(haven fic) the sky and the tides; nathan, nathan/audrey, g
the sky and the tides; nathan, nathan/audrey, g. 2108 words. change doesn't come easily to nathan, not the way it forces around the edges of this town.
There is a lake house, near the bridge. Nathan doesn't tell Duke, and he certainly doesn't tell Audrey, but at times when work seems to break him down, he finds himself strolling, tossing pebbles into the water. He'll often close his eyes, listening to the silence drag with the tides.
The ripples collide, breaking consistent movement, and Nathan hears a little sigh escape from his mouth. He forgets to breathe every so often, forgets the pressure that hovers around his shoulders and makes him sag. The mistakes have been piling up more than lately, and fleetingly, he remembers a time when his father wasn't trying to hold cracks together, where he could stroll into his office without having to break out into a fight.
His chest moves up and down rapidly. It's a vital sign, one that needs constant reminding. Nathan turns and walks back to his car, the buzz slowly returning to his ears.
"How does it feel," she asks suddenly, during work. "Not being able to actually feel anything?"
Nathan bites his lip. He doesn't know why he's gotten into the habit of doing it. It's the same with picking his fingernails, rubbing his arm- they are all these little things that he's picked up over the past few months, little bits of dust and grain. Maybe he's trying to blend in after all, finally chewing the dirt that he so bitterly hated.
He shrugs. "I don't really know how to explain it." It's not much of an argument, but there's nothing to add. Something are better left untouched in this town, and he knows all too well about forbidden topics, and even to a woman like Audrey, an- almost, he has to add- complete stranger, they will be nothing but trouble.
Or maybe that's his way of talking himself out of it. He sighs. "It's not something I think most people will understand."
Audrey raises her eyebrows, but doesn't say anything more. Nathan tastes the blood in his mouth, and sucking his lip, remembers to breathe again.
They solve a case that night. Audrey shuffles over, holding two beers. "Duke passed these onto me," she smiles. "I guess it's safe to say that he's not coming over to celebrate."
"Let me guess," he twists the cap and takes a sip. He's not thirsty- he's usually never thirsty, but there's a thing his father stuck him with called courtesy. "He's got a date."
"Score." Her laugh is loud, long, almost dazzling. Nathan forgets sometimes what a laugh sounds like; suddenly he's aching for all the things he's never had. Ache. His hand trembles before resting on hers.
She doesn't even flinch, but instead drinks half the bottle down, as if she wants to get drunk. "I say, we should watch a movie or something. Does this place have movies?"
He's too busy studying her, letting the warmth of her skin seep in. This is human flesh, he notes. It is the only thing he will have ever known; and yet, he feels something more than just the pulse, the soft skin pressed slightly on his. These hands have traveled through storms and grass and ice and rain. They have touched poles, they have felt pressure and withstood cracks and have spilt blood.
The sky yawns and slowly turns to a dark blue. Outside, Nathan can hear the crickets begin to chirp.
"Yeah," he says softly, closing his eyes. "We have a lot of them here."
They can’t save one this time.
Nathan cages Audrey to the ground- the resilience of the human body is amazing- but this time, the Troubled bends down to her knees, stumbling into the mist. For a minute, they both stand there in shock. Her name was Mary, he tries to remember, but all he can see are the bits and pieces of ash floating in the air.
Something fierce, cruel- he doesn’t know how to put these sort of things into words- these are feelings, but not the ones that he can’t touch- bubbles up inside of him, and Nathan turns to Audrey, expecting something. A reaction. This is how it always is: he is the reactant, starting, stirring up all the feelings without knowing how.
It comes so easily, that it’s almost a shock.
“Did you even care?” And her fists are banging against his chest and he winces because if this is what pain feels like, the throbbing feeling underneath his ribcage is even worse- and she- she doesn’t even cry.
“There was nothing we could do,” he says quietly, his arms still firm on her shoulders. “She would have taken the entire town down.”
