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misscamFive Futures Olivia and Lloyd Didn't Have (and One Present They're Living)
bymisscam
Summary: One way or another, the future always happens. [FlashForward. Lloyd/Olivia]
Rating: Teen. One bad word, and implied adult activities.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, just my words.
Author's Note: Spoilers for the series finale. Five AU scenarios and one post-finale scene. With thanks tohelen_halliwell and lulubellnyc, who've been very encouraging.
II
"Bollocks!"
It is, Olivia reflects, an unusual choice of words for a first meeting, but then, this is not the most usual first meeting she has ever had. She doesn't crash into strangers carrying Styrofoam on a very frequent basis, that's for sure.
"I-I am so sorry," the stranger says, the tilt in his voice revealing he is British, if the choice of curse hadn't already. His hair is delightfully windswept (an not uncommon occurrence in Greater Boston) and she has a strange urge to lace her fingers in it.
Instead it's him that lifts a hand to her hair, and she has a moment to blink in confusion before he lowers it again and she sees what he has removed.
"You got a lepton in your hair," he says apologetically.
She blinks for a moment, then smiles a little. "Physicist?"
"Yes," he admits. "Does it show?"
"Only a little," she says, lowering her gaze to the Styrofoam massacre at his feet. "What did I break?"
"You didn't," he says, smiling, and she finds herself thinking the word gentle, "I-I should have looked where I was going. It was rubbish anyway, just a Styrofoam standard model."
"I crushed your Styrofoam representation of the standard model?"
He nods, looking a bit downcast despite the declaration it was rubbish. It makes it all but irresistible to want to fix it.
"Maybe I can help you rebuild it?" she offers and he looks at her with a gaze that makes her toes curl a little.
"I'd l-love that," he says, and she has an absurd thought that that isn't the only thing he could love.
"I'm Lloyd," he continues, extending a hand. She takes it, feeling the warmth of his palm seep into hers.
"Olivia," she says, and his smile wides.
"Olivia," he repeats, as if her name is something to treasure.
Later, he will say her name again in the same way, and she will kiss him while holding a Styrofoam quark. Later than that, she will stumble with him onto her bed and sleep with him for the first time on top of her Common Complications After Extensive Surgery textbook and the second time on top of his draft paper on photons. Much later, she will marry him and the never-quite-repaired standard model will remain a household item in the Simcoe house, to much amusement for their children.
For now, she just smiles as she helps Lloyd pick up the pieces scattered around them, never noticing the stranger watching the scene from a corner, a strange smile on his lips.
II
This bar is rubbish, Olivia has long since decided. It shouldn't have taken four drinks to decide that, and it really shouldn't require her to have a fifth to make sure.
She still orders it, listening to the noise around her and letting it deafen the roar inside her head.
"Nice legs!" a voice next to her exclaims, and she doesn't even bother to look sideways.
"Go away," she says firmly.
"You wound me."
"Not as much as I could," she says, and she hears a low chuckle before mercifully, the stool next to her is vacant again. But not for long.
"Hey," the stranger says. The unfamiliar accent does make her glance to her side, meeting green eyes briefly. "I hope Simon didn't b-bother you, I told him not to."
She shrugs, staring at her glass again. She still can't understand what is so important in it, important enough to make her less so.
'Fuck you, Mark,' she thinks.
"Well, I'm sorry," the stranger continues, and she finally looks at him properly. He looks apologetic and sincere, and she wonders if the sincerity is genuine. All too often with people, it is not.
"Don't be," she says darkly. "We can't control the actions of others."
"R-right," he agrees, his eyebrows furrowing a little, as if he's wondering the tone is directed at him or not.
"I left my fiance because he's drinking and I'm going to a bar," she says, laughing bitterly. "I don't know why I'm telling you this."
"I look like an agony aunt?" he suggests, and then she does laugh genuinely. He smiles at that, and she thinks he has a rather lovely smile, actually.
"You look fine," she assures him, and his smile holds as he looks at her.
"Would you like to go for a walk?" he offers. "I think Simon would try again and I would hate to have to take him to the ER."
"Don't worry," she tells him. "I'm a surgeon. I could patch him up again afterwards. But I would like a walk."
When she slides off the bar stool, he is already offering her the crook of his arm, looking just a touch awkward as he does.
Later, she will learn his name is Lloyd and he'll learn hers is Olivia and they'll both learn how the other likes their coffee. Later than that, he will take her on a date to an Indian restaurant and will still taste of spices when she kisses him outside her door. Much later, she will laugh at his very awkward proposal involving a metaphor on wave-particle duality and kiss him as fiercely as physics will allow her.
