drabble: over the rainbow (fringe/v series)
title: over the rainbow
fandom: V series/Fringe (Olivia Dunham, Erica Evans)
word count: 800+
note: set after V’s S1 finale “Red Rain” and Fringe’s S2 finale “Over There Part 2”, working on the premise that Erica Evans lives in the Yellowverse.
note 2: (for ohvienna's birthday. IN JULY. I'M SO SORRY! THIS IS SUPER LATE! I have no excuse except I got stuck) I've got a bath/hair-braiding scene written up as well, but no way to link it and I thought it a bit of a jarring jump in time to go from their first meeting to the intimacy of a shared bath. So both just stayed unfinished on my desktop, mocking me, until today.
Her first thought when she arrives, shaky on her bare feet, is that it’s already started. She had left her universe unprotected and now it was too late. Fires had broken out in trash cans and stores had their windows broken and merchandise looted. She has to pick her way around all the glass in the half-light.
She passes a sporting goods store on and outfits herself in sturdy boots and a crisp collared shirt.
After one quick search of a mini mart for some food to quiet her stomach and two hours of walking, she realizes that the hazy golden tint to her vision isn’t the rising dawn or a side effect of her shift through universes. The sky’s been scorched a burnt amber, making the clouds look heavy and ominous. The distant rumble of thunder never stops.
Despite all this, she knows without a doubt that she’s in New York and her feet seem to just instinctually lead her to the federal plaza.
Outside there is graffiti and pools of what is probably red paint since real blood would have congealed by now. It doesn’t stop her from going to check.
Signs cover the windows warning about the end of days and she wonders just how long she’d been in that cell. Without any way of keeping time, who knows how long her loved ones have been left unprotected. The guilt settles around her like an old blanket and she pulls it close, it's familiarity the only thing comforting her right now because as she walks, she can't help but notice that something feels off.
She tried to contact Rachel at the first pay phone she found, but the line was disconnected. It seems that phone lines were being overloaded with calls, if the loud shouts from new reporters could be heard. Their faces filled with entrance of the lobby and crowds of people simply stared at the destruction playing out before them with blank faces.
The thick crowd watching the news allows Olivia to slip through the defunct metal detectors and cross undetected to the elevators. A part of her is upset that the commotion has led to such a horrendous lack of security, despite its helpfulness. She plans to bring it up with Broyles once she's been de-briefed. They can't have just anyone walk into FBI headquarters.
She takes the elevator up to the eighth floor and it’s only as she’s staring at the yellowed buttons blink weakly, that she notices that this elevator hasn’t been manufactured by Massive Dynamic. She shakes it off as she walks toward the bullpen that’s mostly abandoned. Every agent here is crammed into one small room in the back and she makes her way toward the light and noise, passing more strange posters that flip between welcoming visitors and warning against their dangers.
She raises her hand to knock and hopes she will be seen as a welcome visitor. When the door opens, she blinks against the glow, outside the amber clouds had dimmed any light that had managed to filter through. This is the strongest light she’s been exposed to since her shift and she sees a small shiver of rainbows while her eyes adjust.
An imperious blonde stands up, arms out to settle everyone seated. With one nod, she calms the room. “Who are you?”
“Agent Olivia Dunham.”
"Lift up your hair." Olivia complies with the strange request, feeling self-conscious about the scar she sustained from her brush with brain surgery.
"Okay."
The young priest gives her a welcoming smile, sidestepping the obvious fact that she looks like she just escaped from prison. He seems too young to have the amount of worry etched across his face, but war makes older before our time. Her mother had said that to her when her father passed and she was suddenly supposed to take care of things.
"You look like you're a long way from home, Agent." Olivia smiled back at him, noticing his quick glance to the blonde woman.
A dark-haired man stared hard at her face, taking in her stance and the way her arms hung down her sides. Her shoulders tensed under his scutiny. He was the only person who remained seated. Olivia knew it was so he could keep his gun trained on her under the table.
"Which faction are you from? We've had reports in from groups across the country but no-one's tried to find us before."
She thought about all the people who needed her right now and decided that cooperation would be the fastest way to get to them. So instead of disarming him, she merely said, “Boston.”
The woman walked around to greet her, hand extended. “Well, Agent-Dunham-from-Boston, take a seat.”
Olivia passed a window on the way to the only empty chair in the room and more small details register in her brain as she continues to look around the office. A sinking feeling begins in the pit of her stomach and she swallows down her panic.
As theories whip through her head, each one more wild than the last, she realizes that these people have no idea how far from home she really is.
