Fic: Flickers in Time (Peter/Olivia) Chp. 8 - Change
Title: Flickers in Time
Summary: "She is damaged and broken, as is he, but she remains. Brave, strong, beautiful. And they must fight for each other." A collection of oneshots, centered around Peter and Olivia.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Peter/Olivia
Spoilers: General
Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe or its characters, storylines, etc. But if I had a swimming pool filled with money, I would totally buy it, make my own tv network, and give Fringe all the seasons ever.
Author's Note: MARIONETTE KILLS ME. All the awards for Anna Torv. The fact that she did not receive a nomination for/win an Emmy or Oscar or Olympic Gold Medal or Nobel Prize for Season 3 is not okay. Never, ever has doing the laundry been more heartbreaking. (And I HATE doing laundry, so...that's saying something.)
Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine.
Chapter 8 - Change (Season 3, 3x09)
She laughs.
In between her sobs, she laughs once. The sound surprises even her, and she lifts her head, clamping her hand over her mouth. She stares at the gray t-shirt through cloudy, wet eyes. It lays in a ball on the ground three feet from her. She wants to burn it. Along with her couch and her clothes and her sheets and her bed. Oh my God, her bed…
She wants to see the entire apartment go up in flames.
And then she laughs again, which turns into a hiccup and then into another sob. She moves to lay on the floor, curling up on her side and kicking the shirt even further away as she does. Suddenly, all she desires is sleep. To lose herself in slumber and not wake up for fifty years, when no one will remember her name and she can start anew. But she can practically smell her scent all over the sofa from here, and there is no way in hell she's going anywhere near that bed ever again.
So she remains on the cold ground, her wet hair serving as her only pillow. Hair that is still a shade too dark, with bangs that persistently fall into her eyes.
She feels like an intruder on her own life. And sometimes, she wonders if she even truly knows who she is. Where she's supposed to be.
She laughs again, and the noise is quiet and breathy through the tears that still flow steadily down her cheeks. After a while, she can't tell anymore. If she's laughing or crying.
She just finds it funny, she supposes. How two letters can change your life.
You belonged with me.
Summary: "She is damaged and broken, as is he, but she remains. Brave, strong, beautiful. And they must fight for each other." A collection of oneshots, centered around Peter and Olivia.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Peter/Olivia
Spoilers: General
Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe or its characters, storylines, etc. But if I had a swimming pool filled with money, I would totally buy it, make my own tv network, and give Fringe all the seasons ever.
Author's Note: MARIONETTE KILLS ME. All the awards for Anna Torv. The fact that she did not receive a nomination for/win an Emmy or Oscar or Olympic Gold Medal or Nobel Prize for Season 3 is not okay. Never, ever has doing the laundry been more heartbreaking. (And I HATE doing laundry, so...that's saying something.)
Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine.
Chapter 8 - Change (Season 3, 3x09)
She laughs.
In between her sobs, she laughs once. The sound surprises even her, and she lifts her head, clamping her hand over her mouth. She stares at the gray t-shirt through cloudy, wet eyes. It lays in a ball on the ground three feet from her. She wants to burn it. Along with her couch and her clothes and her sheets and her bed. Oh my God, her bed…
She wants to see the entire apartment go up in flames.
And then she laughs again, which turns into a hiccup and then into another sob. She moves to lay on the floor, curling up on her side and kicking the shirt even further away as she does. Suddenly, all she desires is sleep. To lose herself in slumber and not wake up for fifty years, when no one will remember her name and she can start anew. But she can practically smell her scent all over the sofa from here, and there is no way in hell she's going anywhere near that bed ever again.
So she remains on the cold ground, her wet hair serving as her only pillow. Hair that is still a shade too dark, with bangs that persistently fall into her eyes.
She feels like an intruder on her own life. And sometimes, she wonders if she even truly knows who she is. Where she's supposed to be.
She laughs again, and the noise is quiet and breathy through the tears that still flow steadily down her cheeks. After a while, she can't tell anymore. If she's laughing or crying.
She just finds it funny, she supposes. How two letters can change your life.
You belonged with me.