stay outta my way.

Today had left him exhausted, both mentally and physically. He had attempted to do without his crutches every so often, hoping to help along the tendons in his foot get used to the weight and the pressure, but now his goddamn legs hurt. He was now resigned to the fact that he still needed assistance to get around for at least another week. He hated being stuck behind his desk since he was slowly being buried beneath a mountain of paperwork, his cases reassigned to people who were actually able to walk. He also hated that he couldn't even get the paperwork done right. He was distracted. That's what the Chief had said. His work sloppy. His attention elsewhere. James had apologized profusely. He was one of the captains. He was in charge of people. He needed to be on his A-game. He needed to get his shit together.

Too bad for him his mind wasn't ready to let go of that night with Moira. Of how stupid he'd been to sleep with her. Of how awesome it'd been too. Worst part of it all, he thinks. Hating what he did, but knowing they'd been amazing together. That's why the thoughts continued swirling 'round in his head. He didn't know how to make sense of it. Or the fact that he's been spending all these days thinking about her.

When he can't get anything else done, brain fried to oblivion, he shuts off his computer. He gathers a few files for some bedtime reading, stuffing them inside his bag, and he heads out. Once outside, he is glad to see the streets were mostly empty and quiet. A good night as far as he was concerned. He makes his way through downtown, slow but quicker than last week, as he's gotten better and more balanced with his crutches and walking boot. He heads into Quill where it too is mostly abandoned, He orders a chili cheeseburger, onion rings, and a drink to go. His food finally arrives ten minutes later, and he starts walking back near the station, calling a cab on his way.

Hours are beginning to run together again. Sure it had been bad trapped down in hell without knowing how fast the hours and days were passing. But it was worse being back in the comfort of his cottage with the clock on the wall staring him in the face. Yes, he admits. His damn foot hurts and actually...

With a scowl, he reaches for the pill bottle sitting on the side table and swallows down a round of painkillers. His foot hurts, but he still hates this. He's twiddling his thumbs being stuck in his house, when he should be back at the station, getting caught up on his cases, tracking down whoever it was running rampage through the town. It wasn't just his own attack. Now there was a murderer on the lose. Seriously. Why else stick this damn walking boot on his leg, if he wasn't allowed to walk on it.

Dark magic shouldn't be allowed to continue without consequence. He knows others were doing their best, but James had a vested interest in this case. For himself and for his family. This wasn't a random attack. It was the curse. His family's curse.

"Fuck this." James tosses the remote aside for about the fifteenth time that day. Through the window, he sees the sun has set, and he's vaguely hungry for something to eat again. On the coffee table is the remainder of the feast June and Demetri had brought over from earlier, all the leftovers gone greasy and cold. Ever since they had left, James has been in a food and mind coma, ready to climb up the walls, scowling at the world.

Waking up is an out of body experience. He shoots up from couch, immediately on alert, reaching for his gun that isn't there. Where is he, he asks himself in a panic. Then he remembers. He is trapped in a place that has no name. With Moira Coombs, he thinks, looking down at the white cat curled up near him in a ball. He sighs after a second, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, wishing he had woken up to just a bad dream. But it looks like another day in hell.

As he stands up from he couch, yawning and stretching, he realizes that they must have slept for hours, long enough that he feels fully rested, energetic even. He glances around the small cottage, around the kitchen and all the furniture. It would almost be cozy, if he didn't know it belonged to an evil temptress with snake hair. Still, there was at least food here. He stumbles into the kitchen, rummaging through a cabinet. He immediately sees something that looks like a loaf of bread and a wheel of cheese. He puts it on the counter and pulls off a bit for himself. There are eggs and milk out on the counter, but this is enough to soothe his aching stomach for now.

He wants to get a better feel for the place, so he wonders back down the passageway that leads out into the garden. Eating his breakfast as he goes, happy to see no further threats of danger. It means they've found a reasonable safe return place. If they go exploring for an exit, at least they can return here for food and sleep. It's more than they had yesterday. 

He takes his time checking out the garden, hoping to find more tools. Something they can use for weapons. Just in case. All he finds are a couple of hand shovels and some buckets. But he does find a few vines of tomatoes and some fruit trees. He collects some of the food in a bucket to bring back with him. He knows he's been gone awhile, and he figures Moira should be up by now. Before he returns, he stops near the pond to dip his hand in the water, using it to wash the grim and dirt from his hands and face. He wishes desperately there was running water to take a real shower. He wonders what Alex and Grant are doing today. If they are out there searching for him. If they are even close to finding them. 

Even though he knows it might be wishful thinking now, he wants to go home.