combining your #2 prompt with a dash of your #3 --
** There’s a room in the back of her apartment that Olivia has never used.
Well, not used for much – she keeps a card table and folding chairs back there, plus a couple of odds and ends. The Christmas wreath, a large stockpot that doesn’t fit into her kitchen cabinets, even a picnic basket she and Frank bought in a moment of uncharacteristic romanticism and used exactly once. That kind of thing.
It’s too small for any use besides storage, really. It was probably built as a “sun room,” which might have made more sense if direct sunlight ever reached those windows. Olivia never tried to do anything else with it. For long periods of time, she sometimes forgets it’s back there.
Today, though, it nags at her.
Why today? She’s got enough to think about today. The other universe is now bridged with theirs – that other Olivia, the stiff unsmiling one, stood across from her just a few hours ago. The Secretary has them all on high alert. Both the security issues and scientific questions seem likely to keep her busy for the next, oh, rest of her life.
So there’s no real reason for her to be standing in the doorway of her spare room, wondering why she doesn’t use it more often.
It’s as if – as if Olivia can see other possibilities for it now. That wood paneling left over from the 1970s: If she painted it white, it would be bright, even cheery. There would be room for a little rag rug, maybe. And it’s just big enough for – something. A little desk, maybe. An extra chest of drawers.
A crib, something in her mind whispers.
Which is all it takes for her to walk out again, snap off the light and shut the door. Olivia doesn’t listen to that voice any longer.
**
She does, however, tell Lincoln about it.
“Yeah, it would fit,” he says, like it’s no big deal, any other thing she might choose to measure the room by. God, he gets her sometimes. He slouches in the passenger seat, keeps his eyes on the rainswept road before them. “We’re all trying to think about something besides – the others, you know? So don’t beat yourself up about it.”
“I’m not beating myself up about it.”
“You have the look. The one that wrinkles your forehead.”
“Shut it.” Thought Olivia can’t help but smile, she isn’t going to let Lincoln joke this away for her. He’s pretty good at that, most of the time; it’s one of the countless things he gives her. But today she needs something else. “I haven’t thought about it in a while, you know?”
“Your back room?”
She takes a deep breath. “No – Rachel. What, ah, happened to her. What it means for me.”
They’ve never actually talked about this, but one thing about all Fringe agents – they’re all terrible snoops. Olivia knows full well that Lincoln has read her whole personnel file, just as she has read his. Neither of them would deny it, nor apologize for it. “Privacy” is a relative concept once you’re in Fringe Division; Olivia’s just glad she doesn’t have to explain this to him now.
Besides, every time she tries to talk in-depth about Rachel, she gets … not like herself.
Lincoln takes that in for a little while as they drive on. Olivia lets him.
It’s weird, how clear the skies are now. How the horizon never shimmers, how GPS never starts recalculating even though you haven’t taken a turn. Their reality has become more stable, Astrid says, and everyone acts like that’s a good thing. Olivia tends to agree. And yet an odd feeling has begun to creep over her, a sense that the world is solidifying around her into a shape she doesn’t recognize or like. The sensation makes her wonder what it’s like to be sealed in Amber, something she has tried very hard not to wonder about.
Finally Lincoln says, “Have you checked into the medical options? Lately, I mean.”
A weird flash passes through her mind of what that might be like: Labs and tests and terror, the idea that it’s all going way too fast. “Nope.”
“You could.” He shrugs. “Just so you’d know.”
“I’m not planning on having a baby. How would I make that work? With my life? Forget it.”
He has been looking at her for a while now, but there’s something between them that makes her head turn just at the moment when this look comes into his eyes – this look that reminds her of the time he got drunk and kissed her before he knew about Frank, the one she tries very hard to defend against but occasionally can’t. This is one of those times where it pierces her to the core. Or maybe it’s just that he says, very softly, “I’d help you.”
“Lincoln.” She wants to crack a joke about how helpless he’d be with a baby, but her voice might shake.
“People make it work. You know?”
“I know. I just – it’s not an option for me.”
“Find out. Make sure.”
“Why would I find out about having a baby if I’m not going to have one?”
He shrugs. “Call it peace of mind.”
“You still believe in that?”
“Peace of mind, Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny." This time, when Lincoln grins, she returns it.
They continue wisecracking in this vein for the rest of the drive. Olivia imagines that she is speeding away from that conversation and all the feelings it dredged up – the weird vision of her pregnant self – so she presses down on the accelerator, hard.
**
But when she gets home late that night, head heavy and feet aching, she doesn’t immediately walk into her bedroom to strip down and collapse. Instead Olivia walks to the back room.
She flips on the light and studies it again. It smells slightly musty. The picnic basket lies on one side, lid open, like it’s hungry for sandwiches and champagne and romance, all the things she and Frank thought they were buying. She ought to use the things in here more often. Use the room more often. It seems like it could be so much more.
The room is, indeed, just big enough for a crib. Olivia can almost see it there.
And for a moment, she sees Lincoln standing beside it, a grin on his face, reaching down for a baby – a baby boy so real to her that suddenly she feels as if she knows the weight of him in her arms, the soft scent of his head, the little sounds he makes as he settles down to sleep –
Quickly she turns off the light and shuts the door.
