I do not have the words to adequately explain or express the heartbreak I'm feeling. I feel like they punched a hole through my heart, and they certainly punched a hole through my community. So many fans have left in the wake of what was done - people that I theorized with, and joked with, and shared this show and the Nathan x Elizabeth ship with. I feel bereft. And the only way I can cope is to write it out: the betrayal, the grief, the pain. I will do the only thing I can now: give Nathan the friends that he's been missing, and people to care about and ask after him, as no one in the actual show seems to do. Also, I did not watch the season 8 finale and I never will, so I won't be making any direct references to anything that happened in that episode.
Elizabeth will show up in this story, but this is not a Nathan x Elizabeth fic. I honestly don't know when or if I'll ever be able to stomach writing for them again, or what was done to the relationship that should have been. But I hope that you'll come with me on this journey, and that we can find some peace in the telling.
this is me
pressing
my finger
to the sand,
delicately
drawing
your name
there,
& then
stepping back
so i can
watch
you
as you're
finally
carried away.
- goodbye
Amanda Lovelace
Goodbyes are so much harder when no one is leaving, Nathan thinks.
There is no mercy to be found in the absence of what you've lost, no peace in knowing that you will not be faced with it, at least for a time. There is only the weight of another day, another reminder, another sighting to layer upon already tired shoulders like a yoke.
There is only a heart that breaks in total, resigned silence.
"You're getting an early start to the day."
Nathan lifts his eyes from his blue tin cup to find Faith smiling down at him. Nathan mirrors her smile, and neither one of them mentions the jagged edges to be found there.
"I could say the same to you," Nathan responds.
Faith's smile falls. There is a weary honesty behind her words when she speaks. "Sometimes I have trouble sleeping."
It's been three months. Three months since the man Faith had once thought would propose to her had instead called off their relationship; three months since Elizabeth found the words to tell Nathan that he isn't the one. It should be easier by now; Nathan wishes it were. But he can't escape the specter of what he'd once thought he almost had, and he has seriously considered trying to do just that. But this is Allie's home. This is the place where she feels safe, where she's finally found a place to belong, and Nathan will bear anything for his daughter.
One day, Nathan knows, his heart won't feel like it's trapped in a vice anymore. One day, the past will be a faint, harmless echo.
"Would you like some coffee?" Nathan offers.
After a momentary hesitation Faith accepts, and Nathan motions for her to have a seat while he disappears into the Mountie office to retrieve another tin cup of coffee. Faith is sitting in the other chair when he returns; the coffee steams in the brisk morning air as he hands her the cup and resumes his seat. For awhile they simply sit in the early morning quiet and watch their little corner of the world wake up.
"Do you always start your days like this?" Faith asks after some time.
Nathan smiles a lopsided smile and shoots a glance over his shoulder at her. "No. Although, more so lately than before. I like this time of day, when everything is ..."
"Peaceful?"
"Easy," he finishes.
Faith looks at him with understanding that isn't colored by an ounce of pity. She must know how he feels, though she has the mercy of not having to see Carson every day. Nathan doesn't know which of them has been shown more grace: Faith, who had a relationship that didn't work out because they'd wanted different things, or himself, who has longed for something he's never been given the chance to experience. Which is worse: to know what you are missing, or only being able to imagine it?
Can you miss something you never had, but had every reason to think that you would?
Had he really gotten it all so wrong? Nathan has asked himself this over and over again in the past few months. He has thought himself into circles, into mindless knots that pull so tight that it makes him physically ill. Sometimes, at his lowest points, he thinks that he must. He must have gotten it wrong: read the signs wrong, read Elizabeth wrong, allowed himself to see and hear things that weren't there. But he doesn't believe that, not really. He didn't imagine it. One memory could be wrong, or even a handful, but not years of them. No, Nathan had been right: Elizabeth had felt the same ... until something had changed, and then she hadn't.
"For what it's worth, Nathan, I'm glad that you're still here. Hope Valley wouldn't be the same without you."
"Thank you, Faith. That's very kind."
"And true."
Hope Valley is awake now, and people passing by on the street call out hellos to those they know, including Faith and Nathan at different turns. They have both finished their coffee and the day is starting in earnest now, so Faith thanks him for the coffee and the company and they part ways.
It's one of the easiest interactions Nathan has all day.
It's Saturday and Allie had spent the night at Emma's, so Nathan doesn't see his daughter until she pops in around mid-morning with a bright smile. She tells him all about the sleepover and her plans for the day, and Nathan makes her promise to meet him for lunch at the appointed time before letting her scamper off again. This is why they've stayed: because Allie is flourishing here, and the best thing to help her adjust to the loss of what she'd dreamt of having is to make sure she feels safe, and loved, and like she belongs.
Allie has made her peace with Elizabeth and the situation, and Nathan has encouraged her to foster whatever relationship she would like to have with Elizabeth, but Nathan can see the difference in what is now and what was. Allie has relegated Elizabeth to the role of strictly teacher in her life, with only small oversteps here and there; Nathan hopes that it's not because she can see the pain that he has made such an effort to suppress.
Nathan hopes that one day the world will make sense again.