For now, she takes his offered arm and walks out, not really paying that much attention to the muttering stranger at the door they pass on the way.
II
"Doctor Benford, I presume," a British voice says next to her, and she looks up to see an offered hand. "I'm Lloyd Simcoe."
"Oh, right," she mutters, the name ringing a faint bell. "Dylan's father."
"Yes," he says as she shakes his hand briefly, his eyes very large and green as he looks at her. "You saved his life, I understand."
"I'm sorry I couldn't save your wife," she says, and he nods slowly.
"We were separated," he admits. "But t-thank you. I'm afraid I haven't been there for Dylan as much as I should have because of that."
She nods in understanding. "It is hard to balance children and a divorce."
He nods, and she wonders if he picked up the unspoken 'I know' in her sentence. It has been half a year, and she's still not sure she did the right thing leaving Mark. Charlie is still crying at night sometimes, and Mark's obsessive attitude to work hasn't gotten any better.
"I have a fair amount of questions regarding Dylan," Lloyd goes on. "Could I tempt you to a coffee with a worried parent in the cafeteria?"
"Mr. Simcoe..."
"Lloyd," he insists.
"Lloyd," she agrees. "I am quite busy at the moment."
"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm afraid I'm the annoying parent."
"I think I'd call it 'caring'," she says, and his smile makes something in her thaw a little. "I am busy at the moment, but if you'd still like a coffee with an overworked trauma surgeon after my shift is over..."
"I'd love that," he says firmly. "Thank you, doctor Ben... Olivia."
Later, she will have coffee and questions with Lloyd Simcoe and both of them will get unexpected answers out of it. Later than that, she'll take both him and Dylan out because too much time in the hospital is not good for anyone, and find it rather good for her too. Much later, she will ask Lloyd and Dylan to move in with her and Charlie and it will be a strangely whole family coming from two halves.
For now, she watches him walk away with a certain interest, not paying too much attention to the keen interest the savant patient in a bed across the hall is giving them both.
II
"They beat him up pretty bad," the FBI agent says, and Olivia knows she's supposed to remember the agent's name. One of Mark's colleagues, but the names have started to fade from memory somewhat, just as the grief as.
"I will patch him up good," she says reassuringly. "Lloyd Simcoe, was it?"
"Yes," a familiar yet unfamiliar voice says, and she meets the gaze of the man they all saw take responsibility for the blackout. His face and hair is still streaked by blood, but it is the pain in his eyes that makes her breath catch a little.
"I'm doctor Benford," she says, taking his hand carefully in hers as she hears the agent behind her slip away. "Can you move your fingers for me, Mr. Simcoe?"
He does, and she tries not to notice the faint outline of a shoe across his hand. No bones appear to be broken, and his fingers curl around hers just for a moment.
"It was incredibly brave what you did," she says, feeling his shoulder carefully. "Coming forward like that."
"I think the line between brave and stupid is a pretty blurry one," he says, then winces. "And painful."
She smiles, he returns it a bit hesitantly.
"You work with the FBI?" he asks. "The agent seemed to stress you were trustworthy."
"My husband was in the FBI," she says lightly. Lloyd's face seems to fall just a moment, before he catches himself. "He died during the blackout."
"O-oh," Lloyd says, sounding pained. "I'm sorry. You have every reason to hate me."
"I don't," she says. "You didn't intend for this to happen, did you?"
"No," he says darkly, the word strained with guilt also. "Simon thinks someone hijacked our experiment, that we're not to b-blame. I wish I could believe it, I wish I could..."
"I think you're a good man, Mr. Simcoe," she says softly, feeling his chest rise and fall under her hands. "And you have a fractured rib."
He looks at her with something close to longing, and she wonders why it should matter to her that Lloyd Simcoe doesn't think himself a villain. Because it seems to matter, every since he looked at her.
"We'll have you healed in no time," she assures him.
"Thank y-you," he says, then wets his lips slightly. "Olivia."
"I'll be right back, Lloyd," she says, touching his hand briefly and smiling.
Later, she will keep him overnight for observation and end up talking to him more than observing him. Later than that, she'll declare him physically healed and help him with the bruises that aren't on the body. Much later, he'll kiss her on a bench outside the hospital and she will know he's one of the best men she has ever met.