All screams, but no tears. Audrey was an FBI agent once. Girls don’t cry wearing badges. He tries shoving his hands back into his empty pockets, but they are magnets, sticking to the poles of heat and flesh and for a while he’s almost disgusted with himself, thinking nothing but of her shadowed face and the temperature seeping into his skin.
Eventually (and he hates himself for doing it) he grabs her closer and slowly they begin to walk back to the car, not turning back to the drifting ashes behind. They still have enough gas (thank god) to make the full trip, but this time the car is brimming with silence. Not the good kind, he notes as Audrey turns to stare out the window.
“She was a really nice woman.” she says suddenly, as they drive past the park.
“I know,” he responds, not unkindly. His thumbs rub against the steering wheel and he sighs.
The drive is long and the silence is even longer, until she finally adds-
“Sometimes I want to do nothing but get out of here.” He turns to look at her; her eyes are half closed, and yet he sees a drift in them. She’s tired.
A while back, he would have replied, “I get the feeling.” Today, he shakes his head, and once again, his hand runs across the seat and brushes her shoulder. He wants to tell her all the things- but this moment isn’t his to take. It takes time for him to remind himself that Audrey Parker is nothing but the glass window in his world ful of steel walls; a window he’s only allowed to see through, but never touch.
He can see marks where he grabbed her wrist, pinning her to the ground so she wouldn’t leave. The feeling rises to his throat, and falls into a locking of the jaw. Play with a window too much, and dust will start to appear.
Silence is the better answer in these cases, he thinks.
He thinks about smoking, about carving up his lungs with something, anything. Licking his lips, he takes the day off and drives to the nearest convenience store. The clerk doesn't let him pay.
"Your man, he was a good guy," he chuckles, swiping the cigarette pack against the counter. Behind his back, Nathan flicks the lighter and burns his hand three times before drawing blood.
On his buckle, the badge shines dimly under the flickering fluorescent lights. It's going to be a tough night driving out, with these storms. He picks up the cigarettes.
"There was no one like him," the clerk continues. Nathan pauses behind the doors. Audrey had said the same thing earlier, her hand slipping against his arm. The way it curled around his wrist as she stared down at the floor, the both of them covered in summer shade. For a few minutes they had just stood there, distancing each other and yet not finding how to stay apart. Gravity works strange ways in this town, his father had said.
Father. The word still sticks in his tongue, in his lungs, in the air he breathes. Outside, the thunder rumbles and rages, flashing streaks of yellow across the misted roads. The cigarette pack is still in his hand, unopened.
"He was the Chief," he says simply, before tossing them into the trash.
It's only when he wakes up to go back to the lakehouse that he realizes that it's in ruins. The storm has completely obliterated it- from the top to the bottom, there is nothing but a pile of debris, resisting the slow current of the overflowing water. He leans against a broken palm, and it surprised to see that he's breathing just fine. Smiling, Nathan kicks a piece of timber into the lake, and walks away, not turning back.
It's not really about the idea that there's a man who can control steel on the loose, or about the 3 potential victims. Audrey is shouting and he can see it in her eyes; the mirror of weariness that he so often wore on a day where he was forced to spar with his father, with the world, with the tacks in his back.
"I let him go," she closes her eyes and leans against her desk. "I fucking let him go."
Nathan stands still, not knowing what to say. His fingers are crawling with sensations that he can't describe. Inside his head, the scene vividly circles, a fresh layer of anger applied with each turn.
He doesn't remember what happens next- suddenly he's out the door, running after a shadow of thought in his mind, and her lonely eyes digging fingernails in his palms.
Reaction, action. This time, it's the other way around.
It's harder than it looks. Nathan dumps the lakewater on the man before he throws a car door at him, and watches him crumble and fall apart. This time, it's rust, not ash, and there's no failure to be felt or marks around her wrists and he sinks down to the ground in relief.
It takes ten minutes this time for him to realize there's a piece of metal, lodged in his thigh. He snaps up and looks around. She isn't here.
