Fic: Slow the Rain (Part Two: Charlie)
Title: Slow the Rain (Part Two: Charlie)
Fandom: Fringe/Lost crossover.
Pairing: Olivia/does anyone want to guess?
Rating: G.
Words: 1285.
Author’s Note/Disclaimer: Characters belong to J.J. Abrams and ABC. Title belongs to Ingrid Michaelson. Spoilers up to Fringe 1x20 (the finale!) and the most recent season of Lost. Please let me know what you think!
Slow the Rain
Part One: I'll See You in My Dreams
- - - - - - -
She misses her old dreams.
The ones that didn’t mean anything, or the ones that gave her gentle reminders about miniscule, unimportant events. Like a distant friend’s wedding, or forgetting to put the clothes in the wash.
She doesn’t dream about things like that anymore.
She either dreams about the island or she doesn’t dream at all.
And it’s not that her newer dreams are unpleasant. It’s just that they unsettle her.
Sometimes she finds herself in a jungle, sometimes a beach or a cave or even a waterfall - but no matter the setting, it’s always the island in some form or another. Her dreams always seem to pick up where she last left off, and they always seem to involve the same blonde woman with the same blue eyes.
She wakes when the sunlight hits her eyes, and can’t shake the distinct feeling of having lost something - but how is that possible if she doesn’t know she had it to begin with?
- - - - - - -
As the months pass, her questions go from where am I? to how can I find this place?
Walter has suppositions and theories, but none of them tell Olivia anything she doesn’t already know.
This place - this island - occupies her thoughts every spare moment she has. Obsessed is one word for it, but how can she not be, when it refuses to leave her alone? Sometimes she’s so certain she’s been there before that she forgets it’s not real, forgets it’s just a dream and that places with polar bears in the tropical sun don’t exist.
- - - - - - -
In mid-August, out of the blue, Walter brings it up of his own accord.
“Have you considered-” he starts, thoughtfully - and Olivia really has no idea what he’s about to say, because with Walter, it could be anything. “-déjà vu?”
She hasn’t mentioned the dreams in a month now, and is surprised Walter remembers them.
She spares a glance at Peter, who only shrugs his shoulders noncommittally.
“Yes,” she hears herself say. “Yes, you mentioned that before, a long time ago. Do you remember, Walter?”
And she doesn’t expect Walter to remember back to May, when she saw brief glimpses into another world, but again he surprises her.
“Oh, yes,” he says, after a moment’s pause. “That’s right. Forgive me, Olivia, I must have forgotten.”
He seems to sink back into thoughtfulness, muttering to himself as he bustles around the lab.
“Walter,” Olivia says, watching the older man. When he doesn’t seem to hear her, she repeats herself, more firmly this time, “Walter.”
He looks at her, not quite meeting her eyes, but she’s got his attention for the moment, and that’s all that matters.
“These dreams, Walter,” she says slowly, considering her words. “They’re different from déjà vu.”
They’re longer sequences, she wants to say, they happen in a place I’ve never been to - but she doesn’t.
Instead she watches Walter for a response, wondering if he’s going to tell her that there are different kinds of déjà vu, and just because she’s experienced one kind before doesn’t mean she’s experienced all the others. But he doesn’t say anything, not to her, at least.
He simply makes a thoughtful noise, and with a slight nod, he turns away from her, continues his mutterings as though she had never interrupted him to begin with.
- - - - - - -
That night, she dreams of the island again.
This time, she finds herself in a house. A well-kept house; neat, clean, sunny. She leans over the countertop, pushes the curtain aside and looks outside. It’s just bright, white light and she can’t really see anything past it. And even though this is drastically different from what she’s associated with her previous dreams of the place, she knows she’s still on the island.
“You still don’t remember, do you?”
The voice is one she’s become accustomed to - gentle and probing - and she can just imagine the blonde woman tucking a stray lock behind her ear.
She turns around, asks, “Remember what?”
The blonde only smiles, bemused.
“I wish you would remember, Livvie.”
She’s startled that the woman knows her name; in all the times in her dream, she’s never called her by name, or by anything even close to it.
“Remember what?” she repeats, knowing she won’t get an answer as the words leave her mouth.
The woman steps in closer and takes her hands gently, surprises her with her response.
“Remember me.”
Olivia’s next words are swallowed by the flash of light that comes.
- - - - - - -
When Olivia wakes up, all she can think of are countertops and blinding windows.
This is the first time since the beginning that the details of the previous night’s dream are fuzzy and lost in her head.
“You still don’t remember, do you?”
The voice echoes in her head, and she shakes her head mutely.
She feels as though something has shifted. Something crucial.