For now, she walks over to the FBI agent whose name she can't remember, remembering very well how Lloyd's name sounded on her lips and not minding the janitor too much; he always mumbles about getting the future right.
II
"I'm so sorry for your loss," a voice says, as so many have today. She nods before she looks up, noting the black suit and the slightly awkward expression, but dismissing the notion of him as another FBI agent nevertheless. There is something about him that just seems to discount it.
"Lloyd Simcoe," he says. "I was working with your husband."
"Right," she murmurs. "You were one of the scientific advisers. I think he mentioned you from time to time. You were working on preventing another blackout."
"R-right," Lloyd agrees, looking intently at her. "I'm sorry I couldn't..."
She laughs, startling even herself. "He was determined to be at that office, regardless of what he had seen in his flashforward. What could you have done, Mr. Simcoe? Talked to him? I tried that so many times, I tried for Charlie, I tried..."
She chokes, and a moment later she feels Lloyd's arms around her while she presses her face into his shirt. It isn't quite crying – her sobs are all dry – but it's still strangely cathartic.
Lloyd's hands are moving across her back, gentle and calming, as he slowly guides her to a bench where they both sit. She can feel Demetri look at her, but he doesn't approach. After coming to tell her Mark had died, he hasn't spoken to her once, and his face is constantly filled with guilt.
"I'm sorry," she tells Lloyd as she regains her breath.
"I t-think your reaction is quite understandable under the circumstances," he says quietly, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.
"It feels like the FBI is more his widow than me," she says frankly. "Especially after the flashforward."
He nods, a hand still at her back, and the other now holding one of hers in her lap. She isn't sure exactly why she is clutching him as if he is a lifeline, but he merely keeps looking at her in the same kindly way.
Later, he will tell her about the problems of an equation and she will tell him the problems of grieving someone you really lost six months earlier. Later than that, he will kiss her face while she cries and she will kiss him when she's all out of tears and all filled with the way he looks at her instead. Much later, he will lift Charlie high up while the kid screams in joy and Olivia will watch, feeling something be alive again.
For now, they sit like this, holding hands at a funeral while so many solemn faces regard them; only one is smiling, and he is not there to grieve Mark Benford anyway.
II
Lloyd is sitting downstairs when Olivia walks out of Charlie's room, and for a moment, she just watches him from above. So many times, she replayed the vision that placed him there, and never once did she think the sight would give her comfort.
She walks down the stairs silently, and Lloyd only looks up when she places a hand on his knee.
"They still haven't found Mark," he tells her, and she nods slowly. "Is Charlie...?"
"She's sleeping. It's been enough for her tonight. She insisted Dylan sleep there too, so I tucked them both in. They're both sleeping, holding hands."
She smiles faintly at the memory and Lloyd just nods, as if their children bonding is the most natural thing in the world, as it is now.
"How will you tell her?"
"I don't know," Olivia says, closing her eyes. She can feel Lloyd's hand stroke her back slowly and she leans into his space a little blindly, bumping her head into his chest.
"I'm sorry," he says sincerely. "W-what do you want me to do, Olivia?"
"Stay," she tells him, opening her eyes to see him look at her. "You and Dylan, here, with me and Charlie. Make it a good future. One worth dying for."
"I'll be here," he says quietly. "Olivia, in the second flashforward, I s-saw..."
"Tell me tomorrow," she interrupts. "We can talk about all that tomorrow."
So much to do tomorrow, she thinks faintly. Grieve Mark. Watch Charlie grieve Mark. Make sense of another vision of the future. Flashforwards. Flashforwards again.
"Would you change it?" she whispers, placing a hand on his chest. "If you knew the future exactly..."
"We did," he says softly, and kisses her temple. "We still didn't change it. If I could... I mean, 20 million people died in the first blackout. Of course I would change that. But if you mean personally, e-everything else..."
"Yes."
He thinks; she listens to his slow and steady breathing.
"I don't know," he finally says. "One way or another, the future always happens. Maybe this wasn't the worst way. Not the best either, o-obviously."
She would smile at that understatement if she had the strength. Instead, she clutches at his shirt while he kisses her forehead, her eyelids, her lips, and tries not to think of anything at all.
Later, they will both sleep, curled up on the couch as close together as they can. Later than that, they'll wake up to an unknown future with only scattered glimpses to confuse them. Much later, future will turn to present and understanding, and new futures will wait, as they always do.
For now, she sits on the couch with Lloyd Simcoe (husband-to-be), clinging on to the good she can have from this all; and in another house, in another room, Gabriel McDow smiles knowingly.