Nathan moans in exasperation and slowly limps to the bottom of the hill, slowly pulling it out. His hands turn red, but there's no difference; to him, it's just a paint that will wash away with the water and bandages. Still, it's a rusted chain, tying him down to the ground; there's no way he'll be able to get out of this one alone. His fingers dig inside his pockets, finding his cell.
The heat is a killer, he thinks. At least it is better than the usual void- a sort of emptiness he never wants to go back to. He has experienced these small, tiny glimpses of freedom, and he has fallen into temptation. It's become a problem, this neediness. He wasn't like this, once. It's not just his mind that's searching for her slender arms, or her strong gaze- his body has become an unwilling patient, sinking into withdrawal. And the pain of it isn't even real.
Nathan laughs as the sweat trickles down his head. Above, a seagull shrieks. And then another. His cellphone buzzes; Duke is on his way.
This will be the one Audrey will never find out about, he promises himself as he passes out.
Duke, as promised, doesn't tell Audrey, but he doesn't tell him that Audrey already knows where he is. Nathan groans in frustration as she walks into his room and watches in slight disgust at the IV hooked up to his leg.
"He didn't tell me anything- you didn't tell me anything- you just ran off and left and suddenly there's this call from the ambulance-" and she's shouting again.
He's almost flattered.
"Fuck you," she finally mutters, sinking down into the chair beside him.
Nathan raises an eyebrow. "I was aware that I just saved the town? Duke's right- you're terrible with your thank you's."
She rolls her eyes. "And you suck at actually telling people your plans."
"Fair enough," he shrugs.
Audrey sighs again, before tracing his arm, and for a minute, they're both laughing and the nurse outside is nearly sure that she's given him a higher dose of morphine than usual. Not that he needs it.
(He gets better. They all do, in the end; this town recovers fast.)
Between his need to know that somewhere in this fight, he's not alone, and the ugly desperation that covers his senses to run off, he sees a lock of golden hair. The smell of hay, of hard work and a light leap.
Don't forget to wear the badge, she almost says as she walks out. He doesn't know that his lips curve against his cheeks.
"I won't," he breathes, and heads out after her.
There is a lake house, near the bridge. Nathan doesn't tell Duke, and he certainly doesn't tell Audrey, but at times when work seems to break him down, he finds himself strolling, tossing pebbles into the water. He'll often close his eyes, listening to the silence drag with the tides.
The ripples collide, breaking consistent movement, and Nathan hears a little sigh escape from his mouth. He forgets to breathe every so often, forgets the pressure that hovers around his shoulders and makes him sag. The mistakes have been piling up more than lately, and fleetingly, he remembers a time when his father wasn't trying to hold cracks together, where he could stroll into his office without having to break out into a fight.
His chest moves up and down rapidly. It's a vital sign, one that needs constant reminding. Nathan turns and walks back to his car, the buzz slowly returning to his ears.
"How does it feel," she asks suddenly, during work. "Not being able to actually feel anything?"
Nathan bites his lip. He doesn't know why he's gotten into the habit of doing it. It's the same with picking his fingernails, rubbing his arm- they are all these little things that he's picked up over the past few months, little bits of dust and grain. Maybe he's trying to blend in after all, finally chewing the dirt that he so bitterly hated.
He shrugs. "I don't really know how to explain it." It's not much of an argument, but there's nothing to add. Something are better left untouched in this town, and he knows all too well about forbidden topics, and even to a woman like Audrey, an- almost, he has to add- complete stranger, they will be nothing but trouble.
Or maybe that's his way of talking himself out of it. He sighs. "It's not something I think most people will understand."
Audrey raises her eyebrows, but doesn't say anything more. Nathan tastes the blood in his mouth, and sucking his lip, remembers to breathe again.
They solve a case that night. Audrey shuffles over, holding two beers. "Duke passed these onto me," she smiles. "I guess it's safe to say that he's not coming over to celebrate."
"Let me guess," he twists the cap and takes a sip. He's not thirsty- he's usually never thirsty, but there's a thing his father stuck him with called courtesy. "He's got a date."
