He wasn't quite certain what he'd been thinking. Bringing a crazy woman into his house? Kit Walker sat on the couch in his living room, elbows on knees, head in his hands. She was moaning. It was a nearly constant soundtrack for the last three days. He sent the kids to stay with neighbors as much as possible - mainly in the evenings. That was when it seemed the worst.

Jude slept most of the day. Rail thin, vomiting curses and orange bile in the spring sunsets. She was a wraith almost. A shadow of the domineering nun he'd known all those years ago. Her hair was a mass of mats. He'd given up trying to sort it. That could wait. For the most part, he was happy just to get a few sips of broth into her in her moments of consciousness.

She'd stunk like a skunk, too. When he first brought her home he'd had to let down the windows in the truck. She reeked of filth, fear and something irony - like blood. He wasn't even sure. But getting her into a bath was pure fucking Hell.

For all of her weakness, she'd fought like a devil. All bone, she'd elbowed her way into a corner of the tiny bathroom and coiled like a striking snake. He'd managed to get her mostly undressed and Christ... He wasn't sure what those bruises all over her body meant, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. But he had a feeling it explained why she'd struggled so against his ministrations. And once she was in the clawfoot tub it was certainly no better. The bathroom practically flooded from her flailing.

"I'm not tryna drown you, Jude! For fuck's sake!" He'd been as gentle as possible considering she'd nearly scratched his eyeball out with those unkempt talons on her fingers. "Relax! Relax." A near choke hold had finally brought her to a semblance of peace that was more like defeat. She went lax and whimpered in his arms. "I'm just gonna clean ya up a little, I promise. Kay?" Exhaustion won the battle. He'd managed to soap the mass of filthy blonde curls, worried less about the mats until later. The kitchen sauce pot sluiced grey water over an emaciated body that had probably once been pure dynamite.

He tried not to look. Tried not to wince at the scrapes, the outright cuts and various stages of purple, green, and even black spreading spots. "What the fuck did they do to you in there, Jude?" He murmured. His throat closed. Was this her retribution, he wondered? For all the beatings she'd administered in the name of God? Somehow, it still didn't seem fair. Seemed a little overkill in his mind's eye.

He'd been as prepared as possible. All the Briarcliff visits leading up to her freedom had informed him what size gowns he needed for her. They were soft and comfortable. He wanted her comfortable. For some reason, he wanted her happy. Soft slippers peaked from beneath the guest bed. He pulled her shivering body out of the tub with promises of a nice warm bed. But her knees had given way in the bathroom door.

If anyone had told him five years or five days ago that he would be carrying a naked, wet Sister Jude across the threshold of his second bathroom he would have told them to shut the fuck up. Would have insisted that person belonged in the hallowed halls of Birarcliff Manor. But here they were. He perched her on the edge of the bed. It was like dressing a spider. Her arms were gaunt and angular. He'd gotten her covered and gave up the fight himself. Hell, let her live without knickers for a while. He was worried the ones he'd acquired would fall off her, anyway. Sluice down those long, battered legs like cotton snowdrifts...

She'd slept for 29 hours straight. He held a mirror underneath her nose twice. She was alive. Part of him rejoiced at the peace. But that was short lived.

Kit tended to wake dry mouthed. Crusty eyed. He needed coffee to start his engine. His kids woke like tiny comets hurling through a galaxy of constant discovery. Delightful. A normal household morning.

This new guest woke screaming.

It was jarring at first. He'd rushed through the house in terror, burst into her room to find her under the bed, puddles of sick streaked by the hem of her gown. "Jude!" Her ankle was the closest limb and he'd grabbed it. Mistake.

"Daddy?" Julia.

Panicked, he'd looked up at his kids in the doorframe. "Go back to bed," he assured. "She's alright. I promise." Just in time for Jude to land a kick right to his plexus. "Fuck!" His kids bolted. Clutching his chest, he yanked. "C'mere, goddamnit!"

Pinning the wiry woman to the floor, he started getting a more solid idea where those bruises came from. "What in the name of all that is holy did they have you on in there?" He bit out. "Pure powder? Jesus!" The fight lasted an eternal twelve minutes before she again went limp from exhaustion. "It's alright, Jude." He panted, cursing himself for ever doing this. "You're alright." She'd turned her head and puked on his hand.