But she doesn’t remember. She doesn’t remember a thing.
- - - - - - -
October rolls around, and it marks the fifth month she’s been having these dreams.
Though she’s no closer to finding out what they mean or why she’s having them (or, secretly, how to get to this imaginary-yet-not place), Peter suggests she take a night off to ‘blow off some steam.’
She’s sure there’s an implication to get drunk at the local bar, or maybe even go out clubbing.
The former has its merits, while the latter is just pushing her limits.
She’s tired, very much so, and so instead of doing either of those things, she calls up this quaint place a few blocks from her house, makes a reservation for one.
At six o’clock exactly, she leaves the office for the restaurant, stopping by the lab on the way just to say goodbye.
“You’re going in that?” Peter asks.
Olivia looks down, and realizes what Peter means. She’s still in her work clothes. The corners of her lips lift up as she replies, “Yes.”
It’s not like she has to dress up for dinner with herself.
“Do you wear anything besides those suits, Olivia?”
“Just pajamas,” she replies as she walks out, smile on her face.
- - - - - - -
By seven o’clock she’s arrived at the restaurant, just in time for her reservation.
To be honest, she’s glad Peter suggested she treat herself to something. It adds some variation to her routine, and it’s a good pick-me-up for the middle of the week. A good pick-me-up for the five-month anniversary of something I can’t figure out, she muses darkly to herself.
And when it arrives, she proceeds to cut into the roast beef that she ordered.
Halfway into her dinner, she’s joined by Nina Sharp.
It’s unexpected (like a lot of things are to her, nowadays) but not entirely unwelcome, and they make small talk, first about the food, and then about the recent disappearing children case she’s been working on.
At the end of the evening, when both their wine glasses are empty, Nina slips her a card.
“You may find this useful, Agent Dunham.”
Olivia starts to look at the business card.
“Oh, Agent Dunham?”
Her eyes snap back to Nina’s.
“That island can be a difficult thing to track down. If I were you, I would give him a call.”
- - - - - - -
Olivia doesn’t know how Nina Sharp knows of her dreams of the island, but she knows there’s no point in questioning the woman and her intentions. Not now, at least.
She waits until Nina’s out of sight before looking properly at the card.
Like any other business card, there’s a name and a number, as well as an address at the bottom.
She runs her fingers over the name, pauses at the last letter.
CHARLES WIDMORE
No, none of it sounds familiar at all.
- - - - - - -
Fandom: Fringe/Lost crossover.
Pairing: Olivia/does anyone want to guess?
Rating: G.
Words: 1285.
Author’s Note/Disclaimer: Characters belong to J.J. Abrams and ABC. Title belongs to Ingrid Michaelson. Spoilers up to Fringe 1x20 (the finale!) and the most recent season of Lost. Please let me know what you think!
Slow the Rain
Part One: I'll See You in My Dreams
- - - - - - -
She misses her old dreams.
The ones that didn’t mean anything, or the ones that gave her gentle reminders about miniscule, unimportant events. Like a distant friend’s wedding, or forgetting to put the clothes in the wash.
She doesn’t dream about things like that anymore.
She either dreams about the island or she doesn’t dream at all.
And it’s not that her newer dreams are unpleasant. It’s just that they unsettle her.
Sometimes she finds herself in a jungle, sometimes a beach or a cave or even a waterfall - but no matter the setting, it’s always the island in some form or another. Her dreams always seem to pick up where she last left off, and they always seem to involve the same blonde woman with the same blue eyes.
She wakes when the sunlight hits her eyes, and can’t shake the distinct feeling of having lost something - but how is that possible if she doesn’t know she had it to begin with?
- - - - - - -
As the months pass, her questions go from where am I? to how can I find this place?
Walter has suppositions and theories, but none of them tell Olivia anything she doesn’t already know.
This place - this island - occupies her thoughts every spare moment she has. Obsessed is one word for it, but how can she not be, when it refuses to leave her alone? Sometimes she’s so certain she’s been there before that she forgets it’s not real, forgets it’s just a dream and that places with polar bears in the tropical sun don’t exist.
- - - - - - -
In mid-August, out of the blue, Walter brings it up of his own accord.
“Have you considered-” he starts, thoughtfully - and Olivia really has no idea what he’s about to say, because with Walter, it could be anything. “-déjà vu?”
She hasn’t mentioned the dreams in a month now, and is surprised Walter remembers them.
She spares a glance at Peter, who only shrugs his shoulders noncommittally.
“Yes,” she hears herself say. “Yes, you mentioned that before, a long time ago. Do you remember, Walter?”
And she doesn’t expect Walter to remember back to May, when she saw brief glimpses into another world, but again he surprises her.
