fic for femslashland
Alias/Fringe Sydney Bristow/Olivia Dunham fanfic for femslash_land, prompt: tender, genre: crime. Pretty rough; it's been a while since I've written fic of any sort, let alone of the fan variety.
“Olivia Dunham, FBI. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
---
It wasn’t often that Sydney Bristow got visitors. That was part of the deal, really, in buying the house: no door-to-door salesman, no unwanted neighbors... best of all, no former KGB agent with a grudge. Her life now was about Vaughn, the kids, and... sure, the occasional helping hand to her former agency, but for the most part, retirement in paradise.
Needless to say, she was not pleased to learn that the CIA had conveniently remembered her address long enough to hand it off to some obscure FBI division.
“Look, I don’t know what your superiors told you, but I’m retired. And not the aging actor willing to accept one more role kind -- I’m totally, 100% done.” Sydney placed a coffee mug in front of the jet lagged agent, which was received with a faint smile. “I have a family now, and kids, and a life. I’m not going to risk all of that again.”
Olivia raised her eyebrows, something clearly brewing that she wanted to say, but withheld the thought. Instead: “I’m not asking you to come back. I just need to talk to you about Rambaldi.”
This caught Sydney off guard. “What do you know about Rambaldi?”
“Well,” Olivia started, then paused. “I know he’s a... prophet of sorts, inventor, lived in the mid to late 15th century... I know about his inventions and the power struggle between the CIA and other major agencies to get their hands on them. Most importantly, I know about your involvement and prominence in the retrieval of these inventions.”
There was a moment as Sydney struggled to gain her bearings, finally sitting down in the seat opposite Olivia and knitting her fingers together. “Let me rephrase the question -- how do you know about Rambaldi? This stuff has been highly classified and dead for years -- it can’t possibly have any relevance to the FBI.”
“Unfortunately, it does.” Olivia reached into her briefcase and pulled out a few case files, gently pushing them toward Sydney. Puzzled, she picked them up, eyes narrowing as Olivia spoke. “Rambaldi’s journal has been a kind of... pet project to our scientist at Fringe division. The CIA never really thought anything would come of it, considering the Rambaldi craze had already come and gone six years ago, so they really thought nothing of letting him have a look.” Olivia pushed another file toward Sydney, who reluctantly put the first one down to see what she was pointing at. “He found something. Another hidden code in the text, documenting the location of another Rambaldi device.” Sydney looked at the map that she’d been given, penned over in notes by what seemed to be a frantic hand.
“Paris,” Sydney muttered.
“And we’re not the only ones who know.”
A familiar cocky expression stared up at Sydney from the last file on the table. A particular British bastard that she remembered all too well. Damn him for getting caught on footage so cleanly. That was practically a taunt.
Sydney gritted her teeth and sighed.
“I’m not letting you do this alone.”
---
Having a voice in her ear wasn’t exactly something Sydney missed from her days at the CIA.
She’d startled Olivia, agreeing to go with her. More than that, she’d startled the team -- plans were already made, rules already set, tactics already worked out... but she’d insisted. She knew Sark. She knew his weak points, his strategies -- it made sense for her to be in the field on this one.
She just wished that Vaughn had seen it as clearly as she had. Trying to talk her out of it escalated into a fight, and she hadn’t had time to reconcile before getting on the flight back to Boston. She understood, she really did, but this was bigger than the two of them living Barbie and Ken in their dream house. As competent as Agent Dunham seemed to be, she and her team of misfits would have been throttled by a Sark six years wiser.
She tried not to think about how she’d fare against him six years out of practice.
“Agent Bristow, are you there?” The voice was that of one Agent Farnsworth, who had been unceremoniously demoted to surveillance for the mission after Sydney had jumped on board. She almost felt guilty until she reassured herself that she’d taken her out of the line of fire.
“I’m here. Call sign Freelancer, please.” Olivia spared Sydney a glance from where she was across the hotel room, awkwardly shimmying pantyhose up her leg, clearly out of practice.
“Um, we don’t use call signs, actually,” came Agent Farnsworth’s voice from the other end. “I can call you that if it’ll make you more at ease, but our technology is virtually untappable. I’m pretty sure no-one outside of Fringe division even has the know-how to get on this frequency.”