Days. Interminable days of distressing detox. And nights. Nights being the worst. The groans. The wretching. The miserable, gut-wrenching weeping. And nothing to be done, really. Water, which she could barely keep down. Towels drenched in sweat, sick and other more unsavory excretions. "I promise you," he whispered one night, stroking her back as she heaved into a mixing bowl. "I promise you, Jude, that we will never speak of this again. Someday, when you're...better. You won't remember any of this. And I swear I will never remind you. Okay?"

A moan. A puke. And then - so quietly he almost missed it: "Thank you."

The first sensible words she'd spoke in nearly a week. He could have wept relief. Maybe he did. A little. He nuzzled the back of her still matted head. "You're welcome."

The day she'd walked - dressed and robed - into the kitchen was an absolute revelation. They'd frozen at the table. Him and his kids. Stared at the wobbly woman in the doorway who tried a smile on chapped lips. "Jude," he said softly.

She wiped her mouth on her sleeve. "Kit Walker." Her voice was cracked ice. Eyes red and rimmed with dark circles, she'd focused on the children. "Hello."

"Hey." Julia, after a pause.

Jude took a shaky look around, something like fear creeping into her gaze. She swayed a little. "Woah, there!" Kit was quick to catch her. Light as a feather. "Come on here, lady." He lifted her bridal style. "Back to bed." But he smiled over his shoulder at his children's hopeful faces. "Hey, guys. Why don't ya pour our Jude some of that carrot juice, huh?"

It was calmer after that. She was still weak, gaining strength with every cup of broth, every glass of juice, every bowl of soup. She kept it down now. And the children didn't fear this Jude - the quiet, gentle woman who let them put flowers in her tangles and chuckled at their tall tales. He limited their visit times, wanting to keep her rested. But he had a feeling she would have kept them at her side all day if she could.

And the morning he woke to the sound of bath water running, he smiled at the ceiling. He was making French toast when she padded into the living room, joined the kids where they colored pony pictures on the rug. He stared. Her hair was golden and curled down her back, smooth. She looked like a different person, especially when she smiled. Thomas handed her the crayon box, and her shaky fingers became a little more certain.

Good days.

They almost made up for the bad days. The days when Briarcliff reared its ugly head in a beautiful woman. They days when the confusion won in her brain's struggle to adapt. The days she shouted, swung the broom, threatened and cursed like a sailor on furlough. His kids formed a secret sort of cabal on those days, hunkered in their tree house, peeking out the window to watch their father wrestle a woman and her demons - her ghosts.

Because they were more than hallucinations. Too lucid to her - too damn real. Mysteries to him, but hauntings to her.

"I'm a rare bird." She paced the kitchen, pulling at shed hair. "Rara Avis. Ista est mea creatura." He had no fucking clue what she said. Was it even real language? Or was it just gibberish? "I'll love Rome. Mother Superior. They'll address me as Mother Superior."

"Jude?" He tried to get her attention. It failed. "Sister Jude?" When that didn't work, he fed the fire. "Mother Superior."

She paused, blinked at him, leaning against the sink. "Bless you child," she reached for him, not walking toward him. "God. God forgives you." She dropped to her knees, suddenly weeping. "Mary Eunice!" She wailed. Pounded the woven rug. "Little sister, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry!"

"Christ, Jude." He knelt beside her, confident the swinging had passed. "It's alright. Hush." He pulled her into his lap, stroking her. "All that's over now..." But was it? He wondered, carrying her again to her bed. Was it ever going to be over for her?

"You're a little warm, there, Jude." He observed, hand to her forehead. He worried. Was she getting sick? On top of being...sick? She shivered in response. "Alright. Hang on." He bundled her into the thick comforter, swaddled her and settled her upright in a mountain of pillows. "I'm gonna get ya some pills."

"No!" She groaned.

"Just for yer fever," he assured. "Just some acetaminophen. Yeah?" She nodded, his words penetrating the fog. "Right. I'll be right back." She took the meds with no fight, blessedly. Even drank all the orange juice. "Now. Get some sleep." He kissed her clammy forehead. "And we'll have a nice dinner tonight. Kay?" She was already drifting when he left her.

"You guys okay?" He poked his head up into the tree house entrance.

Thomas nodded, clutching his tattered teddy bear. "Is Jude okay?" Julia asked.

"She will be." Kit joined them, sitting Indian style in the squat tree hut. "I'm sorry, you two. I know this has been...hard."

"We love Jude." Thomas said.

Kit's heart melted a little. "Already?" He asked, chuckling. "It's hard to love somebody who threatens ta beat the hell out of ya, though."

"She can't help it." Julia defended, looking at Thomas. "We can help her."

