fringe ficlet: can't help losing myself [olivia/alt!charlie, pg]
can't help losing myself. fringe, pg, 501 words.
"You've had a rough few weeks," he says. "Thought you could use a treat."
Olivia zips her jacket up to her chin and crosses her arms across her chest as she joins the cluster of agents on the sidewalk. "Damn," she says, "it's freezing, Charlie. Think you could turn the heat up for me?"
"Ah, you know I would if I could," he says. He nods to the building behind him. "Lincoln's already in there, but he wanted me to give you the rundown before we head in - "
She has missed this so much, she realises as he talks, swallowing hard around the lump in her throat; she didn't know how much the loss of him was like a hole in heart till she had him back beside her again. It's been so easy to fall back into their old pattern she can almost pretend she never lost him in the first place - but no, that's not true at all, she reminds herself. She's been working with him on Fringe Division for years. She's never lost him. He's always been right here at her side.
Charlie notices the distracted stare she's giving him and breaks off his monologue. "You haven't listened to a single word I've said, have you, Dunham?" he says, exasperated.
"Sorry," she says, shaking her head once sharply as if to clear it. "Bad night."
He hesitates just a second and then holds out the thermos he's been carefully balancing for the past few minutes.
"Here," he says. "I brought this for you."
She curls her hands around it, giving Charlie a quizzical look, takes a sip and then smiles around the lip of the thermos at him. "Coffee?" she says, relishing the heat of it on her fingers. "You're an angel, you know that?"
He smiles, scar crinkling below his left eye. "You've had a rough few weeks," he says. "Thought you could use a treat."
"You can say that again," she says, and then she thinks, a treat?, and then the memories come flooding back: the blight, the coffee rationing, how hard it's been to come by these past few months, how much a mug like this must have cost him.
Get it together, Olivia, she tells herself.
Charlie is still watching her. "You all right, Livvy?"
"Sure," she says. She tucks her hair behind her ear, still unused to these new bangs. "Thank you, Charlie. I mean it."
Before the sentence is out of her mouth an explosion blows out the upper windows of skyscraper half a block away from them. They both duck automatically, throwing their arms up over their faces; and then, when the glass and debris have settled to the pavement, they watch as flames lick the empty windowframes.
"I think Lincoln might've got the wrong building," Charlie says drily after a moment. He looks down at her. "You sure you're ready for this?"
"Always," she says.
They head down the sidewalk, ignoring the cordoned-off crowd of hysterical citizens, elbows bumping as they go. Olivia still cradles her thermos; Charlie glances sideways at it and smiles.
"You've had a rough few weeks," he says. "Thought you could use a treat."
Olivia zips her jacket up to her chin and crosses her arms across her chest as she joins the cluster of agents on the sidewalk. "Damn," she says, "it's freezing, Charlie. Think you could turn the heat up for me?"
"Ah, you know I would if I could," he says. He nods to the building behind him. "Lincoln's already in there, but he wanted me to give you the rundown before we head in - "
She has missed this so much, she realises as he talks, swallowing hard around the lump in her throat; she didn't know how much the loss of him was like a hole in heart till she had him back beside her again. It's been so easy to fall back into their old pattern she can almost pretend she never lost him in the first place - but no, that's not true at all, she reminds herself. She's been working with him on Fringe Division for years. She's never lost him. He's always been right here at her side.
Charlie notices the distracted stare she's giving him and breaks off his monologue. "You haven't listened to a single word I've said, have you, Dunham?" he says, exasperated.
"Sorry," she says, shaking her head once sharply as if to clear it. "Bad night."
He hesitates just a second and then holds out the thermos he's been carefully balancing for the past few minutes.
"Here," he says. "I brought this for you."
She curls her hands around it, giving Charlie a quizzical look, takes a sip and then smiles around the lip of the thermos at him. "Coffee?" she says, relishing the heat of it on her fingers. "You're an angel, you know that?"
He smiles, scar crinkling below his left eye. "You've had a rough few weeks," he says. "Thought you could use a treat."
"You can say that again," she says, and then she thinks, a treat?, and then the memories come flooding back: the blight, the coffee rationing, how hard it's been to come by these past few months, how much a mug like this must have cost him.
Get it together, Olivia, she tells herself.
Charlie is still watching her. "You all right, Livvy?"
"Sure," she says. She tucks her hair behind her ear, still unused to these new bangs. "Thank you, Charlie. I mean it."
Before the sentence is out of her mouth an explosion blows out the upper windows of skyscraper half a block away from them. They both duck automatically, throwing their arms up over their faces; and then, when the glass and debris have settled to the pavement, they watch as flames lick the empty windowframes.
"I think Lincoln might've got the wrong building," Charlie says drily after a moment. He looks down at her. "You sure you're ready for this?"
"Always," she says.
They head down the sidewalk, ignoring the cordoned-off crowd of hysterical citizens, elbows bumping as they go. Olivia still cradles her thermos; Charlie glances sideways at it and smiles.