Spoiler Warning: Spoilers for all of Haven up through and including the end of S3, although this story does not follow exactly the storyline of S3. I've borrowed some episode dialogue where appropriate. One may also notice references to BSG, Doctor Who, Farscape, the Time Traveler's Wife, Buffy, The West Wing, various Nora Roberts novels, and anything else that's influenced me. The title of this piece comes from a line from John Green's book The Fault In Our Stars. Chapter title is from "Barton Hollow" by The Civil Wars.

Acknowledgements: Haven belongs to SyFy, Sam and Jim, etc. Thanks to all the Havenites on Tumblr and Twitter who continue to give me such great support, as well as all the reviewers here and at AO3. Huge shout out to my dear LadyCallie for betaing everything I've written for the last 13 years - she has been instrumental in shaping and guiding this piece. her encouragement, fine editting and storytelling skills, and support have been invaluable. Also huge thanks to my MamaK, the venerable rutsky, who encouraged me to write this and who has been reading this piece throughout it's development. Finally, HUGE thanks to Kitty Chandler and Adsartha Hammett, whose"Murderboards" blog has been instrumental in my research of this piece. Seriously, if you've never been there, their in depth analyses of the characters, locations, mythology, and episodes of Haven are genius. Also, they get 100% for the phrase "Fucking Haven."

The gravel of the unpaved driveway crunched under the truck's tires as they cruised to a stop in front of an old two story saltbox house, half colonial, half strange angles and ancient shingles. He put the truck in park with a resounding clunk. The cottage was showing its years, with the paint visibly peeling around the windows and the concrete steps crumbling at the edges, a rusted iron railing that had clearly seen better days flanking the edges of the staircase. The small front yard was covered in yellowed grass. A shrub, equally dead-for-the-winter, sat dormant and overgrown, its bare branches hanging haphazardly, reaching for the sky, the ground, withered arms reaching for a dead lover.

She didn't need him to tell her where they were, now. He sat, eyes fixed, hands still clutching the steering wheel. Audrey reached over, covered one if his hands with hers. She squeezed, but said nothing, hoping to imbue him with some strength, hoping he knew she understood. Nathan took an audible deep breath, but still could not meet her eyes. His only acknowledgment of her was a hastily returned squeeze of her hand before he undid his buckle with a quick and violent snap and slid out of the car. She scrambled to follow him, the heavy truck door banging closed as she hurried across the dead grass. Blithely, she wondered how they still had no snow, halfway through November.

He pulled a key, well worn and smoothed by years of being turned in the same lock, from his pocket. With the same determination she had seen in him as he entered a crime scene, he opened the lock, pulled the door open. He moved aside to hold the door open for her, but she merely held out her hand. She would go in with him; not before or after. They would face it together. The hardness in his eyes softened as he understood her intent.

He wanted to say thank you, but couldn't bring himself to speak. The doorway wasn't wide enough for them to fit through side by side, but he pulled her to him and they managed. With the woman he loved by his side, Nathan stepped in to a repository of memories.

The house smelled musty, as he'd expected it to for as long as it had been shut up. The walls were wood paneled, the carpet threadbare. The furniture was covered in sheets to protect them from gathering dust. It was cool; he'd kept the heat up only inasmuch as was necessary to keep the pipes from freezing. The drafty windows, installed before the phrase 'energy efficient' had been coined, were in sore need of replacing.

This hadn't been his first childhood home. He had no memory of the life he and his mother had had with Max Hansen - and that was a curious thing. This house, which had been a home when his mother had been alive, and had later been a battleground where every memory was a weapon, was the home of his childhood. He'd happily moved out when it had been time for college, had rented a single room in a boarding house after graduation, until he could afford a proper apartment. Garland Wuornos had lived here alone for sixteen years. The house had sat empty since his death.

"I haven't been able to go through this place," he said haltingly. They were the first words he'd spoken since they'd left the lunch spot. "Can't sell it til it's empty." He stared, unblinking, seeing ghosts of his childhood play in his peripheral vision. Her hand was warm in his, a steady comfort.

