AN: I went back and forth on whether I was going to continue this fic now that the new season's out, but then I thought, what the hey, it's still fun to write.

Season 2 Episode 7, The Tides That Bind

. . . . . .

If Nathan could've watched himself argue with Duke in his office, he might have noticed how assertive and animated he became around his old friend, and he might have admitted that Duke was very like Audrey: both had the capacity to make him feel. Of course, with Audrey it was her touch, and joy and love, and with Duke it was exasperation, but for a man who'd been physically and emotionally numb much of his life, feeling anything was something of a miracle.

But it was better not to notice. It'd always been better to keep his distance from Duke.

. . . . . .

In retrospect, Nathan can see that the chief used to try to prepare him, in little ways, to someday be the chief himself—like how he'd take his young son to visit the Glendowers. But all that preparation feels useless now, because the old man never told him anything; the man had been incapable of opening his mouth and actually communicating. So now, as Nathan prepares to visit the Glendower complex, he can't decide if he's more grateful to his dad for what he tried to do or angry with him for all the things he never got around to.

. . . . . .

She knows she sometimes shocks Nathan with her disregard for the law, but she thinks that's good; he needs to be shocked occasionally. And she doesn't feel guilty for the infractions she commits as she helps the Troubled, because those laws were created by people who have no idea what she's up against. And it never occurs to her that maybe she's unconsciously pushing away the tenets of law enforcement because those belong to Audrey Parker, and instead is helping the Troubled at any cost because that mission is the only thing she's sure belongs to her and her alone.

. . . . . .

Sometimes she looks at her life and marvels at how a path can change.

Once she loved the Rev, believed in him, and at first she agreed when he said the Troubled were a blight on Haven.

But then he changed, got worse, and that's when Cole Glendower changed her mind about the Troubled and about herself. And here she stands in Cole's kitchen three decades later, not a Glendower by birth but proud to call herself one of them, to experience the wonder and sorrow of being part of that clan. She considers it a change for the better.

. . . . . .

Reverend Driscoll knows that he is a hard man. He thinks you have to be hard when you're fighting evil on the front lines. You have to be hard if you're going to make the hard choices, the hard sacrifices, to be willing to let people die for the greater good. Like the hand of a laborer, he has become calloused in his tireless toil against wickedness in Haven.

But then Penny appears—Penny, miraculously alive—Penny, who apparently hated him enough to fake her own death—and she pierces his defenses. And for one brief moment he is vulnerable.

. . . . . .

Mary doesn't think of it as she watches her son disappear into the cold Atlantic, but she's part of a long tradition of Glendower women who've stood on that shore over the centuries. What she does think of is the agony of love: that to love someone is to accept the things in them that will break your heart, and it's also to give them the power to do just that. And what she realizes, as the other Glendower women gather round and comfort her with trembling hands, is that each of these women feels just the same as her.

. . . . . .

The hardest thing is not knowing. That's what he remembers most from the last time he entered the water: constantly wondering if his loved ones were safe. And this time it's so much worse, now that the Rev knows the truth. But as he looks back at Gwen, he knows that the uncertainty of their time apart is a price he's willing to pay for the joy of their time together. And the memories of their past and the hope of their future give him the strength to turn away from her and face the darkness of that northern sea.

. . . . . .

A family split in two but united by secrets: they're talking about the Glendowers, but if there's a better description of the Wuornos men, Nathan hasn't heard it. At least the Glendowers will be reunited someday, unlike Nathan and the chief. At least the Glendowers understand what's happening to them. But then Audrey speaks gently of how they're following in Lucy and Garland's footsteps, and Nathan's expression softens. He'll never get his father back, but he has Audrey. Together maybe they'll figure out all the things Garland never told him. And together maybe they'll find the family they both lack.

. . . . . .