Fic: Slow the Rain (Part One: I'll See You in My Dreams)
Title: Slow the Rain (Part One: I’ll See You in My Dreams)
Fandom: Fringe crossover with… anyone want to guess?
Pairing: Olivia and - again, does anyone want to guess?
Rating: G.
Words: 1200.
Author’s Note/Disclaimer: I’ve never done anything like this before, so hopefully this works out and people aren’t just like, “What the fuck?” This ‘series’ - if I do end up writing more - vaguely follows Ingrid Michaelson’s Slow the Rain, but the songs are definitely out of order and do not follow the track list. At all.
Characters do not belong to me - they belong to J.J. Abrams and ABC. (And you can guess who the second fandom belongs to, but it’s fairly easy, or so I think anyway.)
- - - - - - -
Sometimes, she has dreams.
Not ordinary dreams, mind you - she’s Olivia Dunham, and sometimes she thinks that’s a good enough explanation for why nothing plain and ordinary ever happens to her. Between the supernatural occurrences and ZFT, she’s certain she’ll never be able to lead an ordinary life, even if she wanted to.
Of course, the dreams seem normal enough.
And in essence, they are.
She’s on a sandy beach, and as she looks out into the expansive ocean, she can’t see anything else. Not at first, at least. She meanders slowly down the beach, not in any particular hurry, and only when she arrives at the next stretch of beach after having followed the curve of the island (because that’s what it is, an island) does she see it. It’s distant but very present. A smaller island amongst the crashing surf.
She wonders what’s over there but then realizes she knows, as though she’s been there before. And it’s her dream, so really it should go the way she wants it to - but then it strikes her that she’s actually been there before, on the other island. What really startles her, however, is the realization that she’s been on this island too, the one she’s currently on. She doesn’t know how or why she knows this; it’s a gut feeling, and though she knows she herself has never physically been here, it’s familiar all the same.
- - - - - - -
She wakes up the next day, rested, and doesn’t think about the dream again until two days later, when she has the same dream.
It’s not actually the same dream, but…
She walks along a sandy beach, the same one she found herself on just a few days ago. This time, instead of seeing a smaller island, she just sees charred metal and feels the hot heat. Groggily - she doesn’t know why she’s groggy, but she is - she gets up, and it’s a disaster around her. Cries and shouts; she can almost feel the pain and confusion of everyone around her. And then she spots it: The plane she came on. (Or should she say, the plane her dream self came on.) She rushes toward it - maybe there are people still alive in there - but then there’s a flash of light and it’s peaceful again. Just the gulls’ cries overhead, and the waves beating against the shore. She’s a little confused, looks around frantically. It was just there - right in front of her, she saw everything -
Someone calls out to her from behind, and she can’t quite make out the words that are being said, but she knows she’s being spoken to. So she turns, still confused, but her lips must be pulling into a smile, because the woman who’s addressing her - a beautiful woman, with wavy blonde hair and kind, tired eyes - this woman, her lips curve upwards from a thin line into a soft smile that makes her heart flutter in a way she hasn’t felt in a long, long time now.
“Let’s go,” says the nameless woman, and she extends her hand to Olivia.
And Olivia knows better - knows not to trust nameless strangers off the street, but shit, this is her dream, and she’s on a beach, and if she wants to take this woman’s hand, then she will, thank you very much.
She places her hand in the other woman’s-
-and there’s another flash of light, and then nothing.
- - - - - - -
She consults Walter first thing in the morning. She tells him about these dreams, how real they are, and asks if it’s ‘another Lane boy episode’ - and she’s never considered that before (though now that he’s brought it up, she doesn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it earlier), so she stops for a full second to think about it.
And yes, it is very similar to what happened with Nick Lane, but there’s also something subtly different about these dreams. There’s certainly nothing menacing about them, no suicidal feelings, no deaths - except for the brief interlude with the plane crash, but there was something about that experience that left her feeling more confused than anything else. Somehow, she tells Walter, she doesn’t think she’s experiencing someone else’s emotions. They seem to be her own, this time.
He looks thoughtful at that, then nods his head and mutters, “Of course.”
And just like that, the matter is settled.
- - - - - - -
But a week later, her dream picks up where she left it.
