A/N: Hey, so this is kind of rough but I thought I'd share. I've never written for Fringe and it's been awhile since I've written anything period. Not my best work, but we can't be perfect all the time.

I loved the finale, but I just couldn't help wondering about poor AltLivia and Lincoln over there after Olivia left. What was that visit like for them and how would they feel seeing her again after so many years. Surely they would wonder how the final battle against the Observers went. Anyway, this is how it goes in my happy little, Altuniverse-loving brain...

She felt strangled. Something was pressing her lungs, constricting her windpipe, tighter and tighter the harder she fought. Through the blackness there was a voice.

"Olivia."

Peter Bishop, voice flat and emotionless, eyes empty.

She opened her mouth but no sound came out.

He cocked his head to the side and studied her. Turned around and told her, "Follow me."

But it was no longer Peter's voice it was a more familiar one. Lincoln. They were in their living room. Dark and grey. And in the corner lay their son, slumped against the wall, the bright red seeping through his shirt the first real color she'd seen in this place. She ran to him and clutched him tightly against her chest but he was cold and limp. She screamed and turned back to her husband, but his face was as cold as the young man she held in her arms.

"Olivia," he looked at her across the room.

"Why?" she cried, finally finding her voice. "Lincoln, why?" She was next to him now, gripping his suit with shaking fingers, trying to find her husband in the eyes of this man who looked like him. "I don't understand, Lincoln."

"Olivia!" His hands cradled her face and suddenly he was there, together with her, in their bed, sheets tangled tightly around them.

She felt the hot tears on her face, looked around at the familiar space glowing warm oranges and yellows with the first hints of a new day.

His hands pushed back the sweaty hair clinging to her forehead. His lips placed a calming kiss on her hairline.

"Lincoln…I…"

"Shhh," he soothed her. "You were dreaming. It's okay."

"It was like she said. Everything. Like over there." She searched his face for understanding and knew he did. "It was like over there except it was here. It was us. It was Trevor. They'd killed him," her voice rose an octive, "and you were…you were like them…the Observers. And I, I lost both of you. I…"

"Hey," he pulled her in against his chest and she sucked in deep breaths. "Hey, it's okay. It was just a dream."

She nodded against him and nestled closer. Her breathing settled into a steady rhythm and her grip on his shirt slackened. He was just falling back to sleep when he heard her whisper, "Linc?"

His foggy mind could only manage to respond with, "Hmm?"

She pulled away a few inches to look up at him. "Do you think they did it?"

"I don't know," he replied quietly. The question had been floating around his head as well.

"Do you think we'd remember?" she paused. "I mean, if they were successful, would we remember seeing her today, or would it be like it never happened?"

He grinned and kissed her furrowed brow. "Liv, I have enough trouble understanding time travel during the day. In the middle of the night there's no hope."

She frowned and burrowed against him again. "I want to figure out a way to contact them and make sure they're okay," she mumbled against his chest.

Lincoln closed his eyes and imagined his old apartment in the world the other Olivia had described for them earlier. Images of Robert's old house flashed in his mind…Robert's children. He pursed his lips and took a deep breath. "Okay," was all he needed to say.

She was looking at him now. Too intently. "Hey, you okay?" she asked, bringing a hand to his face.

"Yeah," he paused, unable to explain the conflicting emotions, "I just…"

"I know." She him closer and he wrapped an arm around her, holding her tight against his chest. "We got lucky this time."

"Right here, please," Olivia called to the agents with the boxes. "Here, on my desk. Thank you."

Lincoln stood across from her and eyed the boxes marked "Classified" and sealed with the old Fringe department security tape.

"Really?" he looked at her skeptically. "You're gonna try that old thing?"

"You have a better idea?" She pulled the tape off and removed a very old typewriter from the box.

"No," he admitted and pulled the mirror out of the other box.

She sat down and tried to arrange the two ordinary looking objects the way she remembered them from that little hole in the wall on the other side. Lincoln fiddled with the paper for the machine…fanning it out and then tapping it into order again. It had been a long time since he'd held actual paper in his hands. He'd almost forgotten the weight of it, he remembered carrying stacks of case files…notes and photos and reports all neatly tucked into folders. But that was another time in another world. He set the stack of blank paper down reverently.