One way or another, the future always happened.
FIN
by
misscamSummary: One way or another, the future always happens. [FlashForward. Lloyd/Olivia]
Rating: Teen. One bad word, and implied adult activities.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, just my words.
Author's Note: Spoilers for the series finale. Five AU scenarios and one post-finale scene. With thanks to
helen_halliwell and lulubellnyc, who've been very encouraging. II
"Bollocks!"
It is, Olivia reflects, an unusual choice of words for a first meeting, but then, this is not the most usual first meeting she has ever had. She doesn't crash into strangers carrying Styrofoam on a very frequent basis, that's for sure.
"I-I am so sorry," the stranger says, the tilt in his voice revealing he is British, if the choice of curse hadn't already. His hair is delightfully windswept (an not uncommon occurrence in Greater Boston) and she has a strange urge to lace her fingers in it.
Instead it's him that lifts a hand to her hair, and she has a moment to blink in confusion before he lowers it again and she sees what he has removed.
"You got a lepton in your hair," he says apologetically.
She blinks for a moment, then smiles a little. "Physicist?"
"Yes," he admits. "Does it show?"
"Only a little," she says, lowering her gaze to the Styrofoam massacre at his feet. "What did I break?"
"You didn't," he says, smiling, and she finds herself thinking the word gentle, "I-I should have looked where I was going. It was rubbish anyway, just a Styrofoam standard model."
"I crushed your Styrofoam representation of the standard model?"
He nods, looking a bit downcast despite the declaration it was rubbish. It makes it all but irresistible to want to fix it.
"Maybe I can help you rebuild it?" she offers and he looks at her with a gaze that makes her toes curl a little.
"I'd l-love that," he says, and she has an absurd thought that that isn't the only thing he could love.
"I'm Lloyd," he continues, extending a hand. She takes it, feeling the warmth of his palm seep into hers.
"Olivia," she says, and his smile wides.
"Olivia," he repeats, as if her name is something to treasure.
Later, he will say her name again in the same way, and she will kiss him while holding a Styrofoam quark. Later than that, she will stumble with him onto her bed and sleep with him for the first time on top of her Common Complications After Extensive Surgery textbook and the second time on top of his draft paper on photons. Much later, she will marry him and the never-quite-repaired standard model will remain a household item in the Simcoe house, to much amusement for their children.
For now, she just smiles as she helps Lloyd pick up the pieces scattered around them, never noticing the stranger watching the scene from a corner, a strange smile on his lips.
II
This bar is rubbish, Olivia has long since decided. It shouldn't have taken four drinks to decide that, and it really shouldn't require her to have a fifth to make sure.
She still orders it, listening to the noise around her and letting it deafen the roar inside her head.
"Nice legs!" a voice next to her exclaims, and she doesn't even bother to look sideways.
"Go away," she says firmly.
"You wound me."
"Not as much as I could," she says, and she hears a low chuckle before mercifully, the stool next to her is vacant again. But not for long.
"Hey," the stranger says. The unfamiliar accent does make her glance to her side, meeting green eyes briefly. "I hope Simon didn't b-bother you, I told him not to."
She shrugs, staring at her glass again. She still can't understand what is so important in it, important enough to make her less so.
'Fuck you, Mark,' she thinks.
"Well, I'm sorry," the stranger continues, and she finally looks at him properly. He looks apologetic and sincere, and she wonders if the sincerity is genuine. All too often with people, it is not.
"Don't be," she says darkly. "We can't control the actions of others."
"R-right," he agrees, his eyebrows furrowing a little, as if he's wondering the tone is directed at him or not.
"I left my fiance because he's drinking and I'm going to a bar," she says, laughing bitterly. "I don't know why I'm telling you this."
"I look like an agony aunt?" he suggests, and then she does laugh genuinely. He smiles at that, and she thinks he has a rather lovely smile, actually.
"You look fine," she assures him, and his smile holds as he looks at her.
"Would you like to go for a walk?" he offers. "I think Simon would try again and I would hate to have to take him to the ER."
"Don't worry," she tells him. "I'm a surgeon. I could patch him up again afterwards. But I would like a walk."
When she slides off the bar stool, he is already offering her the crook of his arm, looking just a touch awkward as he does.
Later, she will learn his name is Lloyd and he'll learn hers is Olivia and they'll both learn how the other likes their coffee. Later than that, he will take her on a date to an Indian restaurant and will still taste of spices when she kisses him outside her door. Much later, she will laugh at his very awkward proposal involving a metaphor on wave-particle duality and kiss him as fiercely as physics will allow her.
