(no subject)
Fandom: Guiding Light
Title: calls and conversations
Pairing: Olivia/Natalia
Rating: G/PG
Summary: The thing is, Natalia had kind of hoped she was done waiting for things.
Spoilers: May 12th episode.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to P&G, CBS, and TeleNext. Title borrowed from the Dixie Chicks ("Easy Silence").
Notes: uselessmarks wanted angst. I tried!
Natalia figures she should be used to this by now. Be used to the uncertainties, be used to questions, be used to waiting. She’d waited for Nicky, sort of. Waited for the idea of Nicky (Gus? To her he would always be Nicky). That she had found him and married him was pure luck. She’d waited for her son; waited for that cold, unforgiving place to spit Rafe back out for her. She’d kept up the smiles and baked cookies, and waited for Frank to be the one, to live up to his pleasant reputation, to make her happy.
But the thing is, Natalia had kind of hoped she was done waiting for things. Because Rafe is out of prison and she’s been making memories - new ones, good ones, ones that cocoon around her at night like a heavy blanket, keeping her safe. And while one of those memories is upstairs, curled tightly around a stuffed bear, the other one is not where she should be.
The telephone call was supposed to make it easier, the waiting, but it didn’t. It didn’t, and now she’s sitting in the kitchen, sitting on a hardbacked chair because she has to stay awake. If she sits on the couch, she’ll fall asleep, and if she falls asleep, she’s going to have to wake up and remember the guilty, painful words her dreams have covered up, so it’s easier to stay awake. Easier to be still remembering the look in Buzz’s eyes and Doris’ deliberately offhand comments than to learn them anew in the morning.
She hates that she’s done this to people - that people are hurting because of her. It’s causing her actual, physical pain, and now the clock on the oven is blinking an orange 1:03 am and she should by all rights be asleep, because she has to get up and make Emma’s lunch in exactly six hours, but Buzz is still boring into her with his stare, and Doris is still doing guilt-driven favors for the man she left at the altar.
Her fingers reach up to the gold cross at her neck, playing absently with it. Usually, the simple motion soothes her, reminds her of what she knows, keeps her strong. But lately that little symbol has been giving her more questions than answers, and it’s slowly becoming not so soothing anymore, which scares her and kind of makes her angry.
And she hates that she’s sitting here, hates that she’s so lost, hates that maybe her faith is leaving her behind, hates that it feels like there’s only one person who can make her feel grounded, solid, whole again. But most of all, she hates that she doesn’t seem to be able to survive this on her own.
Natalia Rivera, the mother who brought up a kid by herself, can’t handle the logical pain of a father whose son is hurting, can’t handle the two word phrase Springfield’s closeted mayor has left still ringing in her ears, can’t handle an unexpected trip to San Francisco.
So she runs a hand through her hair (again), feels the hard wood of the chair pressing uncomfortably into her back, and waits.
At exactly 4:17 am her cell phone blares out a ringtone, jarring her awake (she isn’t aware she’d fallen asleep).
"I know it’s late, and I didn’t actually think you’d be awake, I was just-”
“O-Olivia?”
“Yeah, hi.” Her voice is low, quiet almost.
“It’s two in the morning there, what are you doing awake?”
Olivia lets out a chuckle, loud enough for Natalia to hear. “I should be asking you the same question, Miss 4 AM.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Me neither.” She pauses. “Your message, it sounded.. are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Natalia realizes suddenly that yes, she is, now. Because the guilt-tripping eyes and favors have disappeared (for the moment) with the sound of Olivia’s voice.
“Now,” she adds, for emphasis. She takes a breath. “I miss you.”
There’s a pause, on the other side, and Natalia wonders if Olivia’s nodded off. Then,
“I. I love you.”
“I-“ Natalia yawns, suddenly, right in the middle of her sentence, and finally notices just how tired she is, how tiring this waiting thing is. She’s pretty sure she could fall asleep at the table, and is resigned to the fact that she probably will, because upstairs seems impossibly far away. She rubs at her eyes, then tries again.