Sydney tried not to let her embarrassment tint her reply. “Copy. Bristow’s fine.” She looked over to where Olivia was struggling to zip up the back of her dress. In a few swift strides, she was behind her in the mirror, pulling the zip closed. She quickly silenced her earpiece, and Olivia followed suit.
“You get a certain flexibility for it after a while.”
“Dresses aren’t really my area of expertise,” Olivia admitted. “Uh, are you gonna get changed?”
Sydney looked puzzled. “I haven’t exactly been given wardrobe. And neither have you -- are you really just going out with no disguise?”
“Well, I guess I’m not exactly blacklisted by multiple international organizations, so I can afford to just put on a dress.” Olivia furrowed her brows. “Do you... should we find you something more?”
“Probably.”
“Right.”
---
The ballroom was huge.
Decked out with shimmering chandeliers and gold baubles, it didn’t take long for Sydney to fall back into her old stride. It was hard not to; dressed in a beautiful gold gown and auburn hair braided down her back, she felt every part the rich French businesswoman she was meant to portray.
Olivia, on the other hand, stuck out like a sore thumb. Stoic and deeply rooted to her wine glass, her eyes pierced the room as she sought out persons of interest. There was something to be admired in her observational skills, but her lack of espionage training was bleeding through every pore of her being.
Sydney did the first thing that came to mind.
“Cherie, now is not the time for such moping!” She exclaimed in heavily accented English, grasping a confused-looking Olivia by the hand. “We are in a beautiful palace in my native France! It is time to celebrate! Danse avec moi.” Sydney pulled her struggling partner in close, praying to whomever happened to be listening that Agent Dunham knew a basic waltz. Heaven shone in her favor; Olivia started to move.
She got the point from that moment forward: She didn’t just need to look the part, she needed to act it. That didn’t quite mask all of her awkwardness, unfortunately, but luckily for the duo, it kind of lent itself to the portrayal of an English woman here with her... “friend”. Sydney couldn’t say she was quite sure why she jumped to lesbian couple, but she chalked it up to having one too many male partners on missions.
From then on, things went smoother. Sydney laughed and worked the crowd, standing out to blend in. Olivia was practically joined at her hip, giving people half smiles and quick “no French” replies, scoping out the room while managing some level of character.
Until--
“I’m sorry, something’s just come up,” Olivia broke into Sydney’s current conversation in English, causing Sydney to flutter and quickly translate her words into French. “Terribly sorry, um, we’re needed with the host.” Smoothly pulling Sydney away from the crowd, she muttered under her breath: “Sark’s here. We have to move.”
“Distract him.”
“What?”
“He doesn’t know who you are, just... throw a glass of wine on him or something. That’ll tick him off.” Sydney actually rather wished she could do that herself. “Just keep him occupied for a few minutes while I disable the alarms. Then we can go down, retrieve the artifact, and get out.”
Sydney slipped away before she could see Olivia’s reply, but as she slipped through the door, she heard a splash and a gasp.
---
Of course, things just couldn’t be that easy. Ever.
She started to suspect things had gone awry when Olivia didn’t meet her in the vault as planned. Still, she had to complete the mission, pulling out her lock pick and starting to decode the safe’s password.
“Sydney Bristow. And here I’d heard you were out of the family business.”
That’s when she knew things had gone awry.
Letting out a slight hiss under her breath, Sydney backed away from the safe, slowly turning around. Great: Olivia with a gun to her head, Sark looking as nonchalant as he ever did six years previous.
“In your dreams.”
“I’m pleased you haven’t, actually. Thwarting various government agencies really isn’t hard work. But there’s only one Sydney Bristow.” Sark slowly advanced on Sydney, eyes dark. “I know you have a gun. Drop it.”
Slowly reaching up her dress, she pulled her gun out of the holster on her thigh, dangling it above the ground. “I don’t suppose I get a please.”
“I don’t suppose you value this woman’s life,” Sark retorted. “The gun, if you would.” It dropped with a clatter. “Good girl.” Sydney visibly bristled, and instantly wished she hadn’t; the smug look on Sark’s face wasn’t worth the momentary anger. “So Sydney -- a new partner? I must say, she is more attractive than your previous, though extraordinarily untrained. Plus, she ruined one of my favorite suits.”
