Zeppelin in the Electric Storm
A/N: story is told through Lincoln's thoughts, no dialogue, unless it's with himself. Just a quick scene I'm dying to write!
Disclaimer: I don't own characters or original storylines from Fringe from which my fic was inspired.
Olivia was safe. No bugs. No infection. But she was pregnant—something far more serious. My friend was hurt—so completely torn between her duty as an agent and what she really wanted out of life.
Frank had just left her, vacating their shared apartment only leaving the bare minimum of their life together in that place. She had cheated on him after all, but she did say yes to Frank when he asked her to marry him. They could have been fine together—almost the perfect couple, only if she didn't get pregnant. Duty always comes first—even I know that. Broyles knew that—hell, he knew all along what was happening.
She was alone at her apartment, and in her life outside of work, but she still had support from her mother, Charlie and me. We know how hard it is. But I needed to know she'd be alright tonight. And with a baby to complicate things, she'll need our support now more than ever.
I found myself turning the Navigator onto Olivia's street. Was I really here doing this? I knew we were close as partners, but I was testing waters to see how close we really were. Ah, screw this. I'm going up to her apartment door anyways.
I knock on her door, hoping she's in the mood for company. The faint sound of Olivia's footfalls approached the door on the other side. I close my eyes, inhaling deeply, collecting myself, before she opens the door.
Metal clicks, and I open my eyes. Olivia stands in front of me, her red hair down in her face; she's been crying again. Oh, don't be sad, love; I'm here now, everything's going to be alright.
She rushes to me and hugs me tightly like she hasn't seen me in years. I wrap my arms around her, gently rubbing her back…hush now, Liv.
I lead us into the living room, nudging the door closed with my foot. It looks like she hasn't cleaned or done anything to the place since Frank left her. Finally she calms down and looks up at me, glad I'm here. I sniff her hair—it is oily and smells like she hasn't showered in a couple of days. I chide her playfully and lead her into the bathroom effortlessly—like she's not even resisting, or even cares enough to resist.
I set her down on the toilet lid, which also needs to be cleaned, and I start running the water. I decide that I'm hiring a maid tomorrow to clean her apartment for her. I turn back to Olivia; she's just staring at the floor, I can't read what's going on in her mind. I shift to check the water—the temperature's perfect.
I turn back and squat in front of her; she's hunched over on the toilet, still staring into space, and it's starting to bother me. I decide to take initiative—it really is for the best, despite how bad it looks for me—I touch her sides, lifting her shirt up only a bit—she doesn't even blink—and I keep pulling it up over her ribs until she lifts her arms for me, and over her head the dirty shirt goes. I gasp—she's not wearing a bra like I expected her to. I blush and turn my eyes away. The hot water makes the room heat up, making my jacket very uncomfortable to stay in. I shrug out of it, letting it fall to the floor.
Looking away (as much as I don't want to), I help her stand up, securing her hands on my shoulders, and lifting her up. As she steadies, I push her sweatpants down her thighs until gravity takes them. Thank god she's at least wearing underwear, but her thighs are so lush, I have to make myself look away again. I open the curtain for Olivia to step inside, but she doesn't move. Finally she looks at me again, suddenly realizing what I'm trying to do for her, or at least that's what I thought.
Olivia's body comes alive again, color returning to her cheeks and fire in her eyes. She says something but I miss it as she presses herself against me, knocking me back to the wall. She's kissing me with a new energy, gripping my sides, pulling my shirt up over my head. Before I know it, she's on my belt, and tossing my gun strap open, I can't help but gasp at how rough she is. She's back to kissing me, as my body catches up with my surprised mind, I tug her last tiny bit of clothing off, squeezing her ass. Moaning at he chance to finally have her, I feel myself loosing control. Laughing, she tugs my earpiece out of its place and tosses it on our pile of clothes next to her pile of dirty clothes and towels. God-dammit, I'm never going to find it again.
She waltzes into the shower seductively, begging me with her eyes. I rid myself of my briefs and hop in behind her, standing under the hot water with Liv feels so good right now. She kisses me again, her lips and face wet and inviting, rubbing her wet body across mine, playing with the friction. Suddenly remembering why I brought her in here in the first place, I look around for a bar of soap. None. Right, she's a woman—probably uses shower gel. I locate the little white bottle and squeeze some into my hands. Liv turns around, pulling her hair around her neck so I can start with her back…I'd rather start with her front, but I'm not complaining. Her body language is screaming at me to take her—but I use my head, knowing she needs this shower too, poor thing.
I rub soapy liquid all over her back, down her arms, and over her beautiful ass before she turns around to face me. I rub more soap over her neck and shoulders, over her breasts—where I just about died touching her—and down her stomach and hips. I procure more gel and kneel down to get her legs next, beginning with the left one. I kiss her thigh, starting at the ankle and slowly moving up, while Liv rubs my head with her magic fingers. Then I move to her right leg before I pause, considering rubbing her sacred center. Baby there. I forgot—completely shutting off all prior desire to fuck her.
Before I have a chance to make a decision, her hands slide over mine, pulling them towards her. I hesitate, knowing that she's betrayed men before, but I try to kick the thought out of my mind. But I can't; I have to stop. She's making this dangerous. I grab her hands gently, but she's confused and starts flailing around, her hair like a whip as she frets against me. She cries that everyone's used her, that she's no longer her own person, that nobody loves her. My heart sinks, I panic, she's going into a crazy place I don't want her to go. She's so broken, I remind myself. I bring her into a body lock, the water making things slick. I steady myself so she doesn't fall amid her throes and accidentally hurt the baby, or herself. She keeps crying out for Frank, for Peter, for Secretary Bishop to leave her be; to get out of her mind.
Struggling against me, she finally stops, slumps down to the floor of the shower and just weeps. Her hair is flat against her head, hunched face down. I stoop over and sit next to her, making it rather uncomfortable in her bathtub until I pull her into my lap, holding her against me. I tell her I love her, that I need her. I tell her I won't leave her; that I've always wanted to be with her ever since we first met.
Softly, she stops now, no more struggling, no more wailing. She's fine as she looks up into my eyes, finally hearing me as we slowly rock back and forth under the water stream. She doesn't want me to leave, but there's nowhere else for me to be, I tell her.