“I love you too.”
Title: calls and conversations
Pairing: Olivia/Natalia
Rating: G/PG
Summary: The thing is, Natalia had kind of hoped she was done waiting for things.
Spoilers: May 12th episode.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to P&G, CBS, and TeleNext. Title borrowed from the Dixie Chicks ("Easy Silence").
Notes: uselessmarks wanted angst. I tried!
Natalia figures she should be used to this by now. Be used to the uncertainties, be used to questions, be used to waiting. She’d waited for Nicky, sort of. Waited for the idea of Nicky (Gus? To her he would always be Nicky). That she had found him and married him was pure luck. She’d waited for her son; waited for that cold, unforgiving place to spit Rafe back out for her. She’d kept up the smiles and baked cookies, and waited for Frank to be the one, to live up to his pleasant reputation, to make her happy.
But the thing is, Natalia had kind of hoped she was done waiting for things. Because Rafe is out of prison and she’s been making memories - new ones, good ones, ones that cocoon around her at night like a heavy blanket, keeping her safe. And while one of those memories is upstairs, curled tightly around a stuffed bear, the other one is not where she should be.
The telephone call was supposed to make it easier, the waiting, but it didn’t. It didn’t, and now she’s sitting in the kitchen, sitting on a hardbacked chair because she has to stay awake. If she sits on the couch, she’ll fall asleep, and if she falls asleep, she’s going to have to wake up and remember the guilty, painful words her dreams have covered up, so it’s easier to stay awake. Easier to be still remembering the look in Buzz’s eyes and Doris’ deliberately offhand comments than to learn them anew in the morning.
She hates that she’s done this to people - that people are hurting because of her. It’s causing her actual, physical pain, and now the clock on the oven is blinking an orange 1:03 am and she should by all rights be asleep, because she has to get up and make Emma’s lunch in exactly six hours, but Buzz is still boring into her with his stare, and Doris is still doing guilt-driven favors for the man she left at the altar.
Her fingers reach up to the gold cross at her neck, playing absently with it. Usually, the simple motion soothes her, reminds her of what she knows, keeps her strong. But lately that little symbol has been giving her more questions than answers, and it’s slowly becoming not so soothing anymore, which scares her and kind of makes her angry.
And she hates that she’s sitting here, hates that she’s so lost, hates that maybe her faith is leaving her behind, hates that it feels like there’s only one person who can make her feel grounded, solid, whole again. But most of all, she hates that she doesn’t seem to be able to survive this on her own.
Natalia Rivera, the mother who brought up a kid by herself, can’t handle the logical pain of a father whose son is hurting, can’t handle the two word phrase Springfield’s closeted mayor has left still ringing in her ears, can’t handle an unexpected trip to San Francisco.
So she runs a hand through her hair (again), feels the hard wood of the chair pressing uncomfortably into her back, and waits.
At exactly 4:17 am her cell phone blares out a ringtone, jarring her awake (she isn’t aware she’d fallen asleep).
"I know it’s late, and I didn’t actually think you’d be awake, I was just-”
“O-Olivia?”
“Yeah, hi.” Her voice is low, quiet almost.
“It’s two in the morning there, what are you doing awake?”
Olivia lets out a chuckle, loud enough for Natalia to hear. “I should be asking you the same question, Miss 4 AM.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Me neither.” She pauses. “Your message, it sounded.. are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Natalia realizes suddenly that yes, she is, now. Because the guilt-tripping eyes and favors have disappeared (for the moment) with the sound of Olivia’s voice.
“Now,” she adds, for emphasis. She takes a breath. “I miss you.”
There’s a pause, on the other side, and Natalia wonders if Olivia’s nodded off. Then,
“I. I love you.”
“I-“ Natalia yawns, suddenly, right in the middle of her sentence, and finally notices just how tired she is, how tiring this waiting thing is. She’s pretty sure she could fall asleep at the table, and is resigned to the fact that she probably will, because upstairs seems impossibly far away. She rubs at her eyes, then tries again.
“I love you too.”