"So what're you going to say?" he asked Olivia as she tucked one clean, white sheet into the machine then sat there frozen with fingers perched above the keys.

She looked at him with a hint of fear in her eyes. "What would you say?"

He pulled one of the extra chairs around to her side of the desk and sat down with her. "I don't know," he sighed. "What's up? How's it going?"

She frowned and leaned into his shoulder. "What if…"

"Hey." He leaned his head against the top of hers. "It's you. She's you. If anyone can beat them it's you…or her…or either one of you…because you're both amazing. I mean, you especially, more than her, but you know, she's amazing too because she's you…and…damn it…" He pressed the heel of his hand to his temple in frustration.

She smiled at him and pinched his cheek playfully. "You're so cute when you're trying to suck up. So. Okay, this is still Fringe division and they're still agents I guess, so how about this?" She sat up and typed…

Olivia Dunham: Please Report Mission Status

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, wanting to say more but not knowing what was right. Words seemed so inadequate for something like this. How did they ever survive before video phones and holochats? She looked over at her husband. "Okay?"

He grabbed her hands and squeezed them reassuringly. "Okay. Now what?"

She shrugged. "I guess now we wait."

Days passed with no response. They passed time with long-overdue paperwork and copious amounts of tea. Nights were restless and she often dreamt of the other side. Lincoln urged her to be patient but she saw the worry and guilt in his eyes too.

A part of her never expected the typewriter to bring a message. Either way, whether the other side had been successful in defeating the Observers or not, what were the chances that they had kept their typewriter in working order and stocked with paper? Her own version had been locked in storage for more than twenty years. Twenty years in storage…like being stuck in amber.

She fell heavily into her office chair as the room around her took on a golden, amber hue. Trapped in amber for twenty one years. What would it be like?

"Liv?" She blinked and all the world's colors flashed back.

Lincoln waited at the door, face set with grim determination, hands restlessly readjusting his holster. "Breach at Liberty Island…come on."

"What is it?" She asked when she'd caught up to him.

"Don't know," he replied scrolling through the information on his touch-screen. "Agents on site say they've never seen anything like it."

For a moment the grim set of his jaw reminded her of the man in her nightmares, but then he grinned and her heart melted like it always did when he looked at her like that. "Just like the good old days!" He laughed and she couldn't help but laugh with him.

They rushed into the main room of the Liberty facility on quaking legs. The ground shook beneath them and the sky above them flashed with lightning. Olivia found the main commander on site and half listened to his report. Was this what it felt like over there twenty-one years ago? Were they coming? Was this the Observer invasion they'd been so lucky to avoid?

The shaking became increasingly violent. Olivia fought to find Lincoln in the chaos. Grown men and soldiers were panicking all around them. The earth gave one last shudder before a blinding flash knocked them to the floor.

"Liv!" She heard Lincoln calling her name and felt his hands gripping her shoulders.

The ground beneath them had stilled. They blinked the brightness away and struggled to their feet. Her vision was drawn up, through the skylights, and she saw the strangest thing. As the dark clouds dissipated, a hint of color stretched across the sky, very faint, but very real. Something she hadn't seen in a very long time.

She tugged her husband's arm and pointed up, suddenly speechless. He smiled and pulled her close, dropping a quick kiss on her temple. "No, look," he urged and nodded across the room.

Her mouth fell open and she could only stare in disbelief at the three figures looking back at her. Another Olivia smiled at her, eyes clear and bright, so much happier than any time she had ever seen her in the past. It was like looking in a mirror more than ever before. This Olivia had the same gray in her hair, the same lines around her eyes. This was not the long-frozen Olivia she'd met a few days ago, but one who'd felt the passage of time in the same way she herself had, with joy and peace and surrounded by family. Peter Bishop was there too, one arm draped over his wife's shoulders and the other over the shoulders of a younger blond woman. Etta? He beamed and whispered something to the young woman and ruffled her hair. Yes, Olivia thought, Etta.

As the commotion died down and all eyes focused on the two of them, the two Olivias, her alternate smiled at her. "Hi." She offered an awkward little wave. "Our typewriter is broken, but we got your message. I wanted to let you know…we did it."