For now, she takes his offered arm and walks out, not really paying that much attention to the muttering stranger at the door they pass on the way.
II
"Doctor Benford, I presume," a British voice says next to her, and she looks up to see an offered hand. "I'm Lloyd Simcoe."
"Oh, right," she mutters, the name ringing a faint bell. "Dylan's father."
"Yes," he says as she shakes his hand briefly, his eyes very large and green as he looks at her. "You saved his life, I understand."
"I'm sorry I couldn't save your wife," she says, and he nods slowly.
"We were separated," he admits. "But t-thank you. I'm afraid I haven't been there for Dylan as much as I should have because of that."
She nods in understanding. "It is hard to balance children and a divorce."
He nods, and she wonders if he picked up the unspoken 'I know' in her sentence. It has been half a year, and she's still not sure she did the right thing leaving Mark. Charlie is still crying at night sometimes, and Mark's obsessive attitude to work hasn't gotten any better.
"I have a fair amount of questions regarding Dylan," Lloyd goes on. "Could I tempt you to a coffee with a worried parent in the cafeteria?"
"Mr. Simcoe..."
"Lloyd," he insists.
"Lloyd," she agrees. "I am quite busy at the moment."
"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm afraid I'm the annoying parent."
"I think I'd call it 'caring'," she says, and his smile makes something in her thaw a little. "I am busy at the moment, but if you'd still like a coffee with an overworked trauma surgeon after my shift is over..."
"I'd love that," he says firmly. "Thank you, doctor Ben... Olivia."
Later, she will have coffee and questions with Lloyd Simcoe and both of them will get unexpected answers out of it. Later than that, she'll take both him and Dylan out because too much time in the hospital is not good for anyone, and find it rather good for her too. Much later, she will ask Lloyd and Dylan to move in with her and Charlie and it will be a strangely whole family coming from two halves.
For now, she watches him walk away with a certain interest, not paying too much attention to the keen interest the savant patient in a bed across the hall is giving them both.
II
"They beat him up pretty bad," the FBI agent says, and Olivia knows she's supposed to remember the agent's name. One of Mark's colleagues, but the names have started to fade from memory somewhat, just as the grief as.
"I will patch him up good," she says reassuringly. "Lloyd Simcoe, was it?"
"Yes," a familiar yet unfamiliar voice says, and she meets the gaze of the man they all saw take responsibility for the blackout. His face and hair is still streaked by blood, but it is the pain in his eyes that makes her breath catch a little.
"I'm doctor Benford," she says, taking his hand carefully in hers as she hears the agent behind her slip away. "Can you move your fingers for me, Mr. Simcoe?"
He does, and she tries not to notice the faint outline of a shoe across his hand. No bones appear to be broken, and his fingers curl around hers just for a moment.
"It was incredibly brave what you did," she says, feeling his shoulder carefully. "Coming forward like that."
"I think the line between brave and stupid is a pretty blurry one," he says, then winces. "And painful."
She smiles, he returns it a bit hesitantly.
"You work with the FBI?" he asks. "The agent seemed to stress you were trustworthy."
"My husband was in the FBI," she says lightly. Lloyd's face seems to fall just a moment, before he catches himself. "He died during the blackout."
"O-oh," Lloyd says, sounding pained. "I'm sorry. You have every reason to hate me."
"I don't," she says. "You didn't intend for this to happen, did you?"
"No," he says darkly, the word strained with guilt also. "Simon thinks someone hijacked our experiment, that we're not to b-blame. I wish I could believe it, I wish I could..."
"I think you're a good man, Mr. Simcoe," she says softly, feeling his chest rise and fall under her hands. "And you have a fractured rib."
He looks at her with something close to longing, and she wonders why it should matter to her that Lloyd Simcoe doesn't think himself a villain. Because it seems to matter, every since he looked at her.
"We'll have you healed in no time," she assures him.
"Thank y-you," he says, then wets his lips slightly. "Olivia."
"I'll be right back, Lloyd," she says, touching his hand briefly and smiling.
Later, she will keep him overnight for observation and end up talking to him more than observing him. Later than that, she'll declare him physically healed and help him with the bruises that aren't on the body. Much later, he'll kiss her on a bench outside the hospital and she will know he's one of the best men she has ever met.
For now, she walks over to the FBI agent whose name she can't remember, remembering very well how Lloyd's name sounded on her lips and not minding the janitor too much; he always mumbles about getting the future right.
