled. "I should've known from that stupid cop haircut he had, but I was careless." A brief shake of his head. "I was charged, but the judge let me go because my record was clean, and I think she felt sorry for the poor deaf mutey out on the street."

"You gave her the puppy eyes, didn't you?"

"Maybe a little. You gotta play to your strengths, right?"

"Truly," she said with a wry smile to match his.

"Sheriff Baker must've seen it when he pulled my sheet, but he didn't say anything."

"One measly solicitation charge that was dismissed?" She flicked her fingers. "I wouldn't have said anything either. He might've thought it was just a misunderstanding."

"It wasn't." He eyed her a moment, then turned his head to look her full in the face. "You get that, right? It was never a misunderstanding. It's not something I'm ashamed of, but it's not exactly something I'm advertising, either."

She did get it. He'd told people before only to have it bite him in the ass, so he'd learned to keep it close. He'd learned to keep everything close, just like she did. But he'd told her because he trusted her—not to keep his secret (because who the fuck was there to tell?), but to not judge him for it.

"Nick…" She shook her head, lips curved in a soft smile. "Good for you for utilizing your talents in a lucrative way."

"Ha. You sound like a résumé."

The smile widened. "I know." She nudged him. "Look, it doesn't matter. It wouldn't have mattered even if the world weren't ending, but now that it is, who the fuck cares? If you're looking for someone to judge you, you've come to the wrong bathroom."

He nodded slowly, expression thoughtful. "I like this bathroom," he said, finally.

"I do too."

Their eyes met. Held. He knew there was something she wasn't saying, something that he'd missed back in the bedroom. Whatever it was had scared her more than any of the rest of it put together. She'd said Jane had known about something, but then dodged when he'd asked her what it was. She didn't want to tell him. Wasn't ready to, he supposed.

That was all right. He could wait. She might be afraid of her secrets, but he wasn't.

In that moment the air between them changed with an almost physical sensation, like ears popping in an airplane. Pressure eased, rearranged itself, settled in differently. She drew in a little breath, and the shadows in her stormy eyes seemed to thin a bit.

He smiled with half his mouth, just enough to show the dimples on that side, before he settled himself against the bathtub and let his head fall back to rest against the shower door. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the dark, empty silence. There was movement next to him, but he stayed still, and after another few moments her head dropped lightly onto his shoulder. He scooted down so she'd be more comfortable. Draped an arm around her and tilted to press his cheek to her silky hair.

She closed her eyes and wrapped both arms around his waist, but was careful not to squeeze. She didn't want to hurt him. He smelled of sweat and maybe a little bit of death, but she didn't care, because he was solid and warm and real. His breath moved in and out and his heart beat in his chest and he wasn't a ghost or a dream. He was Nick. Just Nick.

He ran a hand through her uneven hair and brushed his fingers against the back of her neck. Her shampoo smelled vaguely herbal and sweet, and beneath that was plain ordinary sweat and just then it was the perfect combination. He'd had enough of the uncanny to last a lifetime (though he knew the uncanny wasn't anywhere near as done with him as he was with it), and for the moment he was perfectly content to sit on a hard bathroom floor and hold this woman and not think about anything else but how soft and good she felt pressed against his side. Kai. Just Kai.

They stayed like that for a long time. Long enough that he dozed off a little, and when she stirred he jerked awake and gave a silent groan. Snoozing on bathroom floors was not for the bruised and battered. She pressed a hand to his chest in apology, then jerked it back when he flinched.

"What's wrong? I hurt you?"

He gave a little grimace and took his arm back. Hesitating, his eyes asking her to understand what he was doing, he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. He stopped about halfway down, then pulled his undershirt aside to expose the deep, sickle-shaped gash above his left nipple.

"Oh shit," she said with a wince. "They did that?"

"Booth," he said.

"Christ, he almost took your nipple off."

He tugged his undershirt back into place and redid the buttons. Flashed a sardonic half-smile as he remembered. "Doc Soames said I nearly lost my tit."