“What do you need the device for?” Olivia’s voice startled the two of them, tearing their gaze away from each other to look at her. Sark looked almost impressed by her audacity, Sydney noted smugly.
“More vocal than Agent Vaughn, too,” he noted distastefully, tightening his grip on her arm. “If I were you, I’d--”
He didn’t get to complete the thought. Olivia suddenly yanked away from him, overpowering him through the sudden surprise and smacking his gun to the ground, forcing him up against the wall. Sydney, quick on the uptake, grabbed both guns from the floor, aiming hers at him for good measure.
“Shut up,” Olivia growled, completing his thought.
---
“I underestimated you,” Sydney admitted once they were back in the hotel.
“Well, uh, I wouldn’t have been able to do it if you hadn’t distracted him,” Olivia conceded with a shrug. “We got the device, we got a notorious criminal in our custody -- that isn’t all me.”
“Maybe,” Sydney said with a mutter, sitting on her bed. “Is that really the end of it, then? Please tell me your scientist didn’t crack any more secret codes.”
“I couldn’t tell you. You’d have to ask him.” Olivia paused. “Uh, maybe it’s better if I do, on second thought.” She sat down in a chair to start rolling her panty hose back down, clearly relieved to be rid of it. “Are you gonna go back?”
“Hm?”
“To your home.”
“I’d like to,” Sydney said slowly. “I’d like to be able to put all this behind me again.”
“Are you happy?” Sydney looked up, startled. Olivia quickly looked flushed. “Uh, I’m sorry, that was too forward. I mean, it’s just -- you’re in the middle of the ocean, I’d feel... stranded.”
“I have Vaughn,” she answered slowly. “And my kids. I... guess it isn’t exactly the ending I would have chosen for myself, but it’s what I have, and Vaughn’s just... so happy.”
“But... are you?”
Sydney shifted uncomfortably, changing the subject. “Would you mind if I stayed in Boston a few days? Just to make sure that little brat stays put.” Olivia laughed. “Plus, I’d like to meet your team. You guys saved my butt back there.” Standing back to walk to the bathroom for a shower, she lightly brushing a hand against Olivia’s shoulder. “Thank you.” She let it slide away as she went.
She heard a light “you’re welcome” as she closed the door behind her.
“Olivia Dunham, FBI. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
---
It wasn’t often that Sydney Bristow got visitors. That was part of the deal, really, in buying the house: no door-to-door salesman, no unwanted neighbors... best of all, no former KGB agent with a grudge. Her life now was about Vaughn, the kids, and... sure, the occasional helping hand to her former agency, but for the most part, retirement in paradise.
Needless to say, she was not pleased to learn that the CIA had conveniently remembered her address long enough to hand it off to some obscure FBI division.
“Look, I don’t know what your superiors told you, but I’m retired. And not the aging actor willing to accept one more role kind -- I’m totally, 100% done.” Sydney placed a coffee mug in front of the jet lagged agent, which was received with a faint smile. “I have a family now, and kids, and a life. I’m not going to risk all of that again.”
Olivia raised her eyebrows, something clearly brewing that she wanted to say, but withheld the thought. Instead: “I’m not asking you to come back. I just need to talk to you about Rambaldi.”
This caught Sydney off guard. “What do you know about Rambaldi?”
“Well,” Olivia started, then paused. “I know he’s a... prophet of sorts, inventor, lived in the mid to late 15th century... I know about his inventions and the power struggle between the CIA and other major agencies to get their hands on them. Most importantly, I know about your involvement and prominence in the retrieval of these inventions.”
There was a moment as Sydney struggled to gain her bearings, finally sitting down in the seat opposite Olivia and knitting her fingers together. “Let me rephrase the question -- how do you know about Rambaldi? This stuff has been highly classified and dead for years -- it can’t possibly have any relevance to the FBI.”
“Unfortunately, it does.” Olivia reached into her briefcase and pulled out a few case files, gently pushing them toward Sydney. Puzzled, she picked them up, eyes narrowing as Olivia spoke. “Rambaldi’s journal has been a kind of... pet project to our scientist at Fringe division. The CIA never really thought anything would come of it, considering the Rambaldi craze had already come and gone six years ago, so they really thought nothing of letting him have a look.” Olivia pushed another file toward Sydney, who reluctantly put the first one down to see what she was pointing at. “He found something. Another hidden code in the text, documenting the location of another Rambaldi device.” Sydney looked at the map that she’d been given, penned over in notes by what seemed to be a frantic hand.
