187. {1shot} [fringe] (etta) some things change, some things remain the same
some things change, some things remain the same; pg; 2,020 words;
etta can't tell the difference between reality and her dreams
a/n: this is for counteragent who donated to fandomaid; i know this isn't exactly what you prompted but there will be something else for you soon :)
i.
Etta sees it like this: her mother and father lounging in a park as she runs around in the green grass - the feel of the blades on her feet, the sunshine beating down on her skin; she thinks about it every day.
ii.
Etta sees her cousin once, she thinks. She doesn't actually know her and couldn't really see the person all that clearly, but she just felt instantly connected like their blood was kind of the same. Ella's hair was blond, eyes shined bright like diamonds, and her smile was easy. Etta can't really remember her though, not really if she tries, because she's too busy grasping on to the memory of her parents.
iii.
Her father smells like dirt and amber and sweat but she likes it a little, doesn't know how she's lived almost her whole life without it. His eyes watch her as she moves around the room and she knows that he's hovering but she's missed him, missed the sense of family. She tries not to read too much into it, tries not to get frustrated that he's watching her, tries to act like she isn't an adult and hasn't lived her entire life without him.
Sometimes she thinks that she's created memories.
iv.
She pictures a world that is normal, ancient, a distant fairytale.
She's 17 and her father's a bit overbearing, threatens her prom date with a shotgun. She just laughs as her mother rolls her eyes, her mother's hands finding her father's bicep to pull him out of the situation. A slow smile spreads on his lips like he's kidding but there's a glint in his eye that Etta knows he's serious.
The secret life of the Bishops, the life that no one knows about - gun weilding FBI agents seeking out the unknown. Retired but not basking in retirement. The Fringe team never really out of business.
These are the memories that only exist in Etta's head.
v.
Her mother feels like home, a safe place that she's never really had before. Her mother watches her differently than her father does but she thinks that ultimately it's just all in her head. Her mother watches her sleep while her father sleeps.
Etta doesn't understand; she hopes she never will.
vi.
She's 19 when she kisses Simon. He takes a half step back, doesn't know how he should react or if it's okay. They are deep under cover, alone because there's no one left. The light hits his eye and she has a vision of the future, of a world that prevails, one that she might take every bit of hate that she has for this world and twist it into a happy future.
Her happiness comes in moments. The smile on Simon's face. The feel of the gun between her fingers as she locks and loads. But mostly just the smile on Simon's face.
The way his lips curl into the ends of his facial hair, disappear into the darkness as he swallows thickly. He has a hint of an accent, one that makes her fingers curl and her eyes pinch at the corners. His smile is contagious.
She kisses him and he doesn't kiss her back, not until much later when she isn't expecting it - his fingers on her jaw, his mouth soft against hers.
vii.
When she's 8 her grandpa tucks her in. Her parents went on a getaway for the weekend but they called to say good night. They were all giggles; she likes the sound of their laughter.
Astrid lingers around the corner but Etta can still see her shadow bounce off of the wall in the hallway. She wishes she would just come in but she won't. She thinks it's funny because she knows that they all think she doesn't get it, doesn't know that her grandpa babysits her and Astrid babysits her grandpa.
She knows more than they think. She never says anything. She simply smiles and hugs her grandpa, lets his voice lull her to sleep.
This memory is a lie.
viii.
She closes her eyes and her face is on posters. The word Resist accompanies her. She is dead.
ix.
She's going to be a big sister. She's 11 years old and her mom is 8 months pregnant, but her dad still treats her all the same. Her grandpa just laughs like he's psychotic and all she can think is no one has a grandpa like her.
"Etta, honey," her mom mutters with a sleepy smile, "is this okay?"
"It's fine, mom," she replies reassuredly, pencil between her fingers.
"He's going to cry a lot when he comes home," her mother reminds her.
Etta smiles, lightly shakes her head, "I know. You don't have to worry, mom. I'm excited. I can't wait."
"Good," her mom says against her forehead, her lips a ghost teasing the tips of her hair.
This isn't her reality, as much as she wishes it is.
x.
As she lays dying, she remembers everything. The reality. The world she will never know.
She tells them to leave like there's a chance he can undo the damages done.
One day. Maybe. One day.
xi.
Her eyes never really close, not even really when she's sleeping. She's afraid to disappear into a world of dreams because she'll wake to this reality. This reality where the Observers rule the world and the memories with her parents aren't real.
She doesn't like it - doesn't like the world that's lost outside of fantasyland.
Her dreams are always better. She doesn't want to sleep.
xii.
Her parents wedding rings match. It's the little things she notices. That her father seems more natural with it, her mother is overtly aware of its presence. She wishes that she could stop pretending that the world is perfect now that she's found her parents again. Especially since Simon is missing.