II
"I'm so sorry for your loss," a voice says, as so many have today. She nods before she looks up, noting the black suit and the slightly awkward expression, but dismissing the notion of him as another FBI agent nevertheless. There is something about him that just seems to discount it.
"Lloyd Simcoe," he says. "I was working with your husband."
"Right," she murmurs. "You were one of the scientific advisers. I think he mentioned you from time to time. You were working on preventing another blackout."
"R-right," Lloyd agrees, looking intently at her. "I'm sorry I couldn't..."
She laughs, startling even herself. "He was determined to be at that office, regardless of what he had seen in his flashforward. What could you have done, Mr. Simcoe? Talked to him? I tried that so many times, I tried for Charlie, I tried..."
She chokes, and a moment later she feels Lloyd's arms around her while she presses her face into his shirt. It isn't quite crying – her sobs are all dry – but it's still strangely cathartic.
Lloyd's hands are moving across her back, gentle and calming, as he slowly guides her to a bench where they both sit. She can feel Demetri look at her, but he doesn't approach. After coming to tell her Mark had died, he hasn't spoken to her once, and his face is constantly filled with guilt.
"I'm sorry," she tells Lloyd as she regains her breath.
"I t-think your reaction is quite understandable under the circumstances," he says quietly, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.
"It feels like the FBI is more his widow than me," she says frankly. "Especially after the flashforward."
He nods, a hand still at her back, and the other now holding one of hers in her lap. She isn't sure exactly why she is clutching him as if he is a lifeline, but he merely keeps looking at her in the same kindly way.
Later, he will tell her about the problems of an equation and she will tell him the problems of grieving someone you really lost six months earlier. Later than that, he will kiss her face while she cries and she will kiss him when she's all out of tears and all filled with the way he looks at her instead. Much later, he will lift Charlie high up while the kid screams in joy and Olivia will watch, feeling something be alive again.
For now, they sit like this, holding hands at a funeral while so many solemn faces regard them; only one is smiling, and he is not there to grieve Mark Benford anyway.
II
Lloyd is sitting downstairs when Olivia walks out of Charlie's room, and for a moment, she just watches him from above. So many times, she replayed the vision that placed him there, and never once did she think the sight would give her comfort.
She walks down the stairs silently, and Lloyd only looks up when she places a hand on his knee.
"They still haven't found Mark," he tells her, and she nods slowly. "Is Charlie...?"
"She's sleeping. It's been enough for her tonight. She insisted Dylan sleep there too, so I tucked them both in. They're both sleeping, holding hands."
She smiles faintly at the memory and Lloyd just nods, as if their children bonding is the most natural thing in the world, as it is now.
"How will you tell her?"
"I don't know," Olivia says, closing her eyes. She can feel Lloyd's hand stroke her back slowly and she leans into his space a little blindly, bumping her head into his chest.
"I'm sorry," he says sincerely. "W-what do you want me to do, Olivia?"
"Stay," she tells him, opening her eyes to see him look at her. "You and Dylan, here, with me and Charlie. Make it a good future. One worth dying for."
"I'll be here," he says quietly. "Olivia, in the second flashforward, I s-saw..."
"Tell me tomorrow," she interrupts. "We can talk about all that tomorrow."
So much to do tomorrow, she thinks faintly. Grieve Mark. Watch Charlie grieve Mark. Make sense of another vision of the future. Flashforwards. Flashforwards again.
"Would you change it?" she whispers, placing a hand on his chest. "If you knew the future exactly..."
"We did," he says softly, and kisses her temple. "We still didn't change it. If I could... I mean, 20 million people died in the first blackout. Of course I would change that. But if you mean personally, e-everything else..."
"Yes."
He thinks; she listens to his slow and steady breathing.
"I don't know," he finally says. "One way or another, the future always happens. Maybe this wasn't the worst way. Not the best either, o-obviously."
She would smile at that understatement if she had the strength. Instead, she clutches at his shirt while he kisses her forehead, her eyelids, her lips, and tries not to think of anything at all.
Later, they will both sleep, curled up on the couch as close together as they can. Later than that, they'll wake up to an unknown future with only scattered glimpses to confuse them. Much later, future will turn to present and understanding, and new futures will wait, as they always do.
For now, she sits on the couch with Lloyd Simcoe (husband-to-be), clinging on to the good she can have from this all; and in another house, in another room, Gabriel McDow smiles knowingly.
One way or another, the future always happened.
FIN
