Pairing: Garland/Lucy
Rating: G (K)
Disclaimer: There'd be plenty of things that would be different if I owned Haven, despite its near perfection.
Spoilers: None.
Summary: At first, she was just a godsend (though that really was a disservice, because Lucy Ripley was never just anything).
Notes: This might seem like it counters canon, but I have this situation in my head where it all works out. First of all, I prefer to think that Garland sort of saved Nathan's mother from Max Hansen, and she's the woman he married. I thought this was canon until I realized that there is actually no information about Nathan's mother except that she died. Garland could have been married and he and his wife adopted Hansen's son, but I think my way is more romantic. :D

I figure Garland and Lucy investigate the Troubles and have a little fling. In the course of their investigations, they meet Max Hansen, his girlfriend/wife, and his son, Nathan. They make friends with Nathan's mother, and Garland supports her when they put Hansen away for murder. Lucy leaves soon after, leaving Garland to be with Nathan's mother. So in my head none of this goes against canon, unless I'm missing something.

Betaed by the lovely lone_pyramid & gagewhitney.

At first, she was just a godsend (though that really was a disservice, because Lucy Ripley was never just anything). In the beginning, when she had poked around crime scenes making startlingly acute observations, he let her. His chief didn't believe him at the time that the Troubles were slowly returning; Garland suspected it was more because he didn't want to. Lucy, though… Lucy knew, just like he did in his bones. Thirty years and countless long nights ago he was a scared boy who'd found himself holding sandcastles together against the battering waves by sheer force of will. It was a feeling he could never forget, and it was settling in again, tingling and jabbing all the way. It left him breathless, frightened, and more than a little exhilarated.

But this time he had her.

Her, with her soft, mousy brown hair and tender beryl eyes. It wasn't enough that she helped others with their… afflictions. She was his lightning rod, drawing his scattered energy to a fixed point. More than anyone else she understood what it was like to have a part of oneself over which one had little power. Her hands were so soft between his when he began to lose control. For something so small, they held an incredible amount of gravity.

"Hey," she began, knocking gently on the doorframe. He looked up from a file to find the object of his thoughts before him, unassuming in a thin, rose cotton dress. Damn, that woman was quiet.

"Hey." Closing the folder, he sat up straighter and placed it on top of the pile he'd been working on all afternoon.

She shook her bangs out of her face. "I thought you might want to grab some dinner," she continued, hip tipped into the jamb. She held a lock of hair in front of her with both hands, fingers fidgeting and running over the last few inches. Bangles around her delicate wrists jingled as he waited for her to continue. Others described her as calm and composed, but hours of (quite willing) observation told Garland that she was anything but. Always thinking and moving. "I have some theories on the McClendon case I thought you might want to hear."

Getting up, he dusted off his pants. Lately he'd found himself more self-conscious around her. Which was ridiculous. They were partners, of a sort. Closest thing he had since the chameleon. "Sounds good. What do you feel like?" he asked, moving to the hat-stand to retrieve his jacket. Autumn was swift on the heels of summer.

"Have you ever tried Vietnamese food? I heard there's a new take-out place in Camden. We can call it in and it'll be ready by the time we get there."

He fought to keep a straight face – she always had him trying new things, pushing his boundaries and his buttons. That was Lucy. Another word others used for her was kind, but he knew the truth. Under the sweet, shy façade lurked a wickedly pushy companion. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

"All right." He shrugged into his khaki jacket. When she didn't immediately reply, he glanced up. The look she cast his way told him he clearly hadn't done a good enough job hiding his thoughts. A few moments passed and all he could do was give his best impression of a deer in headlights. Another beat and she grinned broadly, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. "Come on, you stick-in-the-mud, let's go."

Unable to hold back a grin of his own, he allowed his palm to hover over the small of her back. He knew he was treading on thin ice. Every touch threatened to melt the weak crust and dump him into the water below. Intellectually, he knew it'd be cold as hell. But some things were just inevitable.