She’s in the jungle this time, and at first she thinks she’s finally dreaming of something else, somewhere else besides that same old place. But then she spots her - the same woman from her previous dream standing directly ahead of her, waiting for her - and she realizes, feeling both deflated yet hopeful at the same time, that she’s still here, wherever here may be.
“Where-” she starts to ask, but is silenced as the woman reaches forward and pressed a finger to her lips.
“Look,” is all the woman says, and she pushes some branches aside to reveal a log cabin.
And Olivia doesn’t think she can be any more confused than she already is, but somehow she thinks the appropriate thing to do here is to smile and say something appreciative. Which is exactly what she does.
“I didn’t make it, you know,” the woman says, interrupting Olivia’s praise, an amused smile on her face. “The cabin.”
“I- I know,” Olivia manages, feeling foolish but still clueless. She sucks in a breath, says, “But it’s for us.” She doesn’t know what makes her say this; it just seems right, even though she only met this woman a week ago and has only seen her for the second time.
“Of course. It’s a gift, from Rose and Bernard,” says the woman as she reaches for her hand and pulls her forward gently.
She follows, doesn’t know who Rose or Bernard is, but willingly going along with the whole façade anyway. She can find out more this way.
As they near the porch steps, the woman in front of her slows, turns around. “It’s - it was a surprise. For you.”
“I-” she pauses, taken aback. Then politely, “Thank you.” She tries to smile, tries to mean it, but somehow she doesn’t think she’s fooling the other woman. She wants to be thankful, she does, but she’s just so very confused, and somehow she can’t voice all that she’s feeling.
She almost expects the other woman to call her on her bluff, ask her if anything’s wrong. If nothing else, the woman’s blue eyes bore into her questioningly, but she doesn’t say anything. Seems to consider, and then back down.
What happens next - a quick kiss on the lips - is chaste yet so unexpected that Olivia can’t help but stare as the woman pulls away, turns around and reaches for the door as though that wasn’t out of the ordinary.
Which it is. For Olivia, anyway.
But - and she’d never thought she’d say this - she’s saved from having to come up with an appropriate response by the flash of white light she’s now grown accustomed to.
And that’s that.
- - - - - - -
Fandom: Fringe crossover with… anyone want to guess?
Pairing: Olivia and - again, does anyone want to guess?
Rating: G.
Words: 1200.
Author’s Note/Disclaimer: I’ve never done anything like this before, so hopefully this works out and people aren’t just like, “What the fuck?” This ‘series’ - if I do end up writing more - vaguely follows Ingrid Michaelson’s Slow the Rain, but the songs are definitely out of order and do not follow the track list. At all.
Characters do not belong to me - they belong to J.J. Abrams and ABC. (And you can guess who the second fandom belongs to, but it’s fairly easy, or so I think anyway.)
- - - - - - -
Sometimes, she has dreams.
Not ordinary dreams, mind you - she’s Olivia Dunham, and sometimes she thinks that’s a good enough explanation for why nothing plain and ordinary ever happens to her. Between the supernatural occurrences and ZFT, she’s certain she’ll never be able to lead an ordinary life, even if she wanted to.
Of course, the dreams seem normal enough.
And in essence, they are.
She’s on a sandy beach, and as she looks out into the expansive ocean, she can’t see anything else. Not at first, at least. She meanders slowly down the beach, not in any particular hurry, and only when she arrives at the next stretch of beach after having followed the curve of the island (because that’s what it is, an island) does she see it. It’s distant but very present. A smaller island amongst the crashing surf.
She wonders what’s over there but then realizes she knows, as though she’s been there before. And it’s her dream, so really it should go the way she wants it to - but then it strikes her that she’s actually been there before, on the other island. What really startles her, however, is the realization that she’s been on this island too, the one she’s currently on. She doesn’t know how or why she knows this; it’s a gut feeling, and though she knows she herself has never physically been here, it’s familiar all the same.
- - - - - - -
She wakes up the next day, rested, and doesn’t think about the dream again until two days later, when she has the same dream.
