"Honey, I'm home!" Lincoln Lee called as he juggled opening the apartment door and carrying both the mail he had picked up outside and his coat.
He could feel the annoyed glare from the kitchen, along with an incredible aroma that kicked his appetite into overdrive. Lee removed his coat, took the lint brush from the hook next to the closet door and spent a full minute lovingly running it over the material. Satisfied that it was pristine, he hung in the closet and went in search of the delicious aroma.
Lee didn't recognize the kitchen he entered as his own. Previously sterile tile and stainless steel had been replaced by an exploding Chinatown restaurant.
"Breathe, Linc," Peter Bishop told him. "There's no structural damage."
He wore a blue tee shirt with FBI emblazoned in gold on the chest and a pair of cheap, poorly fitted blue jeans. Lincoln noted – with annoyance – that his guest was barefoot.
Lincoln hated bare feet.
Peter grabbed a long wooden spoon and stirred something in an overflowing pot. "I hope you're hungry."
"Pete, what's all this?" Linc asked. He reached for a pot, only to have his hand slapped away.
"Uh..." Bishop started gesturing in all directions as he spoke, vaguely pointing out what was what. "Let's see... General Tso chicken, fried rice, egg drop soup, dumplings, boneless ribs and...something else." He frowned at a small pot, trying to remember what was simmering in it.
"What's the occasion?"
Lee went to the refrigerator, grabbed a Heineken and passed it to Peter while keeping one for himself.
"I was in the mood for Chinese," replied Peter. "And amazingly, you had everything I needed in the pantry." Peter grabbed the opener, popped the cap on his beer, and took a guzzle while passing the opener to Linc. He burped openly before continuing. "And I'd appreciate if you'd stop with the spousal bliss routine. Your neighbors already have the wrong ideas about us."
Lincoln feigned shock. "You mean...you're not gay?"
"One of these days, Alice," Peter replied, starting to put plates and utensils on the dinner table. "Straight to the moon!"
"See, that's what got me started," Lee countered.
The two of them sat down at the dinner table and ate, not speaking again until the entire meal had disappeared.
"Good Lord, that was incredible," Lee said, loosening his tie. "Where did you learn to cook like that?"
"Olivia never cooked. It was either learning for yourself, starving, or eating Indian take-out for the rest of my life."
There was a pregnant pause. The two fidgeted nervously until Peter got up and got them another pair of beers.
"So how's work?" Peter asked, feeling forced to break the silence.
Lee glared at him. "Classified."
"Oh, come on! I'm under house arrest here. I appreciate you convinced them to let me out of detention, but you have to give me something!"
"Well," Lincoln muttered, considering what he could and couldn't talk about. He decided on the topic that most concerned Peter. "You've got Astrid in your corner. She thinks you should be completely reinstated as a consultant and have an identity manufactured to match the one you had before. Olivia thinks you should go into witness protection under an assumed name. Um..." Lincoln finished his beer with a long guzzle. "Oh, and Dr. Bishop's newest theory about you is that you were spontaneously created by the universe to fill in a gap in space-time created by the Machine."
Peter whistled. "Hey, that's actually pretty good. Doesn't explain a thing, but at least he's not casting me as the son of the devil in this one."
Lee shook his head. "Dr. Bishop also spent the afternoon locked in the bathroom composing ditties about lavender elephants and string cheese. He actually has a good voice; though I suppose the echo had a hand."
A flash of anger colored Peter's features. "What the hell, Linc? You people broke my father! When I left him, he could at least go out in public! Doesn't anybody watch his meds?"
Lee threw up his hands. "Look, he was like this when I showed up, six weeks ago. I'm blameless here!"
Peter exhaled loudly, then inhaled, making a conscious effort to get his anger under control.
"I know. Sorry. That just gets me worked up. When I left him, he was lucid most of the time."
Lee nodded, expression neutral.
"You believe me, don't you Linc?" Peter asked him. He didn't think Linc would accept him as a roommate, without believing him, but he'd seen stranger things happen.
Lee sighed. "I accept that you believe what you say. And the DNA test...proves you are who you say you are. As for truth...I don't know what that is anymore."
Peter nodded. "Fringe Division...messes with your head."
Lee stared into space. "You just freak them out, Pete. Can you blame them?"