Haven fic: No Place Like Home (A/N, 1/1, PG-13)
Title: No Place Like Home
Author: Shane Vansen
Category: Audrey/Nathan post-ep, angst, drama, romance
Spoilers: The Tides That Bind
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~1500 words
Disclaimer: It's probably best that they're not mine; I'd screw it up. Haven and its characters and storylines belong to people much more talented than I.
Summary: He gives Audrey four days before he confronts her. (TTTB post-ep)
Author's Notes: Many, many thanks go to december21st for putting up with a lot of whining and waffling while betaing this story. She's probably very, very sick of the fic (and possibly me) by now. *g* Any and all remaining errors or poorly written sections are most certainly mine.
Haven's timeline is a little wonky; in a lot of ways it seems as though S2 is still taking place in 2010 instead of 2011. For the purposes of this fic, I'm taking that possibility and running with it.
Chris Brody? Who's Chris Brody? *whistles innocently*
**
He gives Audrey four days before he confronts her.
She's been decidedly unlike herself all week, quiet and withdrawn and speaking only about things directly related to the cases they're working. As someone used to quiet, who's long preferred it, Nathan wouldn't have guessed that he'd miss her chatter. As it turns out, he misses it a lot.
More than that, of course, it means that something's bothering her. He's not very good at talking - especially about personal stuff - so at first he lets it go, just keeps an eye on her and hopes that whatever it is blows over. By the end of the week, though, it's clear that something is still eating at her, so once he's able to escape from the paperwork he goes looking for her.
He tries her place first and lucks out. She's out on the deck, one hip leaning against the railing as she looks out over the water, though she seems a million miles away. Her arms are folded across her stomach in that way he's come to learn means she's either cold or upset. Nathan's betting on the latter.
He pauses at the top of the steps. "Hi."
Audrey jumps a little, like he's startled her. "Hey," she says back, watching as he approaches her.
He sits on top of the railing next to where she's leaning and confronts her without preamble. "Want to tell me what's been bothering you?"
She looks down, then back at the scenery. "I like it here," she says. "Haven. I've never really felt like I belonged anywhere, but Haven feels like... like home."
"Okay," he says, drawing out the word, not getting why this is something that upsets her.
Her voice is quieter. "I don't want to leave."
"Is there a reason why you'd have to?" He's even more confused now.
"What if I don't have a choice?" There's something in her tone that starts a tendril of dread curling in his stomach. He's glad she continues without prompting because all of a sudden Nathan's not sure he wants to know. "Gwen Glendower told me a little bit more about Lucy, that a couple of months after she arrived, one day she just disappeared."
Now he understands her mood. "And you're afraid the same thing will happen to you."
She's staring at him now, her eyes red-rimmed and watery and, crap, he doesn't know what to do with crying women, let alone a crying Audrey. There's some guilt mixed in with the relief when she keeps talking.
"Even if I'm not - I wasn't - Lucy, I'm connected to her somehow. What if she didn't leave? What if she just... stopped existing?" She holds out her hands, palms up in an I don't know gesture. "She was only here for a few months. I've already been here for four. What if one day soon I'm just... gone?"
His chest aches at the thought, as much for himself as for her; earlier this year he'd never even heard of Audrey Parker and now he can't imagine Haven without her.
He doesn't know what to say to make this better. In lieu of words, he wraps one arm around her, careful to keep his hold relaxed in case she wants to pull away. Instead, she surprises him by burrowing into his side. A little uncertain, he puts his other arm around her in a loose hug.
"We don't know," he says at last. "We don't know who Lucy was, or how or why she disappeared. We don't know how you're connected to her or to Haven, or that anything's going to happen to you." These are things he thinks about only late at night with a bottle or three of beer behind him; in spite of all the weirdness he knows happens in Haven, the whole Audrey-Lucy connection is something he just can't wrap his head around. Maybe it's that he's afraid to. "But you're learning more about her, and right now the Troubles are as prevalent as ever and you're still needed. We've got some time to figure it out."
She leans into him a little more heavily, then takes one last, shuddering breath before lifting her head. "Thanks, Nathan."
He's not used to being this close to her, especially not with the way she's looking at him, like in this moment she believes he can solve all her problems. The scent and sight and most of all the feel of her, her body heat radiating through their clothes, hits him hard. He knows that kissing her is a bad idea for all kinds of reasons, but he can't seem to keep himself from closing the scant distance between them.
Their first kiss is nothing more than a brush of lips against lips. After, he pulls back and waits for her to shove him away and demand to know what the hell he was thinking.
But she does neither of these things. At first she looks almost startled, then a familiar expression crosses her face, the one she gets when she's figured out a key piece of evidence or put together the pieces of a puzzle to get a glimpse of the whole picture. Before he can figure out what that means, she leans up.
Objectively, it's nothing much, just an echo of the kiss he gave her, but the thing is: she's kissing him back. For Nathan, this means everything.
