Ficlet - On the Whims of Fate
Title: On the Whims of Fate
Character(s): Sarah Page, Lorraine Wickes
Warnings: none
Rating: G (I guess? Maybe PG for mention of 'ogling'? *dreadful at ratings*)
Category: pre-femslash
Spoilers: None - set pre Season 1
Beta(s): Big thanks to fredbassett!
Author's Notes: So, some time verging on probably a year ago lonely_candle requested a Sarah/Lorraine fic from me. By the time her most recent birthday rolled around, I still hadn't got it written, so decided it would be her birthday fic. This is that fic. Finally. Sadly, it isn't full-blown slash, but I had such terrific trouble writing Lorraine that I'll take what I can get from the muses!
Disclaimer: Primeval is not mine. This fic will make me no money. For entertainment purposes only.
Summary: Sarah Page has been away from England for quite some time, but now she finds herself standing in the London rain once more...
The first time she meets Lorraine, it's raining.
This shouldn't be particularly notable, since they first meet in London, but it is. Sarah has just returned from Egypt, after all. Even this light drizzle, on a damp, grey day, feels like soft silk against her skin. She can breathe again. Her lungs are no longer aching from too much sand and bone-dry air. And so it is that the first time she sees her, Sarah is standing outside the entrance to a Tube station, pondering where she wants to go and enjoying the fresh, wet air.
The woman is obviously in a hurry. Her hair, bobbed and viciously straightened, is starting to frizz and curl and it bounces as she pushes her way through the crowd as fast as she can. Sarah isn't sure what it is about the woman that catches her eye. It's certainly not the clothing, which is plain business attire. But she watches as the woman fights her way through the tide of people and off to the side.
She manages to make her way to a spot, not far from Sarah, with enough room for her to adjust the bag slung across her body. Sarah watches sidelong as the damp cloth tugs and moulds against the woman's body. She should, perhaps, feel bad about ogling her, but it's been such a long time since Sarah's been around women dressed in Western clothing that she excuses herself.
She readjusts her bag, swings her purse to the forefront, and rummages in it for something. Sarah is only half-watching now. The drizzle is turning into a proper rain, and she's trying to decide if she really wants to go to that play or not.
A small yelp and a muttered curse draw her attention back to the woman. Her bag has swung forward, knocking her purse out of her hands. She's glancing at her watch, and at the sky, trying to shove her bag back, grab the purse and find whatever she was looking for all at once, so Sarah takes pity. She hurries over and picks up the purse, holding it while the woman finally finds the item she was searching for - one of those little blue Oyster cards, Sarah thinks, but she isn't sure. It's astonishing how much can change in a few years. The card is swiftly tucked into a pocket, and only then does the woman look up.
She sighs as she takes the purse, her brown eyes weary. A faint smile quirks her lips for but a moment.
"Thank you," she says. "I just..."
"Busy day?" Sarah offers, sympathetic. Today is one of the first days since her return that she isn't running around what feels like half of the country like a chicken missing its head.
"Yes," the woman sighs again, settling bag and purse alike into comfortable positions. "I'm not usually this..." She waves one elegant brown hand, several shades darker than Sarah's own and glistening in the rain.
Sarah nods. She believes her - the woman looks like she would usually be very together, very composed.
"I'm Sarah," she blurts out, suddenly wanting to know more about this harried, tired, beautiful woman. Who, as Sarah is speaking, is checking her watch and frowning.
"I've missed this one, damn. Well- oh, sorry, what was that?"
Embarrassed now, but unwilling to admit it, Sarah flushes a little and says again, "I'm Sarah. Sarah Page. Well, Dr. Sarah Page, I suppose."
She cuts herself off. She's babbling. She never babbles. But then, she never introduces herself to complete strangers she meets on the street, either.
"Ah, well, thank you, Dr. Page."
Privately, Sarah thinks that the woman in front of her might be just as startled by the introduction as she is. But if she is, she doesn't show it.
"Lorraine," the woman continues, still a bit abrupt, a bit hurried, "Lorraine Wickes. And thank you again, but I really must be going."
She offers Sarah another faint, fleeting smile that warms Sarah right down to her (rather soggy) toes. Then she turns and disappears once more into the crowd.
And Sarah stands in the rain and blinks in bewilderment, wondering what just happened. The rain increases once more and Sarah finally ducks inside the station, but all the way home she is still vaguely hoping that she'll see Lorraine again.