She said nothing, merely watched him. The sorrow and pain on his face made her ache. The Chief had been dead only a handful of months, and Audrey knew Nathan hadn't had sufficient time to grieve - that first hour on the beach, the memorial service; perhaps sometimes when he was alone at home. Would he take the time to grieve her, when she was gone? Or would he cover evidence of her existence in cloths, keep it a frozen dusty shrine he could neither enjoy nor get rid of?

"I just need to check the locks, the windows, make sure no one's been squatting," he said, already moving away from her. He was acting by halves automatically, instinctively, already lost in memory and chased by ghosts. He hated this house, because of what it had and hadn't been. He loved this house, because it was where he remembered his mother, happy, alive, in love with the Chief. He knew now that whatever memories he had of her were the only memories he had of her, the first seven years of his life inexplicably missing - perhaps for the better.

Audrey made a move to follow him, but something was drawing her away. Almost of their own accord, her feet began walking towards the back of the house, up the old creaky steps to the second floor. She wandered past a spare bedroom, follow the twisting hallway, strange for such a boxy house. She passed a well appointed, if dated bathroom and what she knew without opening it to be a linen closet. Beyond it were three rooms, three doors, side by side at the end of the odd hallway; a cul de sac of rooms. Master bedroom, tiny office, Nathan's childhood room. She knew without looking which was which.

She'd been in this house before; or rather, Lucy had. Audrey was sure of it. She had knowledge of things she'd never been told, like how the taps on the bathroom sink were reversed. The window in the office was difficult to open, which was a bitch in the summer, and the floor was slanted such that even sitting, it was an effort to keep rolling desk chairs still.

Her vision seemed to blur and she found herself looking out of eyes that were hers, but not. It felt like being in an old movie, forced and stretched to fit on an HD channel. It felt distorted, filtered.

She was pacing the tiny office, while a young Garland puffed on a cigarette, the smoke wafting out the window.

"Damned thing," he muttered, giving the window a dirty look.

Audrey-as-Lucy smiled tiredly. "You know Annemarie would skin you if she caught you. Fight with the window or fight with her.

Garland grunted.

"How're they settling in?" she asked, running her fingers absently over the spines of books on a shelf across from the desk.

He shrugged, "All right, I suppose. She cleans too damn much. I told her she don't owe me -"

"Let her be grateful," Lucy chided gently. "You gave her and the boy a place to stay when they needed one."

"Hansen," Garland spat. "Fucking bastard." He took a long drag on the cigarette. "She pressed charges."

"She's a courageous woman," Lucy remarked, sitting on the edge of the desk, upwind of the smoke.

"He won't be in long enough. It's his first battery offense." Garland's hands went to fists. "He fucking hit her, Luce. Damned near knocked a few teeth loose."

She reached over, squeezed one of his fists. "I know. But not the boy."

"No," Garland said, taking the comfort she offered. "Annemarie protected him. Kept him hidden."

Audrey felt Lucy's flood of relief. "Small miracles," she murmured. "Is she going to divorce him?"

"Hell, Lucy, I don't know." Frustrated, he reached for another cigarette.

Lucy's voice lowered, was quiet and patient. "You want her to."

"Course I want her to." The stream of smoke that spewed from his lips like a volcanic cloud punctuated his words.

"Have you told her you're in love with her?" Lucy plucked the cigarette from his hand, took a drag herself.

He scowled. "Didn't you quit those?"

"Absolutely." She flashed him a conspiratorial grin. "It doesn't count if I only take one drag. Now answer the question."

"No."

Playfully, she shoved the cigarette back into his mouth. "No, you're not answering the question or no you haven't told her?"

Garland regarded her with folded arms. "Who do you love, Lucy Goosey?"

