⚘ [ fringe event #2 ] || sleepless (video)

[entangles]

[ In the abandoned lab of a former mad scientist, Olivia sits at a table covered with manila folders, dusty beakers and containers of who-knows-what. She looks exhausted, stressed--fingers rubbing circles into her temples. Hours she's been at this, going through Walter's lab, his files, staring at words and numbers that make no sense to the agent. Given the time he was here, Walter couldn't have left much, but what he did leave apparently leads to no answers, no answers she can comprehend at least. ]

If anyone found a way out, it had to be you, Walter.

[ Without looking up, she reaches for the cup of coffee next to her, misjudging the distance in a moment of tired absentmindedness. The half-full coffee cup tumbles, spilling the contents across the table. ]

Shit--

[ooc: Anyone from Fringe would be much-loved! No doubles, except her canon double, please. ]

Comments

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[entangles]

Not a popular character?

[ Did you see that pun? ]

You're right. You will win.

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[call_me_spooky]

Cute.

[Very flatly, though really he's amused that she's at least entertaining the possibility.]

See you, Agent Dunham.

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[ At twelve 'o clock sharp, Olivia arrives at Cafe Juliet dressed for work. Black suit. White dress shirt. Hands folded in front of her. The more she can frame this meeting in terms of work, the easier it is for her to rationalize a justification. In a way, Olivia's amazed that she's let herself ask a stranger, no less a supposed fictional stranger to coffee. Within a week, she's made more of a social life for herself in that past three years. Maybe the next strange will get a dinner.

However, Olivia doesn't consider this invitation to be a "social gathering." Reconnaissance. An investigation. Whatever you want to call it that doesn't suggest she's doing this for her own morbid curiosity. You see, science fiction, television in general, has never really been Olivia's thing. Hasn't had the time, or the interest. Yet, who hasn't lived through the 90s in America without hearing about X-Files? Who hasn't seen glimpses of an episode while late-night channel flipping?

In fact, Peter's probably already made a joke about the Fringe division and its fictional cousin. ]

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[call_me_spooky]

[The thing about Mulder is, overall, he loved the City, and for him it hasn't been so long since he was a regular around here. Mulder thrives on the unexplained, and a place that let him live with characters from Star Trek was a phenomenon he was all too pleased to study. So in some ways he has her at a disadvantage; he knows it's an inevitability to accept the impossible as probable, here.

He doesn't have any idea that she's anything but a plain old fed, one from a world, probably, that doesn't have a basement full of shelved files on aliens and demons and the Jersey Devil. That's all right. If she hadn't offered to buy him a drink so sarcastically, he probably wouldn't have showed. But she's funny enough that here he is too, wearing a slightly rumpled black suit to match hers, with a bandaid high on his cheek.

Fox smiles at a waitress who looks familiar, continues on to slip into the seat opposite Olivia's, like it's no big deal.]

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[ When Mulder finally arrives, Olivia doesn't move to greet him, content to initially observe the character as her mind tries to grasp the reality of this obviously real Fox Mulder. To this, she gives him a look that's probably familiar to the deadpan fed: reticent, without the slightest suggestion of an expression, not even a twitch that might hint to how she's really feeling about this.]

Agent Mulder.

[ Her voice is deep, firm and even, with every word enunciated clearly. Maybe she's just fulfilling the FBI stereotype a little too well, or maybe Olivia Dunham is just always this intense.

Finally, she raises her hand to shake his. ]

I almost thought you wouldn't come.

[call_me_spooky]

[There's no reason for him to doubt her story, she's got all the earmarks of a bona fide g-woman: the suit, the monotone, the lack of any apparent sense of humor. It's kind of charming, in a weird way; maybe just because it reminds him of home, though he hasn't been here long enough to feel the least bit homesick. Maybe he just feels like the feds need to stick together. Or maybe he's just hungry.]

It takes a lot to make me stand someone up.

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[ Olivia presses her lips together in that way of having something to say, of wanting to say something, that necessarily can't be said. Or articulated. In this case, it's the latter: revealing government secrets is and will always be felony. As an agent, Olivia has always lived by the law, yet these strange circumstances she finds herself in, whether in this or that world, often require one to bypass the requisite behavior in favor of results. She highly doubts the government had ever prepared itself for wormholes and alternate universes.

What to tell Mulder, what to ask, how to ask? One word to break a law, another to talk circles around it. ]

I'll be honest. I've never watched your show. No time, no interest. That kind of stuff-- it just wasn't real to me.

[ She wrings her hand together and finally that tight-lipped expression shifts into a tepid smile, evincing the slightest discomfort. ]

And then--

[ She pauses. ]

You wouldn't happen to have been involved in any cases that involved... alternate universes?

[call_me_spooky]

[Her admission gets nothing more from him than a slight shrug. Truth be told, he prefers talking to people who don't know every intimate aspect of his life (and his time in the City showed him that intimate details were, unfortunately, not excluded from the mix.) Accepting the existence of a reality in which his reality is unreal doesn't negate the validity of his own existence, as far as Fox Mulder is concerned-- but it can be a headache when people can't see past it.

But she cuts to the chase, which he likes, and the chase sounds like it has potential.]