"You two are helping her." Kit pulled his kids to him, squeezing them hard. In hindsight, he would regret dismissing their offer of help. "We're all helping her together." But his doubt was strong. And seeing the worry in his children's eyes only strengthened those doubts. "We'll get through this." Somehow, he added silently.

Jude slept through dinner. It wasn't too surprising. Kit checked in on her, touching her forehead. She was much cooler than earlier. The fever was dropping. He sighed relief.

Thomas and Julia went to the Whaleys' house that night. The neighbors were kind, and had two similarly aged children. They understood somewhat what Kit was going through, assuming that Jude was an ill family member. Full explanations could wait until Jude was herself enough (whoever herself was) for proper introductions. For now, they welcomed his kids with open arms and he was beyond grateful, able to rest himself a bit and focus on the recovering guest when needed.

But tonight, she was quiet. One final check around ten found her sleeping, still propped and wrapped, but peaceful. "Good night, Jude." He stroked a shank of curl behind her ear. She squirmed a bit, a tiny murmur escaping. "I'll see you in the morning."

He fell asleep watching TV in his underwear and naught else. Some mindless comedy with canned laughter lowly lulling him to dreamland. The boisterous voices at low volume bled into something else. He woke confused, and listened.

"No!" It was Jude. "Get away from me! You - you left me. Ya bastard! You left me!"

"Jude?" Kit was tense in her doorway, prepared for a rough night. "Hey. It's me. Kit." He climbed onto her bed.

She struggled in the heavy duvet, fighting an invisible something. Or someone. "What do you want?" She wept, burying her face in a pillow. "Why now? Don't touch me!" She kicked out at Kit when he reached over her, attempting to loosen the quilt. "Get the fuck away from me! Nooo!"

"Jude! Shhh, sh, sh!" He reached for her thrashing head. "It's me! It's Kit! I'm just gonna -"

"Please, don't," she mewled quietly. Moaned. Her body arced in the blanket. "Please don't do this..."

"Damn, Jude." He could barely get a hand on the blanket's edge. She writhed so passionately. He watched a gamut of emotions play on her carved face in the moonlight. "What's goin' on in that head of yers?" He asked.

But if he'd known, he would have writhed in Hell with her...

Her Hell was her cell in Braircliff. It was smaller than she remembered. The walls closed in on her. And she wasn't alone. "Judy, Judy, Judy..."

Jude pressed further into the dank corner. "Sis...Sister Mary Eunice?"

"The same." The young nun's face was ghost white. Her eyes glowed green. "What do you think you're doing, hm? You think you can escape your fate?" She stepped toward Jude. "You think you deserve to be saved?"

"Eunice." Jude trembled. Her voice trembled, too. "You - you aren't this person." Shakily, her hand reached for Eunice's face. "You were...you were the best part of me."

"I was never a part of you." Eunice snatched the hand by the wrist and Jude cried out in pain. "C'mere you old whore!" The demon's breath was hot on her cheek. "You treated me like shit. Remember that?"

"No!" Jude struggled against what was now a solid embrace. "I wanted ta save ya, Eunice! I tried to -"

"To kill me?!" Eunice laughed a ringing, evil laugh. "Well, you failed. Like so many other ways you failed. Isn't that right, Father?"

Jude's breath hitched when hands slid up her arms, rubbing her shoulders. "Rare bird."

"No!" She struggled again, sandwiched between two tormentors. "Timothy?"

"Yes, Sister." His mellow voice caressed her ear. "It's me. Your confessor." A soft, masculine hand brushed her dirty hair away from her neck before lips descended. "My right hand. Why did you betray me?"

"Me?!" She whirled away from Eunice. The little sister slinked into shadow, disappearing with a vile grin. "I nevah betrayed you! You left me here ta rot! You -"

"I would have taken you to Rome, Rara Avis." The gentle hand on her hair became a violent yank. Jude cried out at the pain. "I would have taken you..." He pulled her flush against him, the hand on her back sliding down to squeeze her ass roughly. "I would have taken you anywhere."

The handsome face she remembered was dark and demented now, twisted somehow. Leering and lusty. "And you would have loved it." He chuckled when she squirmed, twirling her beneath his arm to trap her back to his front. "All those glorious fantasies, Jude." His hand at her belly slid up, up, tracking her short, tattered patient's gown with it until he kneaded a breast - hard. "You would have melted in my mouth like your coq au vin." He licked lewdly up the side of her neck.

"Stop!" She cried.