“Paris,” Sydney muttered.
“And we’re not the only ones who know.”
A familiar cocky expression stared up at Sydney from the last file on the table. A particular British bastard that she remembered all too well. Damn him for getting caught on footage so cleanly. That was practically a taunt.
Sydney gritted her teeth and sighed.
“I’m not letting you do this alone.”
---
Having a voice in her ear wasn’t exactly something Sydney missed from her days at the CIA.
She’d startled Olivia, agreeing to go with her. More than that, she’d startled the team -- plans were already made, rules already set, tactics already worked out... but she’d insisted. She knew Sark. She knew his weak points, his strategies -- it made sense for her to be in the field on this one.
She just wished that Vaughn had seen it as clearly as she had. Trying to talk her out of it escalated into a fight, and she hadn’t had time to reconcile before getting on the flight back to Boston. She understood, she really did, but this was bigger than the two of them living Barbie and Ken in their dream house. As competent as Agent Dunham seemed to be, she and her team of misfits would have been throttled by a Sark six years wiser.
She tried not to think about how she’d fare against him six years out of practice.
“Agent Bristow, are you there?” The voice was that of one Agent Farnsworth, who had been unceremoniously demoted to surveillance for the mission after Sydney had jumped on board. She almost felt guilty until she reassured herself that she’d taken her out of the line of fire.
“I’m here. Call sign Freelancer, please.” Olivia spared Sydney a glance from where she was across the hotel room, awkwardly shimmying pantyhose up her leg, clearly out of practice.
“Um, we don’t use call signs, actually,” came Agent Farnsworth’s voice from the other end. “I can call you that if it’ll make you more at ease, but our technology is virtually untappable. I’m pretty sure no-one outside of Fringe division even has the know-how to get on this frequency.”
Sydney tried not to let her embarrassment tint her reply. “Copy. Bristow’s fine.” She looked over to where Olivia was struggling to zip up the back of her dress. In a few swift strides, she was behind her in the mirror, pulling the zip closed. She quickly silenced her earpiece, and Olivia followed suit.
“You get a certain flexibility for it after a while.”
“Dresses aren’t really my area of expertise,” Olivia admitted. “Uh, are you gonna get changed?”
Sydney looked puzzled. “I haven’t exactly been given wardrobe. And neither have you -- are you really just going out with no disguise?”
“Well, I guess I’m not exactly blacklisted by multiple international organizations, so I can afford to just put on a dress.” Olivia furrowed her brows. “Do you... should we find you something more?”
“Probably.”
“Right.”
---
The ballroom was huge.
Decked out with shimmering chandeliers and gold baubles, it didn’t take long for Sydney to fall back into her old stride. It was hard not to; dressed in a beautiful gold gown and auburn hair braided down her back, she felt every part the rich French businesswoman she was meant to portray.
Olivia, on the other hand, stuck out like a sore thumb. Stoic and deeply rooted to her wine glass, her eyes pierced the room as she sought out persons of interest. There was something to be admired in her observational skills, but her lack of espionage training was bleeding through every pore of her being.
Sydney did the first thing that came to mind.
“Cherie, now is not the time for such moping!” She exclaimed in heavily accented English, grasping a confused-looking Olivia by the hand. “We are in a beautiful palace in my native France! It is time to celebrate! Danse avec moi.” Sydney pulled her struggling partner in close, praying to whomever happened to be listening that Agent Dunham knew a basic waltz. Heaven shone in her favor; Olivia started to move.
She got the point from that moment forward: She didn’t just need to look the part, she needed to act it. That didn’t quite mask all of her awkwardness, unfortunately, but luckily for the duo, it kind of lent itself to the portrayal of an English woman here with her... “friend”. Sydney couldn’t say she was quite sure why she jumped to lesbian couple, but she chalked it up to having one too many male partners on missions.
From then on, things went smoother. Sydney laughed and worked the crowd, standing out to blend in. Olivia was practically joined at her hip, giving people half smiles and quick “no French” replies, scoping out the room while managing some level of character.