His hands come up to frame her face, holding her close as he pulls her to stand between his knees; with him sitting on the railing, they're nearly the same height. It's strange not to be looking down at her. One of his hands tunnels through her hair, Audrey's lips parting beneath his, her tongue sliding against his own. She tastes like coffee and some distant part of his brain wonders how long it will be before he can drink coffee without thinking of this moment.
Audrey's hands have been running along his arms and back, a warm pressure he can feel faintly through his shirt. Next to her lips and tongue and skin beneath his fingers it barely registered, but when she slides one hand up to the back of his neck it's like sensory overload, almost too much for him to bear. There's no way on Earth he's stopping, though.
He trails a hand down her spine, feeling her shiver against him; the sound she makes in the back of her throat is almost drowned out by his own moan when her fingers slip beneath the hem of his shirt to press against bare skin. Then it really is too much and he has to break the kiss because, god, he can't breathe.
They're still half wrapped around each other, his forehead pressed to her temple and his eyes closed so he can focus on all the places where they're touching - where he can feel her. His breathing's just evened out into something approaching normal when Audrey pulls back a little, and the expression on her face puts that feeling of fear back in the pit of his stomach before she even opens her mouth.
"Nathan," she starts, and the tiny part of him that isn't dreading what she's about to say is taking in her flushed face and messy hair and unsteady breathing and thinking, I did that.
"Nathan," she says again, and closes her eyes for a moment before looking him right in the eye and telling him, "We can't do this." Before he can say anything, she rests her hands on either side of his jaw, one thumb resting over his lips. "It's not fair to you. For all we know I could disappear next week or next month or tomorrow. I might not even get to say goodbye." Her voice cracks as she repeats, "It's not fair."
"My choice." His voice is none too steady either. He brings his hands up to mirror how she's touching him. "Audrey, we don't know that anything will happen. Even if we knew for sure, I'd still choose you."
She's shaking, or maybe he is. He tells her, "No regrets," and then kisses her, hard, like he can keep her there through sheer will. He pushes up off the railing, turning so that she's trapped between it and him, but she pushes back, her fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as she backs him toward her bedroom, and those are the last coherent words he says for a long, long time.
**
It's a couple of weeks before Nathan can drink coffee without thinking of that kiss on the upper deck of The Grey Gull; even after the strength of the memory fades, over the next few months the sensation still sometimes hits him without warning. It's somewhat distracting, especially when Audrey's anywhere nearby.
At least it makes paperwork more interesting.
--end--
Author: Shane Vansen
Category: Audrey/Nathan post-ep, angst, drama, romance
Spoilers: The Tides That Bind
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~1500 words
Disclaimer: It's probably best that they're not mine; I'd screw it up. Haven and its characters and storylines belong to people much more talented than I.
Summary: He gives Audrey four days before he confronts her. (TTTB post-ep)
Author's Notes: Many, many thanks go to december21st for putting up with a lot of whining and waffling while betaing this story. She's probably very, very sick of the fic (and possibly me) by now. *g* Any and all remaining errors or poorly written sections are most certainly mine.
Haven's timeline is a little wonky; in a lot of ways it seems as though S2 is still taking place in 2010 instead of 2011. For the purposes of this fic, I'm taking that possibility and running with it.
Chris Brody? Who's Chris Brody? *whistles innocently*
**
He gives Audrey four days before he confronts her.
She's been decidedly unlike herself all week, quiet and withdrawn and speaking only about things directly related to the cases they're working. As someone used to quiet, who's long preferred it, Nathan wouldn't have guessed that he'd miss her chatter. As it turns out, he misses it a lot.
More than that, of course, it means that something's bothering her. He's not very good at talking - especially about personal stuff - so at first he lets it go, just keeps an eye on her and hopes that whatever it is blows over. By the end of the week, though, it's clear that something is still eating at her, so once he's able to escape from the paperwork he goes looking for her.
He tries her place first and lucks out. She's out on the deck, one hip leaning against the railing as she looks out over the water, though she seems a million miles away. Her arms are folded across her stomach in that way he's come to learn means she's either cold or upset. Nathan's betting on the latter.
He pauses at the top of the steps. "Hi."
Audrey jumps a little, like he's startled her. "Hey," she says back, watching as he approaches her.
He sits on top of the railing next to where she's leaning and confronts her without preamble. "Want to tell me what's been bothering you?"
She looks down, then back at the scenery. "I like it here," she says. "Haven. I've never really felt like I belonged anywhere, but Haven feels like... like home."
"Okay," he says, drawing out the word, not getting why this is something that upsets her.
Her voice is quieter. "I don't want to leave."
"Is there a reason why you'd have to?" He's even more confused now.
"What if I don't have a choice?" There's something in her tone that starts a tendril of dread curling in his stomach. He's glad she continues without prompting because all of a sudden Nathan's not sure he wants to know. "Gwen Glendower told me a little bit more about Lucy, that a couple of months after she arrived, one day she just disappeared."
