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Audrey Parker

August 2018

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Better with you
Better with you
Better with you
This hell feels better with you


~



This day is like yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. Her horseback riding lessons happening in the mornings, and the days are whiled away with no books, no entertainment, no employment, no distraction. The same as every single day for the last two months. It's a listless existence with no purpose.

There is, Audrey supposes, one single upside, while she spins the ring on her finger (the one she can't quite ever fully adjust to having on it; can't forget is there), and it's that the hands in the mirrors and windows are gone. In the end they hadn't been worth any real terror or concern. A benign trick of light and image that no one could explain or effect, but could not actually affect them or even force them to look at.

She almost misses it, strange as it was. At least it was something happening.
Something to cut through the absolute unchanging nature of this place.

Another day draws towards a close, and it's normal at this point: how exhausting monotony can be, how relieving going to sleep and putting away one more endless, unchanging day. It's easy to slip, silently and smoothly away, almost as soon as her cheek touches the pillow. Habit more than hope. Another box that is checked at the end of all the few boxes to check each day in this place.

Everything that is until the world rolls slowly and softly into vibrant colors.

The sharp, deep green of trees. And a grey impending sky all around. The sudden sound of two voices speaking, that collapsed with a turning confusion, into a woman with blonde hair and a man in a plaid shirt packing themselves into a car, while she rocked on the balls of her feet. Hands in her own pockets.

A feeling of. Guilt. Weight. Inevitability. Hope. Doubt. Acceptance. Uncertainty. Ownership.
It's a press of heavy stones, pulled from the salted sea air she smells on every breath.

But as if there were no words left to say.

(Had there been words said?
Had they all spoken, and she'd just now forgotten?)

Her hands in her pockets as the car starts, and they drive away. Without a word to her either, and Audrey turned, adrift, looking to her side, where she suddenly saw Nathan. Beside a large old, but almost stunningly, blue truck. Writing something onto a notepad. As though he didn't know she was there.

No. No. That was normal. Right. The writing.
He was doing his job, like he alway had.

A bubble of relief whispered out through her, as though she was mist and fog more than bones and skin, only for it to be eaten in that impending grey sky. Except it wasn't in the sky. It was inside of her. Inside of her stomach. Inside of her chest. Inside of looking at him. Inside of his name, his face, his posture, his actions, in her head, in her vision.

All those same feelings swelled. Some heavier. Some deeper. Some more ... electric.
Even with the sharpening weight of every step as she turned and walked toward him.

(no subject)

Date: 2018-06-26 03:02 am (UTC)
dont_feel_it: by frakking_cylons (carefully optimistic)
From: [personal profile] dont_feel_it
All that's left now is to choose a side.

Sides. Wars. A battle in Haven raging just beneath the surface. On one side, the Troubled.

On the other ––

(The Rev, collapsing. Hole in his chest. All his empty soul leaking out.

Parker, gun smoking.

Colleen, trusting hand inches from the husband who could kill her with a touch. Saying: for better or worse.

When it's worse. And worse. And worse. But they still get through it together.)

His phone chimes, breaking the circling thoughts. Anchors him back in an intention that feels like months ago. Years. A lifetime.

Looking at her, hands in her pockets. She's given her whole self to this place. This job. These people.

She never hesitated to pick a side.

It jerks him back into action, searching for a piece of paper and a pen in his pocket, scribbling the address that had popped up on his phone's screen as the car's engine starts and the sound of her boots is muffled in the crunch of tires on gravel.

He's no good at hiding things from her, but he tries for a moment, anyhow, blocks the address with his body, looks over his shoulder at her before turning more fully. Phone and pen tucking into his back pocket as they watch the SUV turn down the drive and disappear past the dark green trees.

Edited Date: 2018-06-26 03:03 am (UTC)

(no subject)

Date: 2018-06-27 10:25 pm (UTC)
dont_feel_it: by frakking_cylons (mildly amused)
From: [personal profile] dont_feel_it
"Touching isn't everything."

He'd gone back and forth on it. Wondering if it was the right move. If it was wanted. Helpful.

Glancing at her now, he doesn't need to feel to know it was right. Recognizes this peaceful content by the quiet in his head, if not by the squeezing in his chest.

Blue eyes tracking to her, and back to the SUV, now disappearing amidst the green. A tiny smile tucking against his mouth. "Trust me."

(no subject)

Date: 2018-06-28 12:40 am (UTC)
dont_feel_it: Unsure - comment to claim (even when she won't look at you)
From: [personal profile] dont_feel_it
"They will."

