Work Text:
It would be easy to fall in love with Audrey. Awkward and awful, sure, because she’s his partner, and nothing good ever comes of blurring that particular line, but definitely easy. Audrey seems to make a point of being loveable, all bright-eyed inquisitiveness and warming compassion. She could have walked out of the pictures of the storybooks he remembers from his childhood, a kind-hearted pilgrim on a journey through an afflicted town. Audrey has only been here a few months, but the way some people are starting to talk about her, you’d think she was a local-grown saint. The he feels when she touches him, he’s almost tempted to think so himself. That’s no crazier a theory than any of the others, and it almost makes sense in a weird sort of way. It would explain a lot of things. And it would… it would be almost natural to fall in love with the one person who makes him feel normal. Who makes him feel.
The local saint, who couldn’t find it in her heart to save one more troubled person.
He’s not angry. He’s not. He has a whole host of people to be angry at before he gets to Audrey, who seems to be just as lost and lied to as he is. It’s not even a surprise to find out that she’s not who she thought she was. Hell, he’s not who he thought he was. Certainty is a rare commodity in Haven, and one in short supply.
So maybe Audrey really is a saint, or a pilgrim on a journey through an afflicted town. Would it matter? Would it make a difference to the reports she doesn’t write, or to the procedures she doesn’t follow? Pilgrims and saints don’t make terribly convincing FBI agents.
And Haven… well, afflicted is as good a word as any.
“I brought the good stuff,” Duke said after a moment, and held up the bottle for inspection. He shifted from foot to foot in the doorway, looking strangely skittish. “Can I come in?” He wouldn’t meet Nathan’s gaze.
The rain beat a staccato rhythm on the roof, dripping down on Duke’s hair and shirt. He was shivering imperceptibly, the skin around his eyes tight and his grip on the bottle hard to bruising.
Wordlessly, Nathan let the door swing open.
*
fin