"Score." Her laugh is loud, long, almost dazzling. Nathan forgets sometimes what a laugh sounds like; suddenly he's aching for all the things he's never had. Ache. His hand trembles before resting on hers.
She doesn't even flinch, but instead drinks half the bottle down, as if she wants to get drunk. "I say, we should watch a movie or something. Does this place have movies?"
He's too busy studying her, letting the warmth of her skin seep in. This is human flesh, he notes. It is the only thing he will have ever known; and yet, he feels something more than just the pulse, the soft skin pressed slightly on his. These hands have traveled through storms and grass and ice and rain. They have touched poles, they have felt pressure and withstood cracks and have spilt blood.
The sky yawns and slowly turns to a dark blue. Outside, Nathan can hear the crickets begin to chirp.
"Yeah," he says softly, closing his eyes. "We have a lot of them here."
They can’t save one this time.
Nathan cages Audrey to the ground- the resilience of the human body is amazing- but this time, the Troubled bends down to her knees, stumbling into the mist. For a minute, they both stand there in shock. Her name was Mary, he tries to remember, but all he can see are the bits and pieces of ash floating in the air.
Something fierce, cruel- he doesn’t know how to put these sort of things into words- these are feelings, but not the ones that he can’t touch- bubbles up inside of him, and Nathan turns to Audrey, expecting something. A reaction. This is how it always is: he is the reactant, starting, stirring up all the feelings without knowing how.
It comes so easily, that it’s almost a shock.
“Did you even care?” And her fists are banging against his chest and he winces because if this is what pain feels like, the throbbing feeling underneath his ribcage is even worse- and she- she doesn’t even cry.
“There was nothing we could do,” he says quietly, his arms still firm on her shoulders. “She would have taken the entire town down.”
All screams, but no tears. Audrey was an FBI agent once. Girls don’t cry wearing badges. He tries shoving his hands back into his empty pockets, but they are magnets, sticking to the poles of heat and flesh and for a while he’s almost disgusted with himself, thinking nothing but of her shadowed face and the temperature seeping into his skin.
Eventually (and he hates himself for doing it) he grabs her closer and slowly they begin to walk back to the car, not turning back to the drifting ashes behind. They still have enough gas (thank god) to make the full trip, but this time the car is brimming with silence. Not the good kind, he notes as Audrey turns to stare out the window.
“She was a really nice woman.” she says suddenly, as they drive past the park.
“I know,” he responds, not unkindly. His thumbs rub against the steering wheel and he sighs.
The drive is long and the silence is even longer, until she finally adds-
“Sometimes I want to do nothing but get out of here.” He turns to look at her; her eyes are half closed, and yet he sees a drift in them. She’s tired.
A while back, he would have replied, “I get the feeling.” Today, he shakes his head, and once again, his hand runs across the seat and brushes her shoulder. He wants to tell her all the things- but this moment isn’t his to take. It takes time for him to remind himself that Audrey Parker is nothing but the glass window in his world ful of steel walls; a window he’s only allowed to see through, but never touch.
He can see marks where he grabbed her wrist, pinning her to the ground so she wouldn’t leave. The feeling rises to his throat, and falls into a locking of the jaw. Play with a window too much, and dust will start to appear.
Silence is the better answer in these cases, he thinks.
He thinks about smoking, about carving up his lungs with something, anything. Licking his lips, he takes the day off and drives to the nearest convenience store. The clerk doesn't let him pay.
"Your man, he was a good guy," he chuckles, swiping the cigarette pack against the counter. Behind his back, Nathan flicks the lighter and burns his hand three times before drawing blood.
On his buckle, the badge shines dimly under the flickering fluorescent lights. It's going to be a tough night driving out, with these storms. He picks up the cigarettes.