Character(s): Sarah Page, Lorraine Wickes
Warnings: none
Rating: G (I guess? Maybe PG for mention of 'ogling'? *dreadful at ratings*)
Category: pre-femslash
Spoilers: None - set pre Season 1
Beta(s): Big thanks to fredbassett!
Author's Notes: So, some time verging on probably a year ago lonely_candle requested a Sarah/Lorraine fic from me. By the time her most recent birthday rolled around, I still hadn't got it written, so decided it would be her birthday fic. This is that fic. Finally. Sadly, it isn't full-blown slash, but I had such terrific trouble writing Lorraine that I'll take what I can get from the muses!
Disclaimer: Primeval is not mine. This fic will make me no money. For entertainment purposes only.
Summary: Sarah Page has been away from England for quite some time, but now she finds herself standing in the London rain once more...
The first time she meets Lorraine, it's raining.
This shouldn't be particularly notable, since they first meet in London, but it is. Sarah has just returned from Egypt, after all. Even this light drizzle, on a damp, grey day, feels like soft silk against her skin. She can breathe again. Her lungs are no longer aching from too much sand and bone-dry air. And so it is that the first time she sees her, Sarah is standing outside the entrance to a Tube station, pondering where she wants to go and enjoying the fresh, wet air.
The woman is obviously in a hurry. Her hair, bobbed and viciously straightened, is starting to frizz and curl and it bounces as she pushes her way through the crowd as fast as she can. Sarah isn't sure what it is about the woman that catches her eye. It's certainly not the clothing, which is plain business attire. But she watches as the woman fights her way through the tide of people and off to the side.
She manages to make her way to a spot, not far from Sarah, with enough room for her to adjust the bag slung across her body. Sarah watches sidelong as the damp cloth tugs and moulds against the woman's body. She should, perhaps, feel bad about ogling her, but it's been such a long time since Sarah's been around women dressed in Western clothing that she excuses herself.
She readjusts her bag, swings her purse to the forefront, and rummages in it for something. Sarah is only half-watching now. The drizzle is turning into a proper rain, and she's trying to decide if she really wants to go to that play or not.
A small yelp and a muttered curse draw her attention back to the woman. Her bag has swung forward, knocking her purse out of her hands. She's glancing at her watch, and at the sky, trying to shove her bag back, grab the purse and find whatever she was looking for all at once, so Sarah takes pity. She hurries over and picks up the purse, holding it while the woman finally finds the item she was searching for - one of those little blue Oyster cards, Sarah thinks, but she isn't sure. It's astonishing how much can change in a few years. The card is swiftly tucked into a pocket, and only then does the woman look up.
She sighs as she takes the purse, her brown eyes weary. A faint smile quirks her lips for but a moment.
"Thank you," she says. "I just..."
"Busy day?" Sarah offers, sympathetic. Today is one of the first days since her return that she isn't running around what feels like half of the country like a chicken missing its head.
"Yes," the woman sighs again, settling bag and purse alike into comfortable positions. "I'm not usually this..." She waves one elegant brown hand, several shades darker than Sarah's own and glistening in the rain.
Sarah nods. She believes her - the woman looks like she would usually be very together, very composed.
"I'm Sarah," she blurts out, suddenly wanting to know more about this harried, tired, beautiful woman. Who, as Sarah is speaking, is checking her watch and frowning.
"I've missed this one, damn. Well- oh, sorry, what was that?"
Embarrassed now, but unwilling to admit it, Sarah flushes a little and says again, "I'm Sarah. Sarah Page. Well, Dr. Sarah Page, I suppose."
She cuts herself off. She's babbling. She never babbles. But then, she never introduces herself to complete strangers she meets on the street, either.
"Ah, well, thank you, Dr. Page."
Privately, Sarah thinks that the woman in front of her might be just as startled by the introduction as she is. But if she is, she doesn't show it.
"Lorraine," the woman continues, still a bit abrupt, a bit hurried, "Lorraine Wickes. And thank you again, but I really must be going."
She offers Sarah another faint, fleeting smile that warms Sarah right down to her (rather soggy) toes. Then she turns and disappears once more into the crowd.
And Sarah stands in the rain and blinks in bewilderment, wondering what just happened. The rain increases once more and Sarah finally ducks inside the station, but all the way home she is still vaguely hoping that she'll see Lorraine again.