She smiled, and Audrey could feel it was a defense. "You." The man scoffed. "No, seriously," she said, and it felt like the truth. "I've never had a brother before." She frowned. "I don't think."

Garland laughed at that. "What about that kid from Colorado, come looking for his mama?"

"James," Lucy said. Audrey could feel her conflicted emotions. Lucky knew who James really was, but hadn't told Garland.

"Cogan, right," Garland nodded. "Annemarie said she and the boy ran into him in town. Said Nathan took a shine to him."

Shock flooded Lucy. Audrey felt it mix with her own. "Yeah," Lucy murmured, lost in thought. "I suppose he would."

"Audrey?" Trying unsuccessfully to cast off the ghosts of his past that clung to him like burrs, Nathan climbed the stairs in search of her. He passed the bedroom he knew had been intended for another child, a sibling his parents - Garland and his mother - had wanted to give him, but hadn't been able to. It occurred to him now that that child, that mythical second baby he knew his mother had longed for would've been his half sibling. If it had been a brother, he would've inherited the cracks Trouble. If he'd had a sister, she would have been...

"Audrey?" He approached her cautiously. She was standing, staring at the three shut doors at the end if the hall. Gingerly, he reached out and touched her arm, and she jumped.

"Shit." He reached into his pocket, searching for a tissue or other bit of cloth. "Your nose is bleeding."

As though she was coming out of a trance, Audrey shook her head briskly. She pressed her palm to her nose. "Dammit." While Nathan searched his pockets, Audrey walked to the linen closet, pulled out a face cloth. She used it to staunch the blood and turned back to Nathan, who was staring at her with a fair degree of shock.

"How did you know those were in that closet?" he marveled.

She sighed, taking stock. She had a mild headache, but she wasn't dizzy. Wiping her nose and shoving the cloth in her back pocket, she walked to him, took his hand in hers, and pointed at the doors with her other one. "Office - there's a window that doesn't open well, but your dad used to wrestle it open so your mom wouldn't know he'd been smoking in the house."

Nathan couldn't help but smile at a memory they shouldn't have shared. "She always knew."

Audrey pointed to the door on the left. "Your room. When you and Annemarie first came to live here, you were unpacking, and you accidentally put a hole in the closet with a baseball bat." As Nathan watched, her eyes went cloudy, unseeing. He gripped her arm. "You were terrified Garland was going to be angry with you. Max would've been angry - he was such a terrible man." She frowned, her face sad and haunted. "So angry, so full of hate, and rage, and pain. Pain he inflicted on others. But your father, Garland, he didn't get angry. He told you it was just a wall. Wasn't much about it that couldn't be fixed." Her voice took on a masculine affect, mimicking how the Chief had sounded all those years ago.

He stared at her, gobsmacked. He had absolutely no memory of any of it, but it sounded true. It felt true. Audrey's eyes cleared, and her nose started to bleed again. He pulled the wash cloth from her pocket to staunch the flow. "How do you know all that?"

"Lucy," she said softly, feeling suddenly very tired. "Lucy spent some time here. Something drew me up here and I saw her memories."

Amazed at the memories, sad that he did not have them himself, terrified she was risking further damage to herself, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and steered her away from the doors. "That's enough for now," he said gently, pressing his lips to the crown of her head. "Let's go home."

"No," she insisted with a firm shake of her head that intensified her headache. "Please." At the top of the stairs in his childhood home, she gripped his hands. There was a faint stain of dried blood above her lip, and her eyes were shadowed and hollow. "We've been having such a nice day." Such a good last day, she thought, but didn't say. "I don't want it to end."

He cupped her pale cheek with his palm. "Alright. But go to the car, close your eyes for a little bit." He kissed her gently, tenderly. "I'll be out in a minute. I promise."

She smiled weakly, and slowly made her way down the stairs, leaving him alone on the second floor to bid farewell to his ghosts.