It’s not actually the same dream, but…
She walks along a sandy beach, the same one she found herself on just a few days ago. This time, instead of seeing a smaller island, she just sees charred metal and feels the hot heat. Groggily - she doesn’t know why she’s groggy, but she is - she gets up, and it’s a disaster around her. Cries and shouts; she can almost feel the pain and confusion of everyone around her. And then she spots it: The plane she came on. (Or should she say, the plane her dream self came on.) She rushes toward it - maybe there are people still alive in there - but then there’s a flash of light and it’s peaceful again. Just the gulls’ cries overhead, and the waves beating against the shore. She’s a little confused, looks around frantically. It was just there - right in front of her, she saw everything -
Someone calls out to her from behind, and she can’t quite make out the words that are being said, but she knows she’s being spoken to. So she turns, still confused, but her lips must be pulling into a smile, because the woman who’s addressing her - a beautiful woman, with wavy blonde hair and kind, tired eyes - this woman, her lips curve upwards from a thin line into a soft smile that makes her heart flutter in a way she hasn’t felt in a long, long time now.
“Let’s go,” says the nameless woman, and she extends her hand to Olivia.
And Olivia knows better - knows not to trust nameless strangers off the street, but shit, this is her dream, and she’s on a beach, and if she wants to take this woman’s hand, then she will, thank you very much.
She places her hand in the other woman’s-
-and there’s another flash of light, and then nothing.
- - - - - - -
She consults Walter first thing in the morning. She tells him about these dreams, how real they are, and asks if it’s ‘another Lane boy episode’ - and she’s never considered that before (though now that he’s brought it up, she doesn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it earlier), so she stops for a full second to think about it.
And yes, it is very similar to what happened with Nick Lane, but there’s also something subtly different about these dreams. There’s certainly nothing menacing about them, no suicidal feelings, no deaths - except for the brief interlude with the plane crash, but there was something about that experience that left her feeling more confused than anything else. Somehow, she tells Walter, she doesn’t think she’s experiencing someone else’s emotions. They seem to be her own, this time.
He looks thoughtful at that, then nods his head and mutters, “Of course.”
And just like that, the matter is settled.
- - - - - - -
But a week later, her dream picks up where she left it.
She’s in the jungle this time, and at first she thinks she’s finally dreaming of something else, somewhere else besides that same old place. But then she spots her - the same woman from her previous dream standing directly ahead of her, waiting for her - and she realizes, feeling both deflated yet hopeful at the same time, that she’s still here, wherever here may be.
“Where-” she starts to ask, but is silenced as the woman reaches forward and pressed a finger to her lips.
“Look,” is all the woman says, and she pushes some branches aside to reveal a log cabin.
And Olivia doesn’t think she can be any more confused than she already is, but somehow she thinks the appropriate thing to do here is to smile and say something appreciative. Which is exactly what she does.
“I didn’t make it, you know,” the woman says, interrupting Olivia’s praise, an amused smile on her face. “The cabin.”
“I- I know,” Olivia manages, feeling foolish but still clueless. She sucks in a breath, says, “But it’s for us.” She doesn’t know what makes her say this; it just seems right, even though she only met this woman a week ago and has only seen her for the second time.
“Of course. It’s a gift, from Rose and Bernard,” says the woman as she reaches for her hand and pulls her forward gently.
She follows, doesn’t know who Rose or Bernard is, but willingly going along with the whole façade anyway. She can find out more this way.
As they near the porch steps, the woman in front of her slows, turns around. “It’s - it was a surprise. For you.”
“I-” she pauses, taken aback. Then politely, “Thank you.” She tries to smile, tries to mean it, but somehow she doesn’t think she’s fooling the other woman. She wants to be thankful, she does, but she’s just so very confused, and somehow she can’t voice all that she’s feeling.
She almost expects the other woman to call her on her bluff, ask her if anything’s wrong. If nothing else, the woman’s blue eyes bore into her questioningly, but she doesn’t say anything. Seems to consider, and then back down.
What happens next - a quick kiss on the lips - is chaste yet so unexpected that Olivia can’t help but stare as the woman pulls away, turns around and reaches for the door as though that wasn’t out of the ordinary.
Which it is. For Olivia, anyway.
But - and she’d never thought she’d say this - she’s saved from having to come up with an appropriate response by the flash of white light she’s now grown accustomed to.
And that’s that.
- - - - - - -