Part of her hopes that he's dead, that he isn't trapped in amber where no one can place him. She can't find him. He's the only thing missing from her life.
She swallows and smiles anyway even though a piece of her heart is missing.
xiii.
Her parents are fighting. She's 5 and she hears everything but understands nothing. When they fight, they're all hushed voices and stern gazes - the kind she always gets when they're not playing. She tries to understand but she just doesn't get it.
When she asks her dad if everything's okay, he's always gentle and reassuring, "everything's fine, honey."
When she asks her mom, she always offers her a sad smile and tells Etta a half truth, "it will be."
She always knows for sure that they're fighting because they say good night to her separately; they hug her a little tighter.
She can't trust her memories anymore; she's tired of the lies.
xiv.
Etta misses Simon when she barely even knew him how she wanted to.
xv.
"Peter."
"Don't be mad at yourself. She's not a little girl anymore."
"We found her, Peter, and I failed her."
"Honey," pause, "she's okay. We're okay."
"We're not okay, Peter."
"We will be."
The words are the same. Different voice. Different reality.
It's all beginning to blur. To Etta it's all the same. These are the conversations she overhears through the walls, ones that she can hear the pain in their voice. Her heart aches for them, wishes things were different for her parents sake.
It's then that she knows she never gave up hope; she never stopped loving them.
xvi.
She isn't sure that she remembers anything in actuality, thinks that there's something crossed between the world she wishes she lived in and the one that she really lives in.
She feels closest to reality when Simon's looking at her, open mouthed grin across his mouth and eyes shining bright enough to light up a room. He never touches her, never kisses her, not really, but she's closest to reality then. He touches her once, it isn't on purpose but he doesn't pull back so quickly.
His fingers linger on hers and she counts her breaths, ticks off the seconds that they touch. Her palm turns beneath his, the pads of her fingers brushing over his, and she thinks his eyes drift closed. He looks happy, like his smile means something. In that moment, she thinks that it means everything.
"You're special," Simon whispers; it's the first time that she believes it.
"Oh yeah?" Etta mutters, smile wide, eager like she's in love for the first time.
He smiles back, head tilted as her finger hooks around his; "you're going to do great things."
I love you, lingers on the tip of her tongue but she never says the words because it's a love that he could never return. Maybe in a different time. Maybe in a different universe.
It just wasn't meant to be but she is his all the same.
xvii.
She closes her eyes and reminds herself to breathe. Her fingers find the bullet hanging from her neck. Nothing can save her now.
xviii.
She remembers being 15 and getting her first kiss. Some guy named Jensen or Jackson or Justin. She can't remember now. It doesn't really matter anyway.
Her mom grins at her knowingly as she walks in the front door; "it'll be our little secret."
"Where's dad?" Etta asks, a little nervous that he might already know.
Her mom lightly touches the top of her head, just a few inches taller than Etta now - "he had to go get Grandpa."
Etta nods carefully, "our little secret."
She can't even trust her own memories anymore.
xix.
Her parents sleep on a mattress on the floor, dirty and used and probably disgusting but they don't complain. Her dad pulls her mom close, almost like everything is perfect. She doesn't want to forget this, wants to etch the memory into her brain and convince herself that it's real.
Her mom opens her eyes first, a smile sliding along the expanse of her mouth when she sees Etta standing a few feet away.
Her mom motions Etta to her, stretching arms out as she slides closer to Peter's torso. There's barely enough room on the mattress and she's too old for this, but she doesn't decline - can't decline because the only memories like this that she has aren't even real. She sighs, her body tired and relenting as she pushes off of the doorframe and crawls into her mother's arms.
She feels like she's 4 years old, an opportunity that she didn't even have then.
xx.
Her father's lips touch her mother's.
He calms her to her very core.
Etta misses Simon.
xxi.
She's 3 years, 1 month, 6 days.
She cries out.
No one hears her.
Her parents never come.
This is her reality.
xxii.
She imagines what they were like before she was born. Happy and in love. Kissing and smiling and lounging in bed. She thinks that if she were never born then the world wouldn't be the way it is now, that they would still be happy and together. These are the things she imagines.
And then her father says something.
He says, "it's like living a dream in this horrible nightmare."
And she gets it. Etta gets that they didn't envision much of a life beyond finding her, didn't imagine a life different than what they had and how to get it back. She wishes they were happy, that they had all of these memories to fill the last 24 years.
Things could have been different. This is where she gets her drive forward, her motivation to fight and fight hard to defeat the Observers. She silently hopes that it will fix a past that they could have had.
Hope bleeds eternal.
xxiii.
Her parents share these little secrets, communicate without words.
Some things change.
Some things remain the same.
xxiv.
She's 3 years old, her father's arms stretched out and her mother running at her full speed; she'll always be 3 years old.
xxv.
