gift: fic: be okay [fringe, g]
a) Shit! My screen is acting up hardcore. After I post this I'm gonna go back up EVERYTHING before I shut the laptop down and see if that helps.
b) Hope you like this, aetenae!
be okay
fringe
g | olivia dunham, charlie francis | ~700
spoilers/warnings: pre-series.
summary: it's been a tough first week but she's okay. she's always okay.
n: holiday gift fic forrrrrrrrrrr aetenae!! <3 (i don't write much fringe fic so I hope you like it! also i fudge up a bit the little we know about olivia's first days on the job.) Unbeated, all mistakes clearly mine.
be okay
The ice clinks at the bottom of the glass she's been staring more than drinking for the last hour. Her hands stopped shaking hours ago, but her fingers still feel stiff around the knuckles. She's never been in explosion before.
She turns the glass in her hand and watches the soft swirls of whiskey and ice for a second or two before she tips her head back and downs the drink. It burns blessedly down her throat and her hands feels steadier than they did before. There are still a few ice cubes melting at the bottom that sound against the glass as she sets it down.
On the other side the long bar the bartender looks up at the sound. She meets her eyes and nods, grabbing the bottle she's been refilling Olivia's drink from all night.
Olivia nods in thanks.
"I'll have one of those too." She hears from beside her, but doesn't turn. Charlie's gravel and smoke voice is familiar. She's not sure it's welcome.
He settles on the stool to her right, his jacket brushes at her elbows as he take it off. She can hear the badge tucked into one pocket sound against the wood of the bar.
"Sure, thing," the bartender answers him, already pulling out two fresh new glasses on to the bar. Her lips flash a flirtatious smile.
Charlie smiles back. She sees it in the mirror half covered with bottles.
When she's gone, their drinks poured, he touches his drink but doesn't pick it up. His body shifts towards her.
She can feel his eyes on her face.
"I thought you were heading home," is all he says. He knows better to ask if she's okay. She's always okay.
Sighing, she turns on her stool. Leans an elbow against the lip of the bar. "I thought you were too, Agent Francis."
He shrugs, taking a drink. His t-shirt is rolled up to his forearms, his left one is still bandaged, and she thinks she can see the burns that she knows are under the white gauze. When she looks back up to him, she realises he caught her staring.
Feeling her throat dry, she brings her glass to her lips. The whiskey coats the words she wants to say, and she's grateful.
"You can call me Charlie you know."
She turns the glass on the coaster. She hates calling agents by their first names, it's too familiar, too much something friends would do and she's never had an easy time keeping friends.
"Olivia," she says. Her name feels awkward on her tongue.
His hand fills her vision as it covers her wrist. "Okay then, Olivia. You did good today and we all made it out."
"We almost didn't."
His lips thin out in an almost smile, "But we did. You gotta start focusing on that part." He pauses, his eyes reading her better than she's comfortable with. "You okay?"
"I'm always okay." She faces him, smile stiff around the edges, unable to meet his eyes.
His hand doesn't travel up her arm, doesn't finger the edges of her cuff, or follow the line of her forearm up to her joint. What Francis-Charlie does is lift his hand and settles it over her shoulder, his thumb resting over her collarbone under the stark white shirt she wears. His movement are economical and direct, and better than any soft reassurance.
"It's okay if sometimes you're not, you know, right?"
His eyes meet her and she almost says no it's not.
"I know, but I am."
It's enough of the truth for herself and enough of the lie for him. She can see in his face that he believes her and doesn't in equal measure, but he doesn't call her on it which she appreciates. She thinks she needs the half truth, and the lie, as much as he does.
"You sure?" He says, eyebrow quirking, lips half twisted.
It's his look for her, she learned by now. He's done it all week when he's amused by her. She doesn't know when she first realised this, but by now it doesn't matter. She never had many close friends growing up or in the academy. Agent Fran-Charlie is the first person beside Rachel to have a look that she recognises as her own and she surprise to realise she finds it a comfort.
Olivia smiles. "Sure, Charlie."
He laughs at her pointed use of his name. "Okay."
"Okay."
He lifts his glass to her and grins. She grins back and touches her glass to his.
They finish their drinks together. When they later walk to their cars, the air is much colder than it was when she first got it, and she tucks her hands into her coat pockets against the cold. Neither fill the silence until they reach Charlie's car which is only two spaces before hers. He touches her shoulder as he goes to open the door and she looks at him through the curtain of her hair that has drifted over her shoulders thanks to the wind.
"Yes?"
"You're going to be fine, Olivia."
She grins. "You know that's the first thing you said to me."
Chuckling, he opens his car door. "Was it really?"
Olivia nods.
"You better listen to me then," he says, lips twisting, "I'm the smartest guy you'll ever meet."