"You don't want me to stop, Jude. You would never have asked me to stop, would you?" He sat on the filthy mattress, pulling her awkwardly onto his lap. His wiry knees spread her legs. "You would have begged for me to continue." One hand tilted her chin up, the grip strong, while the other sluiced down her stomach and into the crotch of her thin, skewed panties. She couldn't control the moan, the arch of her body into the sickening fingers slicking her moisture sloppily onto her thighs. His lips spoke at the corner of her mouth. "I want to give you my coq...au vin, Jude." And she felt the evidence of his innuendo pressing between her ass cheeks. "I want to fill you with my holy spirit."

"Please..." She begged quietly, throat straining against his grip. Her hands jostled desperately for purchase as he lay back, taking her with him.

"Please what?" He asked, plunging three rough fingers into her cunt. She lunged at the burn, an animal cry escaping. "Please stop? Or please don't stop?" But his other fingers plunged into her mouth, stopping any response. His hand moved harsh between her widely spread legs, fucking her, and the cell, the cot, the dank four walls began to shimmer, to morph and reality started to settle. "It's time for your absolution, Sister."

His knees rose, boosting her on his lap and she felt his hot, hard cock seeking at her cunt. "Gaaaahhh!" She tried to scream for help, choking on his fingers. She bit - to no avail. He seemed to feel no pain.

His arms were like the tentacles of a great octopus. She was smothering, struggling, and all of a sudden there was another. Another face before hers. The shimmer of a bedroom - a touch of soft moonlight. A kind face. Kit!

She tried to reach for the face, wrenching her mouth from the stabbing fingers. "Save me!"

"I'm right here, Jude." Kit stroked her cheek. Timothy licked the trail Kit's gentle fingers left behind. "I gotcha."

"We've both got you, Jude." The Monsignor assured darkly. He was sliding inside her, splitting her in two. She screamed. Timothy Howard laughed at her pain, beginning to raise and lower her with ease. "After I have you, he'll have you, too."

"No! Please!" Over Kit's shoulder, Eunice watched the rape with rampant glee. "Kit! Ugh!"

Kit's arms wrapped her now, making her feel all the more suffocated. "It's alright, Jude. Hold onto me. It's almost over." He was lifting her, pulling her from the monster's arms. But the monster followed, taking advantage of their new position by pounding her from behind. "I gotcha!" Kit repeated.

"Nooooooo!" She could only wail, her hand reaching past him.

Mary Eunice reached, too, not quite touching her fingers. Mary Eunice now - not a demon. "Oh, Sister..." She whispered.

"Save me!" Jude wept helplessly. The burn in her cunt was tearing. She could smell her own sweat, her own blood. Kit took hold of her reaching arm, stepped in front of Eunice's sweet face.

"Jude, it's alright!" He assured. "C'mere, dammit!" One more harsh pull brought her against him. He was hard, too, his cock rubbing her thigh. "Sshhhh, shhh, sh." He tried to soothe her, brushed her hair from her face. She felt Timothy's slick hands sliding beneath her knees, opening her again.

"Take her, Mr. Walker." The priest insisted. "You wanted her. So save her." A swift exchange and suddenly Kit was sliding inside her, easily taking over Timothy's place. Still the Monsignor held her arms taut against her sides, stopping her struggle. "Time for you to be a team player, Sister." She groaned at the new intrusion, unable to resist the pleasure tickling in her belly, threatening to spread like wildfire.

"Hush, Jude." Kit moved slowly, his hips rhythmic between her thighs. "There now. It's alright. Christ, Jude! Let me hold ya! It's okay!"

It was not okay. Timothy's hardness was now insistently poking at her tense asshole. She panicked between the two men. Eunice stood close behind Kit, smiling patiently now. "Jude." The young nun spoke clearly. Firmly. Just as the priest's cock penetrated painfully her resistant rear, Eunice spoke again. "Judy. This is not happening."

Jude's reality was nightmare.

Kit's nightmare was reality. He'd managed to release Jude's legs from the heavy blanket, somehow sliding between them in their struggle. But his elbow caught the quilt around her upper body. She tossed and struggled within its grip so vehemently that he couldn't seem to right himself. "Jude." He spoke clearly, cupped her face. "Judy. This is not happening."

She froze, mouth open but no sound emerging. Her body tensed so powerfully he was afraid she was seizing. He took advantage of the moment to rip at the blanket, finally freeing the poor woman. "Jude!"