She never makes it to 25.
etta can't tell the difference between reality and her dreams
a/n: this is for counteragent who donated to fandomaid; i know this isn't exactly what you prompted but there will be something else for you soon :)
i.
Etta sees it like this: her mother and father lounging in a park as she runs around in the green grass - the feel of the blades on her feet, the sunshine beating down on her skin; she thinks about it every day.
ii.
Etta sees her cousin once, she thinks. She doesn't actually know her and couldn't really see the person all that clearly, but she just felt instantly connected like their blood was kind of the same. Ella's hair was blond, eyes shined bright like diamonds, and her smile was easy. Etta can't really remember her though, not really if she tries, because she's too busy grasping on to the memory of her parents.
iii.
Her father smells like dirt and amber and sweat but she likes it a little, doesn't know how she's lived almost her whole life without it. His eyes watch her as she moves around the room and she knows that he's hovering but she's missed him, missed the sense of family. She tries not to read too much into it, tries not to get frustrated that he's watching her, tries to act like she isn't an adult and hasn't lived her entire life without him.
Sometimes she thinks that she's created memories.
iv.
She pictures a world that is normal, ancient, a distant fairytale.
She's 17 and her father's a bit overbearing, threatens her prom date with a shotgun. She just laughs as her mother rolls her eyes, her mother's hands finding her father's bicep to pull him out of the situation. A slow smile spreads on his lips like he's kidding but there's a glint in his eye that Etta knows he's serious.
The secret life of the Bishops, the life that no one knows about - gun weilding FBI agents seeking out the unknown. Retired but not basking in retirement. The Fringe team never really out of business.
These are the memories that only exist in Etta's head.
v.
Her mother feels like home, a safe place that she's never really had before. Her mother watches her differently than her father does but she thinks that ultimately it's just all in her head. Her mother watches her sleep while her father sleeps.
Etta doesn't understand; she hopes she never will.
vi.
She's 19 when she kisses Simon. He takes a half step back, doesn't know how he should react or if it's okay. They are deep under cover, alone because there's no one left. The light hits his eye and she has a vision of the future, of a world that prevails, one that she might take every bit of hate that she has for this world and twist it into a happy future.
Her happiness comes in moments. The smile on Simon's face. The feel of the gun between her fingers as she locks and loads. But mostly just the smile on Simon's face.
The way his lips curl into the ends of his facial hair, disappear into the darkness as he swallows thickly. He has a hint of an accent, one that makes her fingers curl and her eyes pinch at the corners. His smile is contagious.
She kisses him and he doesn't kiss her back, not until much later when she isn't expecting it - his fingers on her jaw, his mouth soft against hers.
vii.
When she's 8 her grandpa tucks her in. Her parents went on a getaway for the weekend but they called to say good night. They were all giggles; she likes the sound of their laughter.
Astrid lingers around the corner but Etta can still see her shadow bounce off of the wall in the hallway. She wishes she would just come in but she won't. She thinks it's funny because she knows that they all think she doesn't get it, doesn't know that her grandpa babysits her and Astrid babysits her grandpa.
She knows more than they think. She never says anything. She simply smiles and hugs her grandpa, lets his voice lull her to sleep.
This memory is a lie.
viii.
She closes her eyes and her face is on posters. The word Resist accompanies her. She is dead.
ix.
She's going to be a big sister. She's 11 years old and her mom is 8 months pregnant, but her dad still treats her all the same. Her grandpa just laughs like he's psychotic and all she can think is no one has a grandpa like her.
"Etta, honey," her mom mutters with a sleepy smile, "is this okay?"
"It's fine, mom," she replies reassuredly, pencil between her fingers.
"He's going to cry a lot when he comes home," her mother reminds her.
Etta smiles, lightly shakes her head, "I know. You don't have to worry, mom. I'm excited. I can't wait."
"Good," her mom says against her forehead, her lips a ghost teasing the tips of her hair.
This isn't her reality, as much as she wishes it is.
x.
As she lays dying, she remembers everything. The reality. The world she will never know.
She tells them to leave like there's a chance he can undo the damages done.
One day. Maybe. One day.
xi.
Her eyes never really close, not even really when she's sleeping. She's afraid to disappear into a world of dreams because she'll wake to this reality. This reality where the Observers rule the world and the memories with her parents aren't real.
She doesn't like it - doesn't like the world that's lost outside of fantasyland.
Her dreams are always better. She doesn't want to sleep.
xii.
Her parents wedding rings match. It's the little things she notices. That her father seems more natural with it, her mother is overtly aware of its presence. She wishes that she could stop pretending that the world is perfect now that she's found her parents again. Especially since Simon is missing.