He drove around town and the surrounding areas aimlessly for half an hour while she napped, her head propped against the window. He hoped the heating was up high enough, that she was warm enough, or not too warm, since he couldn't tell. Lost in his thoughts, he tried to enjoy the quiet, the town as it looked - peaceful, people going about their business on an idyllic, if brisk afternoon. There are two Havens. Audrey's voice from so long ago - months, though it felt like years - rang in his head. The one just beneath the surface, and the one just beneath that.

She hadn't been in Haven very long, then - this time - when she'd said that. It had been an apt, succinct summation of their little slice of paradise, of purgatory.

He wanted to analyze what had just happened in the house, the things Audrey had remembered. She knew things he didn't, or couldn't remember. Those memories seemed forbidden, somehow. The hole in the closet wall - it had always been there. His father - Garland - had said it happened when they moved into the house. That hadn't been a complete fabrication, Nathan supposed. Still, why couldn't he remember? Was it simply blocking childhood trauma, or a Haven thing?

Can't it be both? Claire's voice rang in his head; the real Claire, not the harsh voice of the imposter who wore her skin they'd faced the night before.

Goddammit, their lives were strange.

As he drove down Main Street, he saw an available space, parked in it. He didn't want to stay long, lest someone try to grab him for some complaint - it was his day off, dammit - but he had an errand to run. Quietly, he undid his seatbelt, so as not to wake her. Still, she stirred. He winced. "Sorry," he whispered, then realized the instinct to whisper was a foolish one.

"Where are we?" She asked sleepily.

"Pit stop," he replied, opening the car door. "Two minutes. Be right back."

He flashed her a grin and left, jogging around the car and into a nearby shop. Blinking away the sleep, Audrey surveyed their surroundings. She saw where he'd parked, where he'd gone, and smiled.

Armed with cupcakes and coffee from Rosemary's, and a blanket Nathan had dug out of Garland's attic, they headed down to Edgewater Beach. It was a place in Haven that held bittersweet memories for both of them; where they had seen his father die, where they had found that their relationship could have its own cracks, that they could be driven in two. He had blamed her, initially, for Garland's death, for not doing her "Audrey Parker thing" and helping him as she helped all the other Troubled people they encountered. From the day they met until that day, Nathan had never wanted her to go away, had never wanted her to leave him alone. But that day, as he'd sat on the beach, curled into himself and around his pain, he'd told her to go away.

She'd done as he asked, however reluctantly, and still she'd taken care of him, calling Vince and Dave to come help collect what was left of Garland. Later, when he'd been able to see through the dark red haze of his loss, he'd sought her out, apologized, and she'd realized that he could feel her. He'd been afraid then that their relationship would change once she knew the truth; he'd been afraid that she would feel obligated or maybe disgusted, that maybe she would doubt the sincerity of his feelings for her. But she hadn't. She'd just been Audrey. Accepting, nonjudgmental, his partner, his best friend — Audrey.

Depending on whose perspective he looked at it from, the next major event that had happened on this beach was fifty-four years prior to Garland's death, or a few months after it. This was the beach he'd taken Sarah to, to have beers and to talk, to get to know the woman who wore Audrey's face, who had red hair and a saucy smile. He hadn't intended on sleeping with her, hadn't had a plan in mind. All he'd known was the beauty of a summer's day; a cool ocean breeze he couldn't feel, but he watched it play with her hair as his fingers had itched do; all he'd known was the beauty of her, the warmth of her touch, the light in her smile. He had been going to leave, before things went too far, but his better angels were shouted down and they took each other in a hidden cave up the beach.

There was sun today, but no beer. Instead of a fedora and a sports coat, he wore long johns under his jeans, sturdy insulated boots, and a winter coat over thermal and flannel shirts. He glanced at Audrey as they settled the blanket on the smooth, cold sand. Her color was back and her eyes were bright. The terrifying otherness that had clouded them as he lost her to memory was gone. She was Audrey again, his partner, his best friend, his lover, the mother of his child - each role more incredible than the last.

