She keeps looking up.
It's been a week since the Bridge closed, a week since she had last seen her Alternate. A week since she realized what she would miss the most from the Other Side, and a week since she confessed her wish to see a rainbow again.
Healing has slowly ground to a stop, barely making any impact anymore. Not that the public notices right now; they're too caught up in the healing that's already happened. It's nice to see them so happy, not knowing that the one thing that was healing their world was now gone, she thinks. But she knows that they will notice soon, and doesn't doubt that give or take a week, the people will start to question.
So she keeps looking up.
-O-O-
Fringe Division has quieted down for now, many agents of the Force having been granted leave by the new head, Captain Marcus Kranner, newly appointed since Colonel Broyles's confession. Only few remain: her, the Captain, a couple of Lookers (including Farnsworth), and the oddly placed, smartly dressed, suited Agent Lee.
She finds it hard to look at him sometimes, because he looks so much like him ('as he should, since they are doubles,' she chastises herself). Before, when he was just a visiting agent, she could just tell herself he won't be here for long, that soon she wouldn't have him around anymore to remind her of her dead partner. But now, with the Bridge closed and all connections with the Other Side severed, he's stuck here. Well, not stuck per se. More like he stayed here by choice.
She doesn't question his decision, just wishes he had told her earlier rather than the few minutes before the Bridge closed. Her emotions are a whirlwind, swept one way in gratefulness for his help, and another for the guilt that she knows that she is accepting him in Lincoln's place.
It's one of those days where she wishes Charlie hadn't transferred. Not that she's selfish or anything, she's happy he got the job (in rainy Seattle), it's just that she really needs someone to turn to right now. Before Lincoln, before they had become something more than friends, Charlie had been her rock, the patience to her impatience. He was the one that always held her back before she dived in head first. Right now she wants to be held back, back from the part of her that wants to wrap Lee like her own. It's not right, she still has his belongings laid out on her table at home. They are something that she can't let go, won't let go.
And so she looks up.
It's the only direction she can look at now anyway. The only one that doesn't make her feel anything. Eye level is just always filled with Lee, and the New York skyline is still littered with ambered spots that she knows will never disappear. Her house is empty and full of longing now, with no Frank (who had taken up much of the space) and Lincoln's belongings scattered. Everything hurts.
She wishes she had told him she loved him.
-O-O-
When it rains she looks up, closes her eyes and lets the water fall on her face. The droplets break on her cheeks, her forehead, and trace a path down over the curves, drawn by gravity. They plaster her bangs to her face, and she can feel the odd one carve their way down from her eye.
She doesn't care if people stare, or if they even bother to look at her. This is her relief, her way to start anew.
The rain is heavy, short and quick, and soon the dark clouds move away. She's dripping wet, red hair heavy with water. Her cargo pants are heavy too, and are a darker shade of blue than usual. She can feel the water slide off her coat and onto the back of her hands, the liquid failing to seep through the material. She's glad that she's wearing her leather jacket today, because though she shivers, her top is completely dry, and she's glad for that.
But this time she doesn't look up, because the sun is shining and she knows she won't see the one thing she wants.
She only takes a few steps before she hears a kid gasp and ask, "Mummy, what's that?" She shakes her head and continues, thinking that the kid is young and still exploring the world. It's only when she hears a woman gasp too, and is slowly followed by others does she turn to look.
And she's glad she looks up.
Because in the sky, bright blue and clear, is an arc of colors, more beautiful than she remembers. It's a sight she hasn't seen for 20 years, a sight she never thought she'd ever see again.
And yet there it is, same but slightly different. The colors that she knows are there, from the red to the violet. But this time she can see all the colors in between too, the many different hues that make up the transition between the seven. The colors are sharper, more vibrant, and she sucks in a breath. She can feel the edge of her mouth twitch, and she smiles, a tear falling down her drying face.
She doesn't stop looking up.