Now he understands her mood. "And you're afraid the same thing will happen to you."
She's staring at him now, her eyes red-rimmed and watery and, crap, he doesn't know what to do with crying women, let alone a crying Audrey. There's some guilt mixed in with the relief when she keeps talking.
"Even if I'm not - I wasn't - Lucy, I'm connected to her somehow. What if she didn't leave? What if she just... stopped existing?" She holds out her hands, palms up in an I don't know gesture. "She was only here for a few months. I've already been here for four. What if one day soon I'm just... gone?"
His chest aches at the thought, as much for himself as for her; earlier this year he'd never even heard of Audrey Parker and now he can't imagine Haven without her.
He doesn't know what to say to make this better. In lieu of words, he wraps one arm around her, careful to keep his hold relaxed in case she wants to pull away. Instead, she surprises him by burrowing into his side. A little uncertain, he puts his other arm around her in a loose hug.
"We don't know," he says at last. "We don't know who Lucy was, or how or why she disappeared. We don't know how you're connected to her or to Haven, or that anything's going to happen to you." These are things he thinks about only late at night with a bottle or three of beer behind him; in spite of all the weirdness he knows happens in Haven, the whole Audrey-Lucy connection is something he just can't wrap his head around. Maybe it's that he's afraid to. "But you're learning more about her, and right now the Troubles are as prevalent as ever and you're still needed. We've got some time to figure it out."
She leans into him a little more heavily, then takes one last, shuddering breath before lifting her head. "Thanks, Nathan."
He's not used to being this close to her, especially not with the way she's looking at him, like in this moment she believes he can solve all her problems. The scent and sight and most of all the feel of her, her body heat radiating through their clothes, hits him hard. He knows that kissing her is a bad idea for all kinds of reasons, but he can't seem to keep himself from closing the scant distance between them.
Their first kiss is nothing more than a brush of lips against lips. After, he pulls back and waits for her to shove him away and demand to know what the hell he was thinking.
But she does neither of these things. At first she looks almost startled, then a familiar expression crosses her face, the one she gets when she's figured out a key piece of evidence or put together the pieces of a puzzle to get a glimpse of the whole picture. Before he can figure out what that means, she leans up.
Objectively, it's nothing much, just an echo of the kiss he gave her, but the thing is: she's kissing him back. For Nathan, this means everything.
His hands come up to frame her face, holding her close as he pulls her to stand between his knees; with him sitting on the railing, they're nearly the same height. It's strange not to be looking down at her. One of his hands tunnels through her hair, Audrey's lips parting beneath his, her tongue sliding against his own. She tastes like coffee and some distant part of his brain wonders how long it will be before he can drink coffee without thinking of this moment.
Audrey's hands have been running along his arms and back, a warm pressure he can feel faintly through his shirt. Next to her lips and tongue and skin beneath his fingers it barely registered, but when she slides one hand up to the back of his neck it's like sensory overload, almost too much for him to bear. There's no way on Earth he's stopping, though.
He trails a hand down her spine, feeling her shiver against him; the sound she makes in the back of her throat is almost drowned out by his own moan when her fingers slip beneath the hem of his shirt to press against bare skin. Then it really is too much and he has to break the kiss because, god, he can't breathe.
They're still half wrapped around each other, his forehead pressed to her temple and his eyes closed so he can focus on all the places where they're touching - where he can feel her. His breathing's just evened out into something approaching normal when Audrey pulls back a little, and the expression on her face puts that feeling of fear back in the pit of his stomach before she even opens her mouth.
"Nathan," she starts, and the tiny part of him that isn't dreading what she's about to say is taking in her flushed face and messy hair and unsteady breathing and thinking, I did that.
"Nathan," she says again, and closes her eyes for a moment before looking him right in the eye and telling him, "We can't do this." Before he can say anything, she rests her hands on either side of his jaw, one thumb resting over his lips. "It's not fair to you. For all we know I could disappear next week or next month or tomorrow. I might not even get to say goodbye." Her voice cracks as she repeats, "It's not fair."
"My choice." His voice is none too steady either. He brings his hands up to mirror how she's touching him. "Audrey, we don't know that anything will happen. Even if we knew for sure, I'd still choose you."
She's shaking, or maybe he is. He tells her, "No regrets," and then kisses her, hard, like he can keep her there through sheer will. He pushes up off the railing, turning so that she's trapped between it and him, but she pushes back, her fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as she backs him toward her bedroom, and those are the last coherent words he says for a long, long time.
**
It's a couple of weeks before Nathan can drink coffee without thinking of that kiss on the upper deck of The Grey Gull; even after the strength of the memory fades, over the next few months the sensation still sometimes hits him without warning. It's somewhat distracting, especially when Audrey's anywhere nearby.
At least it makes paperwork more interesting.
--end--