“Oh, yes,” he says, after a moment’s pause. “That’s right. Forgive me, Olivia, I must have forgotten.”
He seems to sink back into thoughtfulness, muttering to himself as he bustles around the lab.
“Walter,” Olivia says, watching the older man. When he doesn’t seem to hear her, she repeats herself, more firmly this time, “Walter.”
He looks at her, not quite meeting her eyes, but she’s got his attention for the moment, and that’s all that matters.
“These dreams, Walter,” she says slowly, considering her words. “They’re different from déjà vu.”
They’re longer sequences, she wants to say, they happen in a place I’ve never been to - but she doesn’t.
Instead she watches Walter for a response, wondering if he’s going to tell her that there are different kinds of déjà vu, and just because she’s experienced one kind before doesn’t mean she’s experienced all the others. But he doesn’t say anything, not to her, at least.
He simply makes a thoughtful noise, and with a slight nod, he turns away from her, continues his mutterings as though she had never interrupted him to begin with.
- - - - - - -
That night, she dreams of the island again.
This time, she finds herself in a house. A well-kept house; neat, clean, sunny. She leans over the countertop, pushes the curtain aside and looks outside. It’s just bright, white light and she can’t really see anything past it. And even though this is drastically different from what she’s associated with her previous dreams of the place, she knows she’s still on the island.
“You still don’t remember, do you?”
The voice is one she’s become accustomed to - gentle and probing - and she can just imagine the blonde woman tucking a stray lock behind her ear.
She turns around, asks, “Remember what?”
The blonde only smiles, bemused.
“I wish you would remember, Livvie.”
She’s startled that the woman knows her name; in all the times in her dream, she’s never called her by name, or by anything even close to it.
“Remember what?” she repeats, knowing she won’t get an answer as the words leave her mouth.
The woman steps in closer and takes her hands gently, surprises her with her response.
“Remember me.”
Olivia’s next words are swallowed by the flash of light that comes.
- - - - - - -
When Olivia wakes up, all she can think of are countertops and blinding windows.
This is the first time since the beginning that the details of the previous night’s dream are fuzzy and lost in her head.
“You still don’t remember, do you?”
The voice echoes in her head, and she shakes her head mutely.
She feels as though something has shifted. Something crucial.
But she doesn’t remember. She doesn’t remember a thing.
- - - - - - -
October rolls around, and it marks the fifth month she’s been having these dreams.
Though she’s no closer to finding out what they mean or why she’s having them (or, secretly, how to get to this imaginary-yet-not place), Peter suggests she take a night off to ‘blow off some steam.’
She’s sure there’s an implication to get drunk at the local bar, or maybe even go out clubbing.
The former has its merits, while the latter is just pushing her limits.
She’s tired, very much so, and so instead of doing either of those things, she calls up this quaint place a few blocks from her house, makes a reservation for one.
At six o’clock exactly, she leaves the office for the restaurant, stopping by the lab on the way just to say goodbye.
“You’re going in that?” Peter asks.
Olivia looks down, and realizes what Peter means. She’s still in her work clothes. The corners of her lips lift up as she replies, “Yes.”
It’s not like she has to dress up for dinner with herself.
“Do you wear anything besides those suits, Olivia?”
“Just pajamas,” she replies as she walks out, smile on her face.
- - - - - - -
By seven o’clock she’s arrived at the restaurant, just in time for her reservation.
To be honest, she’s glad Peter suggested she treat herself to something. It adds some variation to her routine, and it’s a good pick-me-up for the middle of the week. A good pick-me-up for the five-month anniversary of something I can’t figure out, she muses darkly to herself.
And when it arrives, she proceeds to cut into the roast beef that she ordered.
Halfway into her dinner, she’s joined by Nina Sharp.
It’s unexpected (like a lot of things are to her, nowadays) but not entirely unwelcome, and they make small talk, first about the food, and then about the recent disappearing children case she’s been working on.
At the end of the evening, when both their wine glasses are empty, Nina slips her a card.
“You may find this useful, Agent Dunham.”
Olivia starts to look at the business card.
“Oh, Agent Dunham?”
Her eyes snap back to Nina’s.
“That island can be a difficult thing to track down. If I were you, I would give him a call.”
- - - - - - -
Olivia doesn’t know how Nina Sharp knows of her dreams of the island, but she knows there’s no point in questioning the woman and her intentions. Not now, at least.
She waits until Nina’s out of sight before looking properly at the card.
Like any other business card, there’s a name and a number, as well as an address at the bottom.
She runs her fingers over the name, pauses at the last letter.
CHARLES WIDMORE
No, none of it sounds familiar at all.
- - - - - - -