Title: fled is the nightmare
Fandom: Unstoppable
Pairing: Frank Barnes/Connie Hooper
Rating: PG
Length: 559 words
Summary: Connie sometimes dreams about the Triple-Seven incident.


Connie wouldn't say she's haunted by the day that Triple-Seven went out of control. It's not something she thinks about every day, people don't talk to her about it because her face wasn't the one on any TV screens. She's attended the investigations, attended a therapy session that AWVR mandated that was a huge waste of time and she's fine. 

Except that she dreams sometimes. Dreams of a dot on a screen, moving faster than it should. Dreams of TV cameras and news helicopters and an uphill curve taken at speed, of a screech of metal, a loud explosion, a ball of fire that never was. 

She wakes from those dreams sitting bolt upright in bed, her heart pounding, breath coming in shallow gasps, drenched in sweat.  

Tonight's is an especially bad one because she's not in the control room watching; she's at the curve, able to see the train derailing, close enough that she can feel the heat of the explosion, swears that the noise from it is what actually wakes her. She thinks she actually screams a little as she sits up, covers her mouth with her hand and tries to breathe normally. 

The bed shifts beside her and the light snaps on. She screws her eyes up against the brightness and when she opens them again, Frank is sitting up beside her, his eyes dark with worry. "Same dream?" he asks, and when she nods, he places his palm on her back, moves it in large circles.  "Must have been a bad one," he says mildly and she'd be ashamed for the fib if she'd expected for a moment that he'd believe her. "I've never heard you scream before." He pauses for a moment, then his lips twitch, eyes dancing. "Well... Not like that, anyway."

It takes a second for his meaning to sink in but when it does, just like that, there is a smile on her face and suddenly she is laughing. His laughter, deep and musical, joins hers as his hand moves across her back to her shoulder, pulling her closer to him. She goes willingly, her head resting against his, her arms reaching out, touching his chest, his arms, whatever she can reach. 

"That's better," he says when they're able to speak, his fingers tucking her hair back behind her ear, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You want me to get you something? Glass of water? Glass of whiskey?"

He's half teasing but only half and she's half tempted but not even that. "I'm good," she tells him with a knowing smile, looking into his eyes as one hand slides up his arm. 

He holds her gaze without blinking. "Yeah?" 

It's two questions in one and she keeps moving her hand up, from his arm to his shoulder to the back of his neck. She doesn't blink either, just whispers, "Yeah."

The smile he gives her is brilliant, warming her from the inside out and she thinks, not for the first time, that it's incredible how even the worst day can have a good result.  "Well then, Miss Connie Hooper," he says, cupping her face in his hands. "Why don't I see if I can make you scream again..."

Connie knew, from that dreadful day with Triple-Seven, that it wasn't wise to bet against Frank.

So she didn't.