He'd bet money on it. They'll make it.

Even if he's not wholly clear who, in his head, he means.

Arms crossing, he looks over at her, the uncertainty in her face, the way she's shifting like she's not sure she did the right thing. He's not used to Parker being anything but a hundred percent behind her decisions. Not used to her questioning herself. "Still thinkin' about what he said?"

She looks back but doesn't respond right away, and he clarifies. Before she maybe takes it the wrong way. "'Bout Haven not being safe for the Troubled anymore?"

(no subject)

Date: 2018-06-28 01:02 am (UTC)
dont_feel_it: by <user name="azangal_icons"> (she's something else)
From: [personal profile] dont_feel_it
She isn't looking at him, even as she capitulates, and it's wrong. Both. All of it. Parker, not confident in her choices. Saying he was right, and, by extension, that she was wrong. "No."

It's immediate, if low, moderated. Eyes earnest beneath furrowing brows. "You did what you thought was right."

Which is what she always does. Which is Parker's hallmark. Which is why he ––

He isn't unhappy to see she's weighing her actions against her steadfast moral compass. Or his. Audrey's temper can run hot sometimes, and occasionally she acts first and thinks...never.

In some ways, he's glad she can second-guess herself, put her actions under a microscope, step back from being the Sheriff in the Wild West frontier town Haven can occasionally be.

But sometimes things are black and white.

And that was one of those times.

(no subject)

Date: 2018-06-28 03:11 am (UTC)
dont_feel_it: by <user name="whoat"> (you are so distracting)
From: [personal profile] dont_feel_it
He shifts. Head tipping to the other side. Eyebrows lifting.

"Audrey."

One word, with a wealth of solid trust behind it. A word to build a foundation on.

One name, certain as brick. As the tide.

(no subject)

Date: 2018-06-28 03:34 am (UTC)
dont_feel_it: by frakking_cylons (it's always the shy ones)
From: [personal profile] dont_feel_it
"I know who you are."

Blurted out before she even finishes, because he can't not. Like a hammer striking his knee. A wave curling against rock. Nor agrumentative. Imperative. "I do."

Clear as a candle lit in a church. Just as faithful. "Because of you, I..."

Glancing away, for the first time, hands slipping into pockets, shoulders lifting. "I can..."

The pause after is pregnant as the breath held between lightning and thunder. Blue eyes flick up to watch her face, gauge the moment.

Judge it wanting. "Never mind."

Shakes it off, the...it wasn't important. He isn't. Not in this moment. There's a priority here, and it isn't his feelings.

It's her. Which is why he reaches to his pocket, glances at the paper he'd tugged out of it before handing it to her without fanfare. "Found this for you."

(no subject)

Date: 2018-06-28 09:37 pm (UTC)
dont_feel_it: by frakking_cylons (caught unawares)
From: [personal profile] dont_feel_it
He's been waiting, patently, for this address, for this moment, and now that it's here ––

He pauses, watching her face.

Voice quiet and measured as ever, only different from a comment on the weather by the intent way he watches for her reaction. "If I'm right, it's Lucy Ripley's."

The real Lucy. The way Audrey 2 had been the real Audrey.

(Even when every bone in his body resists thinking anyone could be more Audrey than Audrey. This Audrey. His Audrey.)

(no subject)

Date: 2018-06-29 01:13 am (UTC)
dont_feel_it: (Thank God you're here)
From: [personal profile] dont_feel_it
He shrugs, faint, looking away. "Been putting together everything we've learned about her this past year, I ––"

But before he can finish, or blink, or know what's happening, Audrey is pressed against him, warm body against his chest. Soft against him. Arms around his neck. An avalanche of sensation that sends him stuttering, unable to do anything more than shift to keep from stepping back under her sudden weight, the nerves that are suddenly lighting into life. "I, uh..."

Bound and determined to finish this thought, even as his arms go around her waist, even as his mouth goes stupid and smiling. Because he did it right. This. This thing that she needed. He could do that for her. "Photos from the Glendowers––"

He doesn't even know what's he's saying anymore, tugged down into her. He can feel her cheek against his neck. Can imagine the way his heart leaps gladly to beat as close to hers as possible. "People who remembered her, I, I hired a P.I. in Portland..."

It's gibberish. None of it matters. None of the work or the worry. Nothing except Audrey's face, as she finally pulls away from him. The disbelief and the hope. Scattered across a woman who has never been anything but self-contained.

If he could feel his smile, he thinks it would probably seem that his face was about to split right open.