Smiling, she shakes her head as she watches Charlie drive away and thinks he might just be right.
b) Hope you like this, aetenae!
be okay
fringe
g | olivia dunham, charlie francis | ~700
spoilers/warnings: pre-series.
summary: it's been a tough first week but she's okay. she's always okay.
n: holiday gift fic forrrrrrrrrrr aetenae!! <3 (i don't write much fringe fic so I hope you like it! also i fudge up a bit the little we know about olivia's first days on the job.) Unbeated, all mistakes clearly mine.
be okay
The ice clinks at the bottom of the glass she's been staring more than drinking for the last hour. Her hands stopped shaking hours ago, but her fingers still feel stiff around the knuckles. She's never been in explosion before.
She turns the glass in her hand and watches the soft swirls of whiskey and ice for a second or two before she tips her head back and downs the drink. It burns blessedly down her throat and her hands feels steadier than they did before. There are still a few ice cubes melting at the bottom that sound against the glass as she sets it down.
On the other side the long bar the bartender looks up at the sound. She meets her eyes and nods, grabbing the bottle she's been refilling Olivia's drink from all night.
Olivia nods in thanks.
"I'll have one of those too." She hears from beside her, but doesn't turn. Charlie's gravel and smoke voice is familiar. She's not sure it's welcome.
He settles on the stool to her right, his jacket brushes at her elbows as he take it off. She can hear the badge tucked into one pocket sound against the wood of the bar.
"Sure, thing," the bartender answers him, already pulling out two fresh new glasses on to the bar. Her lips flash a flirtatious smile.
Charlie smiles back. She sees it in the mirror half covered with bottles.
When she's gone, their drinks poured, he touches his drink but doesn't pick it up. His body shifts towards her.
She can feel his eyes on her face.
"I thought you were heading home," is all he says. He knows better to ask if she's okay. She's always okay.
Sighing, she turns on her stool. Leans an elbow against the lip of the bar. "I thought you were too, Agent Francis."
He shrugs, taking a drink. His t-shirt is rolled up to his forearms, his left one is still bandaged, and she thinks she can see the burns that she knows are under the white gauze. When she looks back up to him, she realises he caught her staring.
Feeling her throat dry, she brings her glass to her lips. The whiskey coats the words she wants to say, and she's grateful.
"You can call me Charlie you know."
She turns the glass on the coaster. She hates calling agents by their first names, it's too familiar, too much something friends would do and she's never had an easy time keeping friends.
"Olivia," she says. Her name feels awkward on her tongue.
His hand fills her vision as it covers her wrist. "Okay then, Olivia. You did good today and we all made it out."
"We almost didn't."
His lips thin out in an almost smile, "But we did. You gotta start focusing on that part." He pauses, his eyes reading her better than she's comfortable with. "You okay?"
"I'm always okay." She faces him, smile stiff around the edges, unable to meet his eyes.
His hand doesn't travel up her arm, doesn't finger the edges of her cuff, or follow the line of her forearm up to her joint. What Francis-Charlie does is lift his hand and settles it over her shoulder, his thumb resting over her collarbone under the stark white shirt she wears. His movement are economical and direct, and better than any soft reassurance.
"It's okay if sometimes you're not, you know, right?"
His eyes meet her and she almost says no it's not.
"I know, but I am."
It's enough of the truth for herself and enough of the lie for him. She can see in his face that he believes her and doesn't in equal measure, but he doesn't call her on it which she appreciates. She thinks she needs the half truth, and the lie, as much as he does.
"You sure?" He says, eyebrow quirking, lips half twisted.
It's his look for her, she learned by now. He's done it all week when he's amused by her. She doesn't know when she first realised this, but by now it doesn't matter. She never had many close friends growing up or in the academy. Agent Fran-Charlie is the first person beside Rachel to have a look that she recognises as her own and she surprise to realise she finds it a comfort.
Olivia smiles. "Sure, Charlie."
He laughs at her pointed use of his name. "Okay."
"Okay."
He lifts his glass to her and grins. She grins back and touches her glass to his.
They finish their drinks together. When they later walk to their cars, the air is much colder than it was when she first got it, and she tucks her hands into her coat pockets against the cold. Neither fill the silence until they reach Charlie's car which is only two spaces before hers. He touches her shoulder as he goes to open the door and she looks at him through the curtain of her hair that has drifted over her shoulders thanks to the wind.
"Yes?"
"You're going to be fine, Olivia."
She grins. "You know that's the first thing you said to me."
Chuckling, he opens his car door. "Was it really?"
Olivia nods.
"You better listen to me then," he says, lips twisting, "I'm the smartest guy you'll ever meet."
Smiling, she shakes her head as she watches Charlie drive away and thinks he might just be right.