He watched as she took a healthy bite of her cupcake. When she turned to meet his eyes, he chuckled.

"What?" she asked, mouth full. "Do I have sprinkles on my face?"

"'Jimmies,'" he corrected. "How long have you been here? It's New England. Chocolate sprinkles are jimmies; the rainbow colored ones are sprinkles." He reached over, swiped his thumb over the tip of her nose. "Frosting," he showed it to her, then sucked the cocoa- hazelnut butter cream off his thumb. He wrinkled his nose.

"Not a chocolate fan?"

He shook his head, showing her his own cupcake. "Key lime."

Audrey thought for a moment, sipping her coffee, letting the caffeine banish any vestiges of her flashback and the nap that followed. "I've never asked - with your affliction, do you have a sense of taste?" Several weeks ago, for as well as she'd known him, she'd have felt too embarrassed to ask that kind of question. Maybe it was their newfound intimacy, maybe it was the fearlessness that came with knowing you had only a little time left with the person you loved, but Audrey thought there was hardly anything they couldn't ask each other, couldn't say to each other now.

He nodded, "Sort of. I get strong flavors - very spicy, very savory, very tangy, whatever. Everything else is just kinda tasteless."

She thought about his dinner the previous night - extra barbecue sauce, bacon, sharp cheddar. He drank hoppy beers, strong red wines. She eyed him thoughtfully as she snacked on her cupcake.

Now it was his turn to ask, "What?"

She shrugged, licking some frosting from her fingers. "Just trying to think what else I don't know about you." She ticked off on her fingers the things that came to mind. "Middle name Thaddeus, played hockey and little league as a kid. Takes obsessively good care of cars. Handy at house restoration." She snapped her fingers gleefully, thinking of something to ask. "Were you a Boy Scout?"

Between bites of his cupcake, Nathan nodded. "Went all the way through Eagle Scout. My big project was fundraising for those benches up on Tuwiuwok Bluff." Where they'd sat dozens of times, talking of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of courtesans and kings.

"Was your dad - the Chief," Funny that she kept feeling the need to quantify. "Was he involved in it?"

Nathan shrugged, "Some. He was never a scout leader, but he participated." The sugary confection felt dry and heavy as he forced himself to swallow it. "Up until my mom died."

Audrey reached out, took his hand. "What was it?" They'd never spoken of her, ever. Up until her latest flashback, she hadn't even known his mother's name. The topic had seemed verboten, a radar black spot, something she would never have brought up if he hadn't brought it up first.

He took a long drink of his coffee before answering. "Brain cancer. Multiple tumors. She went blind, got dementia, was in a lot of pain." He stared, unblinking, out at the calm, sparkling blue-grey ocean. "She didn't know who we were, couldn't feed herself, dress herself, bathe. The Chief hired a nurse, Maggie Meserve, to care for her." He cleared his throat. "But she left us long before she died."

"How old were you?" she asked. For all her curiosity, she'd never so much as looked up the woman's death certificate or burial record. It had seemed a betrayal somehow.

Nathan continued to stare out at the ocean, watched as a gull swooped down for a meal. "Twelve."

Five years after the last round of Troubles had ended. "I'm sorry," Audrey said softly, scooting closer to him, wrapping her hands around his bicep. She rested her head on his shoulder. "You don't talk about her a lot." She pressed a kiss to his shoulder, even though she knew he couldn't feel it through the layers of clothing. "Lucy seemed fond of her. Of your dad too - Garland."

"Max Hansen may be biologically my father, but the Chief was - he was..." Nathan trailed off, unable to complete the sentence.

Audrey ran her fingers over the edge of his ear, through the hair at his temple. "I know. Lucy considered him a brother."

He chuckled, and there was a tinge of bitterness to it. "Fucking Haven. Next thing you know, I'm going to find out I'm my own grandfather."

"Let's not get carried away," she said with a shiver that had nothing to do with the breeze coming off the November seas.