Until--
“I’m sorry, something’s just come up,” Olivia broke into Sydney’s current conversation in English, causing Sydney to flutter and quickly translate her words into French. “Terribly sorry, um, we’re needed with the host.” Smoothly pulling Sydney away from the crowd, she muttered under her breath: “Sark’s here. We have to move.”
“Distract him.”
“What?”
“He doesn’t know who you are, just... throw a glass of wine on him or something. That’ll tick him off.” Sydney actually rather wished she could do that herself. “Just keep him occupied for a few minutes while I disable the alarms. Then we can go down, retrieve the artifact, and get out.”
Sydney slipped away before she could see Olivia’s reply, but as she slipped through the door, she heard a splash and a gasp.
---
Of course, things just couldn’t be that easy. Ever.
She started to suspect things had gone awry when Olivia didn’t meet her in the vault as planned. Still, she had to complete the mission, pulling out her lock pick and starting to decode the safe’s password.
“Sydney Bristow. And here I’d heard you were out of the family business.”
That’s when she knew things had gone awry.
Letting out a slight hiss under her breath, Sydney backed away from the safe, slowly turning around. Great: Olivia with a gun to her head, Sark looking as nonchalant as he ever did six years previous.
“In your dreams.”
“I’m pleased you haven’t, actually. Thwarting various government agencies really isn’t hard work. But there’s only one Sydney Bristow.” Sark slowly advanced on Sydney, eyes dark. “I know you have a gun. Drop it.”
Slowly reaching up her dress, she pulled her gun out of the holster on her thigh, dangling it above the ground. “I don’t suppose I get a please.”
“I don’t suppose you value this woman’s life,” Sark retorted. “The gun, if you would.” It dropped with a clatter. “Good girl.” Sydney visibly bristled, and instantly wished she hadn’t; the smug look on Sark’s face wasn’t worth the momentary anger. “So Sydney -- a new partner? I must say, she is more attractive than your previous, though extraordinarily untrained. Plus, she ruined one of my favorite suits.”
“What do you need the device for?” Olivia’s voice startled the two of them, tearing their gaze away from each other to look at her. Sark looked almost impressed by her audacity, Sydney noted smugly.
“More vocal than Agent Vaughn, too,” he noted distastefully, tightening his grip on her arm. “If I were you, I’d--”
He didn’t get to complete the thought. Olivia suddenly yanked away from him, overpowering him through the sudden surprise and smacking his gun to the ground, forcing him up against the wall. Sydney, quick on the uptake, grabbed both guns from the floor, aiming hers at him for good measure.
“Shut up,” Olivia growled, completing his thought.
---
“I underestimated you,” Sydney admitted once they were back in the hotel.
“Well, uh, I wouldn’t have been able to do it if you hadn’t distracted him,” Olivia conceded with a shrug. “We got the device, we got a notorious criminal in our custody -- that isn’t all me.”
“Maybe,” Sydney said with a mutter, sitting on her bed. “Is that really the end of it, then? Please tell me your scientist didn’t crack any more secret codes.”
“I couldn’t tell you. You’d have to ask him.” Olivia paused. “Uh, maybe it’s better if I do, on second thought.” She sat down in a chair to start rolling her panty hose back down, clearly relieved to be rid of it. “Are you gonna go back?”
“Hm?”
“To your home.”
“I’d like to,” Sydney said slowly. “I’d like to be able to put all this behind me again.”
“Are you happy?” Sydney looked up, startled. Olivia quickly looked flushed. “Uh, I’m sorry, that was too forward. I mean, it’s just -- you’re in the middle of the ocean, I’d feel... stranded.”
“I have Vaughn,” she answered slowly. “And my kids. I... guess it isn’t exactly the ending I would have chosen for myself, but it’s what I have, and Vaughn’s just... so happy.”
“But... are you?”
Sydney shifted uncomfortably, changing the subject. “Would you mind if I stayed in Boston a few days? Just to make sure that little brat stays put.” Olivia laughed. “Plus, I’d like to meet your team. You guys saved my butt back there.” Standing back to walk to the bathroom for a shower, she lightly brushing a hand against Olivia’s shoulder. “Thank you.” She let it slide away as she went.
She heard a light “you’re welcome” as she closed the door behind her.