(no subject)

Date: 2018-06-29 01:33 am (UTC)
dont_feel_it: by frakking_cylons (done good)
From: [personal profile] dont_feel_it
He leans towards her like a flower seeking out the sun. Unable not to. Hands pushing into his pockets, still burning with the feeling of her back beneath them. "If you leave now, you can be there before dark."

Get answers. The ones she's been looking for, maybe. She's shaking her head, looking as back-footed as he's ever seen her, but it won't last long. She's been searching for this almost as long as she's been here. For the woman who they thought might have been her mother. The woman who might have been her, once upon a time.

He's not sure he buys it. That Audrey could be anything or anyone but Audrey.

But that's not stopping him from being pleased at how his little gift has gone over.

After this year, after Chris and the Rev and Evi and the rest ––

She deserves it. And more.

(no subject)

Date: 2018-06-29 01:54 am (UTC)
dont_feel_it: by <user name="azangal_icons"> (rough-edged diamonds)
From: [personal profile] dont_feel_it
He nods, faint, but it's just an acknowledgment of her words. She doesn't need to thank him. That's not––

That is to say, he didn't...

She's his partner. (Not just his partner.) He wanted to help. So he did.

It's not often he gets to use the stubbornness Audrey's always teasing he has too much of in a positive direction. "I hope you get some answers."

Eyes on her face, unable to look away. Mouth still quirked towards a pleased smile, even if he did it for this, not for her thanks. For the sudden open possibility in her face. For what she might learn. "I hope you come back and tell me what they are."

It's almost light. He feels light. For what seems like the first time in years. Light in his head. In his chest. The sense memory of her pressed against him only just now beginning to fade, and he's giddy on it.

Certain she will, come back and share this. She's his partner. It's what they do. No matter what else she might mean. To him, or to this town.

(no subject)

Date: 2018-07-03 11:39 am (UTC)
dont_feel_it: by <user name="azangal_icons"> (rough-edged diamonds)
From: [personal profile] dont_feel_it
She's working her way toward something, and it's nice, feeling like they can understand each other again. Like she's pausing to pick her words, while he watches, waits. The way he always seems to be watching, and waiting.

(While she walked out of that barn with Chris. Fingers interlocked.)

The last words she places carefully. Making his mouth tug a little unruly for a second. A lopsided something like a smile he can't help.

It's true. They've been more than partners for a while now. Regardless of what Dave and Vince might think that means.

He doesn't know what it means. Only that hearing her admit it feels like being handed an olive branch. And reassurance.

Shoulders moving lightly. "I'll be here." Where he always is. He's not going anywhere without her.

(no subject)

Date: 2018-07-03 11:35 pm (UTC)
dont_feel_it: by frakking_cylons (take me by surprise)
From: [personal profile] dont_feel_it
He doesn't turn to watch her go, but he does when the crunch of her boots on driveway gravel goes quiet. Which isn't like Audrey. Audrey isn't the stop-and-get-sentimental type. She doesn't pause when she's got a clue, or a new case. She's been searching for information about Lucy Ripley nearly since she got here. If anything, she should be running.

But she's not, and when he angles around, hands slid into his pockets, all he sees is the back of her head. Breeze tugging at blonde strands.

Giving him just one second, a breath's worth of time to wonder if he should say something else (though saying isn't exactly his strong suit) before she's turned with the purpose he expected to see her walk away from him with.

Back to him.

Directly into his chest before he can even get his hands out of his pockets, or parse what's happening, while she's shoving up on her toes and her hands are against his face and he can feel them, but only until she pushes up and her mouth is there. Caught against his.

Not enough time to ask what or why, when his eyes are closed, and he can feel, he can feel, he can feel. Her. soft lips. Wam breath. Hands tight on his face. Kissing him the way she does anything else. Like she's trying to make a point. Take a stand. Draw a line in the sand and set fire to everything past it.

Hands floating up out of his pockets. That he can't feel. He can't feel them. His shirt. His jeans. The ring on its chain around his throat. Nothing but her. Like the way it used to feel when he was a kid, dove to escape searing sun into frigid, clear, dark water. But the opposite. He's burning.

And too late to get his hands up, to find her hair, the back of her head, her waist, her hips, before she's ripping away and he doesn't want to open his eyes, even as he lets her go. Like maybe, if he looked, it would turn out to be a dream. An illusion. Something he wanted so much he made himself believe it happened.

But there she is, walking away with that purpose to her step. To her car.

And all he can do is watch her.

And consider that this is going to make pretending to himself that much harder than usual.

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