"There was no one like him," the clerk continues. Nathan pauses behind the doors. Audrey had said the same thing earlier, her hand slipping against his arm. The way it curled around his wrist as she stared down at the floor, the both of them covered in summer shade. For a few minutes they had just stood there, distancing each other and yet not finding how to stay apart. Gravity works strange ways in this town, his father had said.
Father. The word still sticks in his tongue, in his lungs, in the air he breathes. Outside, the thunder rumbles and rages, flashing streaks of yellow across the misted roads. The cigarette pack is still in his hand, unopened.
"He was the Chief," he says simply, before tossing them into the trash.
It's only when he wakes up to go back to the lakehouse that he realizes that it's in ruins. The storm has completely obliterated it- from the top to the bottom, there is nothing but a pile of debris, resisting the slow current of the overflowing water. He leans against a broken palm, and it surprised to see that he's breathing just fine. Smiling, Nathan kicks a piece of timber into the lake, and walks away, not turning back.
It's not really about the idea that there's a man who can control steel on the loose, or about the 3 potential victims. Audrey is shouting and he can see it in her eyes; the mirror of weariness that he so often wore on a day where he was forced to spar with his father, with the world, with the tacks in his back.
"I let him go," she closes her eyes and leans against her desk. "I fucking let him go."
Nathan stands still, not knowing what to say. His fingers are crawling with sensations that he can't describe. Inside his head, the scene vividly circles, a fresh layer of anger applied with each turn.
He doesn't remember what happens next- suddenly he's out the door, running after a shadow of thought in his mind, and her lonely eyes digging fingernails in his palms.
Reaction, action. This time, it's the other way around.
It's harder than it looks. Nathan dumps the lakewater on the man before he throws a car door at him, and watches him crumble and fall apart. This time, it's rust, not ash, and there's no failure to be felt or marks around her wrists and he sinks down to the ground in relief.
It takes ten minutes this time for him to realize there's a piece of metal, lodged in his thigh. He snaps up and looks around. She isn't here.
Nathan moans in exasperation and slowly limps to the bottom of the hill, slowly pulling it out. His hands turn red, but there's no difference; to him, it's just a paint that will wash away with the water and bandages. Still, it's a rusted chain, tying him down to the ground; there's no way he'll be able to get out of this one alone. His fingers dig inside his pockets, finding his cell.
The heat is a killer, he thinks. At least it is better than the usual void- a sort of emptiness he never wants to go back to. He has experienced these small, tiny glimpses of freedom, and he has fallen into temptation. It's become a problem, this neediness. He wasn't like this, once. It's not just his mind that's searching for her slender arms, or her strong gaze- his body has become an unwilling patient, sinking into withdrawal. And the pain of it isn't even real.
Nathan laughs as the sweat trickles down his head. Above, a seagull shrieks. And then another. His cellphone buzzes; Duke is on his way.
This will be the one Audrey will never find out about, he promises himself as he passes out.
Duke, as promised, doesn't tell Audrey, but he doesn't tell him that Audrey already knows where he is. Nathan groans in frustration as she walks into his room and watches in slight disgust at the IV hooked up to his leg.
"He didn't tell me anything- you didn't tell me anything- you just ran off and left and suddenly there's this call from the ambulance-" and she's shouting again.
He's almost flattered.
"Fuck you," she finally mutters, sinking down into the chair beside him.
Nathan raises an eyebrow. "I was aware that I just saved the town? Duke's right- you're terrible with your thank you's."
She rolls her eyes. "And you suck at actually telling people your plans."
"Fair enough," he shrugs.
Audrey sighs again, before tracing his arm, and for a minute, they're both laughing and the nurse outside is nearly sure that she's given him a higher dose of morphine than usual. Not that he needs it.
(He gets better. They all do, in the end; this town recovers fast.)
Between his need to know that somewhere in this fight, he's not alone, and the ugly desperation that covers his senses to run off, he sees a lock of golden hair. The smell of hay, of hard work and a light leap.
Don't forget to wear the badge, she almost says as she walks out. He doesn't know that his lips curve against his cheeks.
"I won't," he breathes, and heads out after her.