It's cold as he does his rounds, but Nathan doesn't let himself focus on that. He's always been good at his job and it's been a relief these last weeks to let himself sink into the fulfillment of his duties. Even when it's cold, or raining, or otherwise unpleasant out there is a rhythm and order to doing his rounds. He's been on alert ever since the Pinkertons and that Wyman Walden fellow showed up; more new faces arrive in town weekly. Nathan catalogs them all and watches Hope Valley expand, and focuses on making sure that it remains a safe place for Allie and the other children to grow.
All the while he does his best every day to move on. Elizabeth and Jack don't need him to look after them now, not any more than any other resident of the town. They have Lucas now.
"Good morning, Constable Grant!" Florence calls as Nathan rides past the mercantile.
"Good morning," Nathan answers with a tip of his hat. Florence's expression says she has something more to say, so he brings Newton to a halt.
"How are you today?"
The question is meant kindly. Florence can't know that Nathan wishes she would stop asking, and that he knows it's not as casual a question as she wants it to appear. This is another thing he struggles to deal with: people whose attempts at kindness keep reminding him of the pain. Small towns don't leave a lot of room for privacy. This, too, shall pass, Nathan reminds himself.
"I'm well, Florence, thank you."
Because that's what everyone wants, isn't it? For him (and Allie) to be okay? For the heartbreak and pain to go away, down the path of least resistance? Nathan lets them think that is what's happening, because the more they think that the less they ask about it - the less they see what he's trying to hide. If he's okay then everyone can tell themselves that all is well that ends well, and maybe he doesn't love Elizabeth as much as they thought he did, and no real harm has been done.
Sometimes it's easier to let people see what they want to see than bear the weight of being perceived as you really are.
Nathan finishes out his rounds. He doesn't resent Florence, or anyone else that shows their concern for him this way. These are good people, and they care about him in their own ways, and he's grateful for that.
He's returned Newton to the livery and is crossing the street when another voice calls his name from somewhere nearby. Nathan glances up to see Fiona smiling at him from the doorway of the barbershop. He tips his head in her direction to acknowledge her and then greets her when he's close enough to do so.
"Why don't you come inside? I don't have coffee, but I just brewed a fresh pot of tea, and the tip of your nose is red."
Nathan smiles. He's always liked Fiona: she's a no nonsense woman with a good sense of humor, and the invitation is extended in that way she has of making sure you know that there's no sense in arguing.
"Thank you," he says as he steps into the warmth of the barbershop.
Fiona has a steady fire going in the hearth and the shop is empty; it smells clean and slightly soapy. The sudden warmth sends a shiver down cold nerve endings which Fiona doesn't miss as she turns to pour them two hot cups of tea.
"Sit," she tells him and motions to an empty chair near the fire. She doesn't hand him his cup until he's settled, and then she plops down into the chair opposite him. "See anything of note out there?"
"Uh, no." Nathan makes a face at the unexpectedness of the question but quickly composes himself.
"When I spoke to Clara yesterday she said three new people arrived on the stagecoach yesterday. That makes six total this week, I think. We haven't had that many new people come to town in a while, and after that Walden fellow came poking around it makes me a little wary."
Well, that makes sense, Nathan thinks. Walden had done his best to intimidate Fiona, and if she had been someone else it might have worked. "I heard something about new industry coming to town," he finally adds. "Seems like we might start to see more new people, rather than less."
"The more the merrier. As long as they're not like Wyman Walden."
Nathan silently agrees with that statement. More people means more potential for disputes, and that means more work for Nathan. Which isn't a bad thing overall since the more distractions he has now the less time he has to focus on the wounded thing in his breast, but he prefers the current peace and quiet of the town all the same. If it keeps growing at the rate that Fiona seems to think it will he might even need to request another Mountie to help him keep the peace.
"You should bring Allie by after lunch," Fiona says suddenly. When Nathan looks at her in surprise she laughs and continues, "I may have told her that I would teach both of you a few new hairstyles. Allie is getting pretty good at basic braiding, but she's going to need your help with some of it for a little while longer."
Nathan makes a sound that is half sigh, half chuckle and gives a simple okay before taking another drink of his tea.
These shows of concern are easier. Fiona never asks him how he's doing. She expects to see nothing from him, so comes closer to seeing what's really there. Without the weight of her own expectations to cloud her vision Fiona sees more than some, and Nathan knows it. But the only indications she gives to what she finds lurking in his eyes are moments like this: a warm beverage on a cold day, and conversations that matter without being heavy.
When Nathan has finished his tea and excuses himself back to work, he stops in the open doorway of the barbershop. "Thank you, Fiona." He hopes that his tone tells her that he's grateful for more than just the tea.
"Any time."
And because it's Fiona, and there's a gentle warmth in her returning smile, Nathan lets himself believe that she understands.
In the wake of Elizabeth's decision, Nathan sometimes wishes that he had accepted that promotion and posting in Union City. It's hard not to feel like he could have saved himself and Allie some of this sadness if he'd just removed them from the situation before it had gone so far; it's hard, in the middle of your pain, not to wish you could have found some way to spare yourself from it.
Haven't you ever lost someone so close to your heart that it tears you apart?
If only he had known.