Part of her hopes that he's dead, that he isn't trapped in amber where no one can place him. She can't find him. He's the only thing missing from her life.
She swallows and smiles anyway even though a piece of her heart is missing.
xiii.
Her parents are fighting. She's 5 and she hears everything but understands nothing. When they fight, they're all hushed voices and stern gazes - the kind she always gets when they're not playing. She tries to understand but she just doesn't get it.
When she asks her dad if everything's okay, he's always gentle and reassuring, "everything's fine, honey."
When she asks her mom, she always offers her a sad smile and tells Etta a half truth, "it will be."
She always knows for sure that they're fighting because they say good night to her separately; they hug her a little tighter.
She can't trust her memories anymore; she's tired of the lies.
xiv.
Etta misses Simon when she barely even knew him how she wanted to.
xv.
"Peter."
"Don't be mad at yourself. She's not a little girl anymore."
"We found her, Peter, and I failed her."
"Honey," pause, "she's okay. We're okay."
"We're not okay, Peter."
"We will be."
The words are the same. Different voice. Different reality.
It's all beginning to blur. To Etta it's all the same. These are the conversations she overhears through the walls, ones that she can hear the pain in their voice. Her heart aches for them, wishes things were different for her parents sake.
It's then that she knows she never gave up hope; she never stopped loving them.
xvi.
She isn't sure that she remembers anything in actuality, thinks that there's something crossed between the world she wishes she lived in and the one that she really lives in.
She feels closest to reality when Simon's looking at her, open mouthed grin across his mouth and eyes shining bright enough to light up a room. He never touches her, never kisses her, not really, but she's closest to reality then. He touches her once, it isn't on purpose but he doesn't pull back so quickly.
His fingers linger on hers and she counts her breaths, ticks off the seconds that they touch. Her palm turns beneath his, the pads of her fingers brushing over his, and she thinks his eyes drift closed. He looks happy, like his smile means something. In that moment, she thinks that it means everything.
"You're special," Simon whispers; it's the first time that she believes it.
"Oh yeah?" Etta mutters, smile wide, eager like she's in love for the first time.
He smiles back, head tilted as her finger hooks around his; "you're going to do great things."
I love you, lingers on the tip of her tongue but she never says the words because it's a love that he could never return. Maybe in a different time. Maybe in a different universe.
It just wasn't meant to be but she is his all the same.
xvii.
She closes her eyes and reminds herself to breathe. Her fingers find the bullet hanging from her neck. Nothing can save her now.
xviii.
She remembers being 15 and getting her first kiss. Some guy named Jensen or Jackson or Justin. She can't remember now. It doesn't really matter anyway.
Her mom grins at her knowingly as she walks in the front door; "it'll be our little secret."
"Where's dad?" Etta asks, a little nervous that he might already know.
Her mom lightly touches the top of her head, just a few inches taller than Etta now - "he had to go get Grandpa."
Etta nods carefully, "our little secret."
She can't even trust her own memories anymore.
xix.
Her parents sleep on a mattress on the floor, dirty and used and probably disgusting but they don't complain. Her dad pulls her mom close, almost like everything is perfect. She doesn't want to forget this, wants to etch the memory into her brain and convince herself that it's real.
Her mom opens her eyes first, a smile sliding along the expanse of her mouth when she sees Etta standing a few feet away.
Her mom motions Etta to her, stretching arms out as she slides closer to Peter's torso. There's barely enough room on the mattress and she's too old for this, but she doesn't decline - can't decline because the only memories like this that she has aren't even real. She sighs, her body tired and relenting as she pushes off of the doorframe and crawls into her mother's arms.
She feels like she's 4 years old, an opportunity that she didn't even have then.
xx.
Her father's lips touch her mother's.
He calms her to her very core.
Etta misses Simon.
xxi.
She's 3 years, 1 month, 6 days.
She cries out.
No one hears her.
Her parents never come.
This is her reality.
xxii.
She imagines what they were like before she was born. Happy and in love. Kissing and smiling and lounging in bed. She thinks that if she were never born then the world wouldn't be the way it is now, that they would still be happy and together. These are the things she imagines.
And then her father says something.
He says, "it's like living a dream in this horrible nightmare."
And she gets it. Etta gets that they didn't envision much of a life beyond finding her, didn't imagine a life different than what they had and how to get it back. She wishes they were happy, that they had all of these memories to fill the last 24 years.
Things could have been different. This is where she gets her drive forward, her motivation to fight and fight hard to defeat the Observers. She silently hopes that it will fix a past that they could have had.
Hope bleeds eternal.
xxiii.
Her parents share these little secrets, communicate without words.
Some things change.
Some things remain the same.
xxiv.
She's 3 years old, her father's arms stretched out and her mother running at her full speed; she'll always be 3 years old.
xxv.
She never makes it to 25.