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timeasmymeasure
"A Very Empty Room"
Date: 2011-12-23 10:44 pm (UTC)**
There’s a room in the back of her apartment that Olivia has never used.
Well, not used for much – she keeps a card table and folding chairs back there, plus a couple of odds and ends. The Christmas wreath, a large stockpot that doesn’t fit into her kitchen cabinets, even a picnic basket she and Frank bought in a moment of uncharacteristic romanticism and used exactly once. That kind of thing.
It’s too small for any use besides storage, really. It was probably built as a “sun room,” which might have made more sense if direct sunlight ever reached those windows. Olivia never tried to do anything else with it. For long periods of time, she sometimes forgets it’s back there.
Today, though, it nags at her.
Why today? She’s got enough to think about today. The other universe is now bridged with theirs – that other Olivia, the stiff unsmiling one, stood across from her just a few hours ago. The Secretary has them all on high alert. Both the security issues and scientific questions seem likely to keep her busy for the next, oh, rest of her life.
So there’s no real reason for her to be standing in the doorway of her spare room, wondering why she doesn’t use it more often.
It’s as if – as if Olivia can see other possibilities for it now. That wood paneling left over from the 1970s: If she painted it white, it would be bright, even cheery. There would be room for a little rag rug, maybe. And it’s just big enough for – something. A little desk, maybe. An extra chest of drawers.
A crib, something in her mind whispers.
Which is all it takes for her to walk out again, snap off the light and shut the door. Olivia doesn’t listen to that voice any longer.
**
She does, however, tell Lincoln about it.
“Yeah, it would fit,” he says, like it’s no big deal, any other thing she might choose to measure the room by. God, he gets her sometimes. He slouches in the passenger seat, keeps his eyes on the rainswept road before them. “We’re all trying to think about something besides – the others, you know? So don’t beat yourself up about it.”
“I’m not beating myself up about it.”
“You have the look. The one that wrinkles your forehead.”
“Shut it.” Thought Olivia can’t help but smile, she isn’t going to let Lincoln joke this away for her. He’s pretty good at that, most of the time; it’s one of the countless things he gives her. But today she needs something else. “I haven’t thought about it in a while, you know?”
“Your back room?”
She takes a deep breath. “No – Rachel. What, ah, happened to her. What it means for me.”
They’ve never actually talked about this, but one thing about all Fringe agents – they’re all terrible snoops. Olivia knows full well that Lincoln has read her whole personnel file, just as she has read his. Neither of them would deny it, nor apologize for it. “Privacy” is a relative concept once you’re in Fringe Division; Olivia’s just glad she doesn’t have to explain this to him now.
Besides, every time she tries to talk in-depth about Rachel, she gets … not like herself.
Lincoln takes that in for a little while as they drive on. Olivia lets him.
It’s weird, how clear the skies are now. How the horizon never shimmers, how GPS never starts recalculating even though you haven’t taken a turn. Their reality has become more stable, Astrid says, and everyone acts like that’s a good thing. Olivia tends to agree. And yet an odd feeling has begun to creep over her, a sense that the world is solidifying around her into a shape she doesn’t recognize or like. The sensation makes her wonder what it’s like to be sealed in Amber, something she has tried very hard not to wonder about.
Finally Lincoln says, “Have you checked into the medical options? Lately, I mean.”
A weird flash passes through her mind of what that might be like: Labs and tests and terror, the idea that it’s all going way too fast. “Nope.”
“You could.” He shrugs. “Just so you’d know.”
“I’m not planning on having a baby. How would I make that work? With my life? Forget it.”
He has been looking at her for a while now, but there’s something between them that makes her head turn just at the moment when this look comes into his eyes – this look that reminds her of the time he got drunk and kissed her before he knew about Frank, the one she tries very hard to defend against but occasionally can’t. This is one of those times where it pierces her to the core. Or maybe it’s just that he says, very softly, “I’d help you.”
“Lincoln.” She wants to crack a joke about how helpless he’d be with a baby, but her voice might shake.
“People make it work. You know?”
“I know. I just – it’s not an option for me.”
“Find out. Make sure.”
“Why would I find out about having a baby if I’m not going to have one?”
He shrugs. “Call it peace of mind.”
“You still believe in that?”
“Peace of mind, Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny." This time, when Lincoln grins, she returns it.
They continue wisecracking in this vein for the rest of the drive. Olivia imagines that she is speeding away from that conversation and all the feelings it dredged up – the weird vision of her pregnant self – so she presses down on the accelerator, hard.
**
But when she gets home late that night, head heavy and feet aching, she doesn’t immediately walk into her bedroom to strip down and collapse. Instead Olivia walks to the back room.
She flips on the light and studies it again. It smells slightly musty. The picnic basket lies on one side, lid open, like it’s hungry for sandwiches and champagne and romance, all the things she and Frank thought they were buying. She ought to use the things in here more often. Use the room more often. It seems like it could be so much more.
The room is, indeed, just big enough for a crib. Olivia can almost see it there.
And for a moment, she sees Lincoln standing beside it, a grin on his face, reaching down for a baby – a baby boy so real to her that suddenly she feels as if she knows the weight of him in her arms, the soft scent of his head, the little sounds he makes as he settles down to sleep –
Quickly she turns off the light and shuts the door.