.
fandom: V series/Fringe (Olivia Dunham, Erica Evans)
word count: 800+
note: set after V’s S1 finale “Red Rain” and Fringe’s S2 finale “Over There Part 2”, working on the premise that Erica Evans lives in the Yellowverse.
note 2: (for ohvienna's birthday. IN JULY. I'M SO SORRY! THIS IS SUPER LATE! I have no excuse except I got stuck) I've got a bath/hair-braiding scene written up as well, but no way to link it and I thought it a bit of a jarring jump in time to go from their first meeting to the intimacy of a shared bath. So both just stayed unfinished on my desktop, mocking me, until today.
Her first thought when she arrives, shaky on her bare feet, is that it’s already started. She had left her universe unprotected and now it was too late. Fires had broken out in trash cans and stores had their windows broken and merchandise looted. She has to pick her way around all the glass in the half-light.
She passes a sporting goods store on and outfits herself in sturdy boots and a crisp collared shirt.
After one quick search of a mini mart for some food to quiet her stomach and two hours of walking, she realizes that the hazy golden tint to her vision isn’t the rising dawn or a side effect of her shift through universes. The sky’s been scorched a burnt amber, making the clouds look heavy and ominous. The distant rumble of thunder never stops.
Despite all this, she knows without a doubt that she’s in New York and her feet seem to just instinctually lead her to the federal plaza.
Outside there is graffiti and pools of what is probably red paint since real blood would have congealed by now. It doesn’t stop her from going to check.
Signs cover the windows warning about the end of days and she wonders just how long she’d been in that cell. Without any way of keeping time, who knows how long her loved ones have been left unprotected. The guilt settles around her like an old blanket and she pulls it close, it's familiarity the only thing comforting her right now because as she walks, she can't help but notice that something feels off.
She tried to contact Rachel at the first pay phone she found, but the line was disconnected. It seems that phone lines were being overloaded with calls, if the loud shouts from new reporters could be heard. Their faces filled with entrance of the lobby and crowds of people simply stared at the destruction playing out before them with blank faces.
The thick crowd watching the news allows Olivia to slip through the defunct metal detectors and cross undetected to the elevators. A part of her is upset that the commotion has led to such a horrendous lack of security, despite its helpfulness. She plans to bring it up with Broyles once she's been de-briefed. They can't have just anyone walk into FBI headquarters.
She takes the elevator up to the eighth floor and it’s only as she’s staring at the yellowed buttons blink weakly, that she notices that this elevator hasn’t been manufactured by Massive Dynamic. She shakes it off as she walks toward the bullpen that’s mostly abandoned. Every agent here is crammed into one small room in the back and she makes her way toward the light and noise, passing more strange posters that flip between welcoming visitors and warning against their dangers.
She raises her hand to knock and hopes she will be seen as a welcome visitor. When the door opens, she blinks against the glow, outside the amber clouds had dimmed any light that had managed to filter through. This is the strongest light she’s been exposed to since her shift and she sees a small shiver of rainbows while her eyes adjust.
An imperious blonde stands up, arms out to settle everyone seated. With one nod, she calms the room. “Who are you?”
“Agent Olivia Dunham.”
"Lift up your hair." Olivia complies with the strange request, feeling self-conscious about the scar she sustained from her brush with brain surgery.
"Okay."
The young priest gives her a welcoming smile, sidestepping the obvious fact that she looks like she just escaped from prison. He seems too young to have the amount of worry etched across his face, but war makes older before our time. Her mother had said that to her when her father passed and she was suddenly supposed to take care of things.
"You look like you're a long way from home, Agent." Olivia smiled back at him, noticing his quick glance to the blonde woman.
A dark-haired man stared hard at her face, taking in her stance and the way her arms hung down her sides. Her shoulders tensed under his scutiny. He was the only person who remained seated. Olivia knew it was so he could keep his gun trained on her under the table.
"Which faction are you from? We've had reports in from groups across the country but no-one's tried to find us before."
She thought about all the people who needed her right now and decided that cooperation would be the fastest way to get to them. So instead of disarming him, she merely said, “Boston.”
The woman walked around to greet her, hand extended. “Well, Agent-Dunham-from-Boston, take a seat.”
Olivia passed a window on the way to the only empty chair in the room and more small details register in her brain as she continues to look around the office. A sinking feeling begins in the pit of her stomach and she swallows down her panic.
As theories whip through her head, each one more wild than the last, she realizes that these people have no idea how far from home she really is.
.