For reasons that should be obvious I can't say I disbelieve the existence of alternate universes. But, no. Aside from my experiences with the City, I haven't been personally involved in cases involving other universes. There are such cases in the files-- I'm having a hard time bringing the specifics to mind-- but none that we've reopened. Yet.

[There's a bit of a gleam in his eye, though.]

Why do you ask?

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[ Suspension of disbelief seems to be the general tactic of the city's people. Moreover, without her trusty scientist to confirm, at least theoretically, the possibility of fictional and real versions of a character coexisting, Olivia finds it hard to comprehend Mulder's existence.

But here it--he is. Agent Mulder, rumpled suit and all. ]

So you reopen cases. That's to say, they aren't- [ How to phrase these without sounding insulting... ] immediately pertinent.

[ Olivia leans in closer, as if she's about to reveal a secret. Softly, she answers-- ]

It'd be a felony if I told you.

[call_me_spooky]

I investigate the cases that can't be solved, the ones they don't want solved. Ones that come up that no one will touch and ones they've buried. When I have time there are decades upon decades of such stories in the files-- X for unexplained. Because they ran out of space in U.

[It's an explanation, not a justification. Agent Mulder believes many things, but above all else he believes his work needs no outside validation, that his pursuit of the truth is in and of itself a validation of the work he does. It's why he's never minded working alone, working against, working without support. Opposition strengthens his conviction. It doesn't matter if she believes him, if she believes in him, at all.

He doesn't lean in to mirror her, trusting in his convictions to trump the false air of intimacy. It's a sharp move, though. Shame she isn't real in his Bureau.]

You know we're not in Kansas anymore.

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[ She shows all the immediate signs of someone making an important and uncomfortable decision: the slight bulge of her cheek as she clenches her jaw, the readjustment of her hands, the silence. Through all of this, she keeps her gaze trained on Mulder. ]

It's not that simple anymore, the lines [Division of worlds, that is.] - aren't as clear.

[What would Broyles say to all of this?]

The cases my division handles— they're the sort of cases that would likely cause mass hysteria, if they were ever to leak. It's crucial that confidentiality remains iron-clad.

[call_me_spooky]

[The problem is, the more she says about what she won't say, the more his interest is piqued.]

You need to decide what you want.

[His demeanor doesn't shift, because careful neutrality is an old habit, but his tone is much more confidential than it might be in other circumstances.]

If you just want to commiserate about being the FBI's most unwanted, that's fine. If you're looking for information, that's fine, too. But if you want advice, from someone you don't believe exists... then, you might to have to step out of bounds.

[He makes a vague gesture towards her. Her choice, as though it's all the same to him.]

[entangles]

You've already answered my question.

[ In that, he appears to have no experience with alternate dimensions, and from that, she presumes that task of stopping a doomsday weapon meant to destroy worlds is... likely out of his realm of expertise, or so she assumes. Her question wasn't very precise. She could have just said: have you ever encountered a doomsday weapon? Straight to the point, she could have been, but for the sake of keeping clandestine what's meant to be clandestine, she's going about this in a very inefficient way.

Perhaps because she's presupposed that Mulder won't be able to help. X-files involved aliens, didn't it?

She speaks in a low voice. ]

Back home, I work for the Fringe Division. If you asked any other agent, they'd think you were making it up. [ She shifts her hand again, and glances to the side, observing. ] We--

What would you guys like to drink?

[---comes the too chirpy voice of a waitress who's working hard for her tips. She smiles, and Olivia smiles back, weakly. The interruption was abrupt. ]

Coffee. Black, two sugars. Please.

[call_me_spooky]

[Mulders orders his own coffee and takes the liberty of asking for a muffin, too. It's not to piss her off, he's stuck here without any money. He'll make it up, somehow or other.

Finally, for the first time he leans forward a little.]

You handle the stuff no one believes in.

[It's not a question. He's weirdly pleased at the thought of having a loose counterpart to his work in another dimension.]

[entangles]

Something like that. Inexplicable circumstances. Fringe science.

[ She suddenly gets quiet, her unease still ever-present. ]

But they're not just dusty files. [ She looks Mulder straight in the eyes. ] In the past three years, I've seen more people die than I'd ever seen in my entire career. Gruesome, horrible deaths.

[ By the force of her tone, you can tell she's being carried by her emotions. So much for the stoic G-woman. ]

And it's only going to get worse, unless we stop it.

[call_me_spooky]

Don't misunderstand. My peers don't find my work laughable because I spend all day going through moldy files. People discount what I do-- the truth I pursue-- because they've been conditioned to systematically discredit anyone who alleges the existence of extraterrestrial life. Conditioned by men who have spent decades making deals with the devil, weaving a conspiracy that extends to the highest levels of every branch of government, designed to save themselves at the expense of everyone else. Every man, woman, and child on Earth, nothing a sacrificial lamb. The price they're willing to pay for sanctuary. Immortality. That is why my partner and I have faced constant censure for our actions, find ourselves thwarted at every turn. That is why both of us have endured multiple attempts made on our lives. Because you're not the only one fighting the future.

[He leans back. It's not that he's offended, it's that he's playing a high-stakes game, same as her; not a matter of pride, but of clarity. He wants to help. Call it professional interest.]

The advantage for you is, I'm not going to dismiss whatever you tell me as voodoo. What kind of inexplicable circumstances are we talking about?