"Stabbed in the tit. What a way to go."

"Just like in Jennifer's Body," he said with a grim nod.

Her brow quirked. "You're so butch."

He shrugged. "All my murder weapons do come from Home Depot."

They shared a pair of dumb grins before she pushed herself upright. She shook herself to get the stiffness out, then stretched her arms above her head and arched her back. Bent at the waist to touch the floor. Straightened and twisted her torso first one way, then the other. She glanced down at him and reached out a hand, which he accepted gratefully, but when he attempted to imitate her stretching routine, he was less than successful.

"Ow," he said.

"Poor baby," she said, patting his cheek. "There's some aspirin in the cabinet there."

He waved a hand to indicate he would get some later, then pointed at her. She frowned. Turned to look in the mirror and made a face. He forestalled her with a gesture. Waved the scissors before pointing at her, then at the spot where she stood.

She waited while he dragged one of the chairs in from the bedroom and positioned it in front of the sink. He presented it to her with a little bow and an offered hand. She fought a grin as she curtseyed and allowed him to seat her. He draped a towel over her shoulders and then studied her hair from different angles.

"I think this should be wet first," he said with a brief frown.

She bit her lip. "That's what she said."

He shot her a Look. "Funny. Stay here." He disappeared for a while, and when he returned he had the spray bottle Jane used to mist her plants. He emptied it into the sink and refilled it with fresh water before spraying her hair damp. Satisfied at last, he started to cut.

It took longer than she'd thought it would, and when he finally stood back to let her inspect his work, she was impressed. "Wow," she said and ran her hands through it. "It actually looks good. You did a great job."

He tilted his head back and forth. "It's not bad. I worked one summer at a barber shop, mostly just sweeping and keeping the place clean, but I paid attention."

"Hmm," she said. Her lips moved in a droll moue. "When you weren't sucking dick in the back room, that is."

"Haha. I didn't suck any—well, no, that's not true. I had a weird on-again-off-again thing with a closeted bartender at the place down the street. But that was different."

"Closeted?" she said. "Or straight?"

He shrugged. "Either or. Ended the same."

She winced in sympathy. "Never fall for the straight ones. It always ends the same."

"I know that now, but back then I was young and dumb."

"And you're a regular Methuselah these days," she said.

"Well I'm not as old as you, of course, but I've learned a few things over the years."

"Touché," she said with a dry quirk of her brows.

Another shrug and a grin before he rested a hand on either side of her face and held her head still so that he could give her hair one last look. He stood behind her, expression intent, and she watched him as he studied her. Some of the bruises were fading to yellow, and the swelling around his eye was almost gone. It was easier to see what he really looked like now, with his expressive, slightly down-turned eyes and his wide mouth. His beard needed a trim, and his hair too, but she suspected he stayed scruffy because without it he'd look about seventeen. Puppy eyes and a baby face. Only his nose, long and just a bit too big for his face, and that messy beard saved him.

He finally noticed her regard and smiled at her in the mirror, soft and a little tentative. She reached up to grip his wrist. Squeezed it and pressed her fingers lightly against the pulse there. He ran his thumbs along the strong lines of her jaw and behind her ears in a way that made her shiver. They held on a little longer, each enjoying the warmth and connection of skin against skin, before they both let go and he took a step back.

"It looks good," he said about her hair. "If you want it shorter or anything, let me know."

"It's good like this. There's still enough to pull it back, but it's off my shoulders." She ran a hand over her face and cast a sober look back toward the bedroom. "We should—get her ready. I can do it if it makes you uncomfortable."

He shook his head. "No. Both of us." He hesitated. "I should have asked your help with Vince. I just thought…it was awful enough the first time."

"It's okay. Just from now on…"

"I know," he said. "From now on." They shared a smile, and he held out a hand. "Come on. She needs to be with John."

She laced her fingers through his, and they went to take care of the woman who had taken such good care of them.

this chapter holds a special place in my heart. I hope y'all liked it!