"I met him, in 1955," he said softly. Glancing sideways, he met her eyes. "My dad. He couldn't have been more than six or seven. He was playing on the grass in front of the station. Asked if I thought he could grow up to be a police offer like me." He drained the last of his coffee. "Sometimes this town can be wonderful, and sometimes..."

"Sometimes it can be really friggin' weird," she finished. She wondered if Garland had ever remembered the man in a grey blazer and fedora who had told him he could be a police officer.

"All that stuff you remember," he said gruffly after a long period of silence. "I don't remember any of that. If Lucy knew the Chief, knew my mother, I have no memory of her." He sniffed against the cold. "I don't remember Max, I don't remember much about the last round of Troubles."

Audrey sipped her cooling coffee, curled herself more tightly against Nathan. The words burned in her mouth, tasted foul on her tongue. She said them anyway. "Are you afraid you're going to forget me, if I go?"

He looked at her sharply. "I won't forget you." It burned in his eyes, a fire of determination. There was no fear there.

So determined, so stubborn, this man that she loved. She trailed her fingers up and down his neck, as much to soothe herself as him. "Duke was on the beach with me after James died, and he has no memory of it. He doesn't remember why he had Lucy's locket. I spent time at your dad's house, but you don't remember me there. And all the time I spent around the Chief when I got here, it never flashed for me. We don't know who remembers what or why."

Crushing his empty coffee cup in his hands, Nathan turned to face her, his eyes full of fury. "I'm not going to forget you Audrey, that's the end of it." His eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Do you want me to forget?"

"No," she said, hanging her head. Then, so quietly that he almost didn't hear it over the crashing waves, she murmured, "And yes."

The fist around his throat squeezed, and his vision tinged red. His entire body went rigid, as though he was reviving an electrical shock. For a split second, he knew nothing - no sound, no light, no up, no down, no time. All he knew was the shock of pain her words brought, the keen blade of betrayal, and the knowledge that she was right. He was afraid he would forget. So fucking afraid he couldn't even name the fear.

"Nathan," she said gently, cautiously, the voice you used when you were trying to convince someone not to jump off a roof, a window's ledge, a twenty-story building. "Nathan, look at me. Listen to me." Impatient for him to comply, she scrambled around, kneeling in the cold wet sand in front of him. She gripped his hands, squeezing until he met her eyes. She could see the grief in them. "I've known you for six months, and I've heard more about your mother today than I ever did before. Your father's house, which Duke and I would've helped you clean out if you asked - we would have made time," she snapped, cutting off the bitter retort she saw forming on his lips. "That house sits buried under drop cloths and dust and it kills you to go in there; I just saw what going in there did to you. When you thought I might be in danger from Duke just because his father - who he doesn't really like, by the way, I don't know if you've noticed - said to kill me, you went out and got the Guard tattoo."

She took his face in her hands. "One of the best things about you is how intense your loyalty is. You never need to tell me how much you love me because its advertised in neon lights with everything you do." She smiled sadly. "Your love and your loyalty are fierce, Nathan, but they fucking terrify me, sometimes. Because they come at the expense of yourself. So, if my options are: you forget me, or you spend the next twenty seven years never mentioning my existence to another living soul while it eats you alive from the inside out, or I become something else you hide under tarps and dust and can't bear to face, then yes. Forget me."

A stray tear trailed down her left cheek, glistening in the fading afternoon sun. "Do I want you to forget me? Absolutely not. I want you to live, Nathan. I want you to have an amazing life, and love people, and be able to think of me without pain. I want you to remember all the time we've had, even the really shitty parts, and know what you are to me, how much I love you and what you've meant to me." Her tears were flowing freely now, and she was helpless to stop him. "Please Nathan, don't mourn for me. Not long, anyway." She flashed him a small smile at the joke. "Do your man-grieving, your Jack Daniels and Patsy Cline thing, but then live. Please, Nathan." She ungracefully sniffed back her tears. "If the Barn whisks me away tomorrow-"

"It won't," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

"If it does," she continued, forcing her voice to be firm. "I don't want to go in knowing my doing so saved the town, but destroyed you. I could bear almost anything, but don't make me go in carrying that." Audrey took a deep breath, released it on a watery laugh as she sat back on her heels. She waved a hand vaguely in the air. "Okay, you can talk now."