Her arms flew around his neck. She wailed, weeping worse than he'd ever heard her. He held her, too. Completely knackered and beyond relieved his children weren't home to see them this way.

One long, creamy leg curled over his hip. She held onto him like a frightened girl. But her body moved as though recovering from some passionate ecstasy and his own body couldn't help responding. Pleasure zinged from his balls up his back every time she undulated against him. "Jude," he murmured into her hair. Rubbed at her temples. "Judy, you have ta stop..." But it was too late. He couldn't help rutting quickly, desperately against her soft mons as he came in his tighty whities. "Fuck," he spat. "Jude. I'm so fuckin' sorry."

She whimpered. She didn't seem to notice what had occurred, finally calming enough to breathe. He heard snot rattling in her nose. Felt tears on his bare shoulder. He swallowed heavily and pulled back enough to touch her face. "Jude? You with me? You here?"

"Mmhm." Her eyes were closed. She was shaking.

"Where are you, Judy?" He asked softly.

Finally her eyes opened just slits. He watched her eyeballs dance in the moonlight, taking in her surroundings. "Kit..."

"Yeah. Kit."

"I'm...with you."

"That's right. You're with me, Jude." He pressed his nose to her hairline. Took a deep breath. "You had a hell of a nightmare."

"I had..." But she began to weep quietly, curling in his embrace. "I'm home."

"Yes. You're home, Jude."

"Home..."

He shifted them in the bed, sliding behind her, ignoring the sticky mess in his shorts. He was hot as hell, sweating from that...struggle. He pulled the blanket over her fetal form. Spooned her. "Sleep, Judy. Yer home." He held her tightly while she cried herself to sleep.

She was still asleep come eight am. Kit had showered and dressed. Lingered in her doorway, watching the peaceful rise and fall of her chest. His forehead creased. Jesus. What happened last night? His own shame pricked at his cheeks, flushing him hotly. Hopefully, she won't remember.

He worked in the garden distracting himself. His kids trotted home around ten, flying open-armed into the garden to greet him. "Dad!"

He swung them one by one, laughing. "You guys have a good time with the Whaleys last night?"

"Yeah." Julia plucked a ripe tomato, rubbing it on her dirty jeans. "How is our Jude?"

He hesitated. "I think she's fine." He looked to the house. He could see Jude inside. She'd gotten up only moments earlier. He hadn't gone in yet to greet her. "She had kind of a bad night, but..." He pointed to her through the window. "Looks like she's okay ta me." She was sweeping the kitchen, actually. "You two go on in and see her. I'm gonna take care of these crazy beans." He watched the kids flap through the back door before turning back to the sprawling bean plants. They'd been neglected these last weeks and had taken over the cucumber plot. Kit bent, wrangling them back into shape, not thinking about last night.

A crash and shouting interrupted his not thinking. "Oh, no." He leapt over cabbages, running inside the house. Julia streaked past him, squealing. Thomas tore past, too. Jude chased them both, broom brandished like a weapon.

"We don't have a children's ward!" She wailed. That look was in her eyes. That look from last night. That familiar look that told him she wasn't here.

"Dammit," he muttered. "Jude!" She whirled, knocking over more decor. A lamp. Pictures. Glass shattered. "Jude, stop!"

But she turned her threats to him. Brandished the broom like a cane. Called him a murderer. It was too much. Especially in front of his kids. The temptation to slap the hell out of her was strong. He lunged for her, grabbed her arms, shaking sense. "Jude. This is not Briarcliff and you will not hit my kids!"

There was defeat in her. Such loss. She crumbled, weeping, confused. He couldn't go on. He couldn't do this. It was the most ridiculous idea, anyway. He felt himself crumbling, too. He'd let her down. She would have to go back - back to Briarcliff. They simply couldn't go on this way. She was too volatile, too far gone, too -

"It's alright, dad."

His children were fearless. They took Jude's hands. Kit could feel the love when they gazed up at her - out of it as she was. He felt his own fear dissipate as they tugged the woman toward the door. He watched in wonder as they walked her past the garden. He stood on the back porch, staring until the odd trio disappeared in the distance, just over the edge of the forest.

Strangely enough, he didn't worry.

Even three hours later he didn't worry. A hush had fallen over the house. A heavy warm wind blew past, rustling the trees and the crazy beans. He sat on the back porch steps, waiting. And when he saw the trio appear again - just at the edge of the forest...

Something was different.

Yes, I CAN write a Jude/Kit/Timothy threesome! I feel like there should be more. Like I can't leave them this way. Also...I ship it, so...