He stared at her, the fascinating, maddening blonde woman with tear stained cheeks and red rimmed eyes that shone brilliantly blue. She thought his love was fierce? Sometimes it felt as though he was in love with a force of nature. Rising to his knees, Nathan reached, cupping her teary cheek, rubbing the moisture away with the pad if his thumb. "How am I supposed to follow that?" He pulled her to him, buried his face in her hair. She smelled of salt and sea and his shampoo. She was warm in his arms, the weight of her body against his a comfort and an anchor.

"Jesus Christ, Audrey." He tugged her down with him, arranged them to that they were sitting in the center of the blanket with her across his lap, their arms around each other. He didn't know what to say to her, after all that. He didn't know what there was to say. The best he could manage was a whispered, "I promise," against the crown of her head.

They stayed that way, wrapped in each other, around each other on the blanket until the sun set behind them and it was too chilly to stay out there any longer. Silently, they picked up the blanket and the refuse of their snacks, and walked hand in hand across the dark sand back to the Bronco. He laughed at her as she furiously banged her heels against the side of the truck so that she wouldn't track sand in.

They stopped by the market for dinner at Audrey's request. She said he'd taken care of breakfast and lunch, and cupcakes, so dinner was on her. Nathan watched her with amusement as she flitted around the shop, selecting her ingredients. Other than that morning's bacon, and the pancake date that never was, he'd never known her to be much of a cook and was skeptical, but kept it to himself. Still, he was impressed when she threw together a grapefruit and arugula salad with peppered goat cheese, a roasted chicken with bacon and brandy, garlic mashed potatoes - from scratch no less - and lemon dill roasted asparagus. She chose a bottle of white wine for herself and a bottle of red for him - "Pairings be damned," she said. "If you like to drink it, it goes with the damned food." - and surprised him with a dessert made only from lemon sorbet and sparkling wine.

"Who knew you could cook," he said, resisting the urge to loosen his belt before helping her load his dishwasher.

More than a little tipsy on too much wine, as she'd intended to be, Audrey grinned. "Well, one of me could, and that works for me." The humor in her eyes was enough to chase away the bizarreness of that particular aspect of their lives.

He let her pick the movie, and instantly regretted it.

"Moulin Rouge!"

"It's not my DVD collection, Wuornos, and the magical DVD fairies didn't put it there."

She had a point.

When the movie was finished, and they'd checked to make sure the house was locked tight for the night, they walked up the beautiful staircase of his restored home, hand in hand. They did not speak of the nearing hour, how at midnight, it would technically be time for the Hunter to arrive. They did not mention how they had spent what might be her final day not working - save for the picture of Arla, the real Arla, that Nathan had gotten Stan to circulate - nor had they spent it researching ways for her to stay. Instead of raging against the dying of that particular light, they had chosen to spend the day with each other. And that was enough.

Wordlessly, they climbed into bed, made love by the moonlight. The words one last time popped into both their heads, unbidden. As they both neared the razor's edge, Audrey gripped his hands, captured his gaze with her own.

"I love you."

"I love you."

When it was finished, they lay wrapped in each other, silent. There were no more words left to say.

Audrey fell asleep curled around him, her breath warm on his chest. Nathan tightened his hold on her, as though he could keep her with him by the sheer force of his will. He was determined to stay awake, determined to watch over her through the night. But a day full of food, and sex, fun and emotions, took their roll and overrode his will. As the clock struck midnight, and despite his best efforts, he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

When he woke in the morning, the bright sun streaming through his windows, Nathan sat up like an arrow loosed from a bow.

Audrey was gone.