Title: Counterbalance
Rating: K+
Summary: Set almost two years post the finale in a universe where Peter Bishop never existed, Olivia Dunham begins to receive dream-like visits from a stranger who knows more about her than he should.
Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe or anything associated with Fringe.
They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.
EDGAR ALLAN POE
Chapter One: Cognizance
There's a crack in the ceiling. It's not particularly long or gaping, but it's there, just above her head, thin as a strand of hair. It wasn't there last week, she's pretty sure of it since she's spent a considerable amount of time staring up at that very spot. Ceiling fans, window panes, the fluorescent glow of street lamps - to an insomniac, such things become familiar landscapes. It isn't that sleep evades her. On the contrary, there are nights when her body feels so heavy with fatigue that she worries she'll topple over if the wind blows hard enough. Sleep isn't the problem. The problem lies somewhere in those hours of silence and darkness when she's completely unguarded and alone. It creeps through her like a virus, infecting every cell, every nerve, whispering lyrics from songs she's never heard, painting with colours she's never seen. She wakes up screaming, sometimes in sobs, remnants of the nightmare fleeing like ash in the wind. And yet she is affected, always so deeply affected. And so, she has learned that the less sleep she allows herself, the less chance it has of touching her.
The sun is beginning to creep into the room, sneaking through the window and down the wall, over the carpet on eventually onto her bed, warming her. She turns to face it, feeling marginally better as the early morning glow washes over her face. She's always loved sunrise.
She watches the segmented blue numbers on her clock-radio change from 6:59 to 7:00. And so, the morning ritual begins. Workout, shower, clothing, coffee. It's a simple order that she appreciates. An order that requires little thought. She runs on automatic, her internal monologue is mostly static, as if someone's jammed the aerial. It hurts too much to think when she's alone, when she can't find escape in the preoccupation of her job. Since the closing of 'The Bridge' almost six months prior, things have been slower, she hesitates to think easier, but it's true. The world has, in a sense exhaled and relaxed. At times she wonders if she's the only person on the planet who still feels lost in the storm.
She sits in her office, new, shiny, bigger than the one she had a three months ago and wonders what the hell that title on the door means. Special Investigations. Since the closing of the bridge, Fringe events have been few and far between and the head-honchos up in DC had decided that there was no need for a task team dedicated specifically to those unique cases. So instead, they had lured Broyles over there with promises of the senate and installed a new task force to deal with the after effects of the 'The Bridge', which really meant tracking down the few fugitives who escaped through the portal in those last few days then the tear between the two universes was more like a door. They had had security of course, on both sides, but that didn't stop the determined few from slipping through the cracks.
"You look like hell."
The deep, raspy voice tugs her out of her thoughts. She looks up at the man standing above her. She didn't even hear him come in. He's staring down at her with a small smile and two cups of coffee in his hands.
"Aw, Charlie," she says, returning his smile and taking the coffee from him. "Just what every girl wants to hear."
His smile widens and he sits down in the swivel chair opposite her desk. "Rough night?" He leans back in the chair and takes a swig of his coffee.
She looks down at her shirt then back up at him. "What, do I look that bad?"
"Nah, you look tired is all. Still intimidating enough to scare the new kid." He raises his eyebrows with a slight smile.
"The new kid?" She clicks her mouse and frowns at the computer screen for a second. "I didn't know we're getting anyone new."
"Yeah, they sent him down from Hartford. A Special Agent Lee."
Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Lincoln Lee?"
"Yeah," Charlie finishes off his coffee in one long sip. "You know him?"
"I knew his…alternate," she says in a low voice. "I met him on the 'Bridge Project.'"
"You're kidding me." He shakes his head. "Well what are the odds, right?"
"Right," she agrees, her tone almost wistful.
"Anyway, I thought about pairing him with Astrid. They're both sorta new to field work, but it could be a good match."
"Have you spoken to Astrid yet?"
"Nah, I thought I'd run it by you first, boss." He says this with a straight face, but there's amusement glittering in his eyes.
"Ha. Ha." She says drily. "It's fine with me. Speak to Astrid. If she has a problem, tell her she can come see me."
He gives a mock salute and makes off towards the door.
"Hey Charlie,"
"Yeah?"
She opens her mouth to speak, then hesitates before saying, "Thanks for the coffee."
Charlie nods once, understanding. "Anytime."
The rest of the morning is tedious, spent organising files and case-reports, all the fun stuff cop-shows on TV never show you. By 11am, she's on her third cup of coffee and exhausted by the monotony of it all.
At 11:16 she gets a fax from a contact at the Brooklyn Police Department and her morning gets exponentially better.
She dials Charlie's extension. "Hey Charlie, can you get the team together? We've got a lead on the Ferelli case."
She stands in front of six attentive faces, all waiting for their commands. She's used to being given briefings by Broyles or whoever else is in charge, but this is her task-force, she's the one giving the orders.
"A few minutes ago I received a message from the New York Police Department. Eryan Ferelli has been spotted in Brooklyn, New York. Now for those of you who have not yet caught up, Ferelli is wanted for series of homicides committed on November 3rd 2012. An unknown man was found in Eyran Ferelli's home, along with his wife and two daughters, both minors. All were murdered by Ferelli. Motives for these murders are yet unknown. Up until the crime, Ferelli was described as an up-standing husband and father. Details are in your case reports."
The bespectacled, man in a neat charcoal suit sitting between Astrid and Charlie holds up his hand.
"Agent Lee. We haven't been formally introduced." She had noticed him immediately of course. Noticed how completely different he was from his alternate counterpart. Still, there was something about him that she intrinsically liked, something about his eyes, she supposed. "Good to have you with us."
"Thank you, Agent Dunham…Ma'am." he pushes his glasses further up his nose.
Agent Kent wipes his hand over his mouth, to hide his smile and she shoots him a warning glance.
"Just Agent Dunham's fine. Did you have a question?"
"Yeah, uh yes." He shuffles in his chair before speaking. "The uh, the case-report mentioned that the John Doe found in Ferelli's household was abnormally disfigured. Are we to assume that Ferelli purposefully obscured the man's identity?"
"So far, we have no evidence to prove that either way, but it's not out of the realm of possibility, so I want him brought in unharmed if possible." She crosses her arms over her chest. "Agents Francis will accompany me to New York. Agent Lee, I want you to come along as well. Kent, you and Agent Farnsworth are to keep an eye on communications, see if anything crops up now that Ferelli's on the move."
They nod assiduously, each understanding their roles in this unique little unit. It's not easy leading the charge of a male-dominated army, never has been but she takes pride in the fact she's here, that she's made it to the top of this bureaucratic ladder in one piece, proud of the fact that, despite all they've been through in the past few months, she's leading a team of people who still fighting to make a difference however hard it may be.
"Alright," she says, giving them a final nod, "Let's go."
New York is cold and crowded and smells of car fumes and hot-dog stalls. People walk with their heads down and their backs hunched, weaving past each other as a tangled mass of human drones. Somewhere in that tangled mass is Ferelli, she thinks, staring out of the car window as they cross into Brooklyn. Ferelli who killed his entire family. She isn't easily rattled, not after years of seeing what she's seen, especially not after the last few, but something about the callousness of Ferelli's actions, something about how those two little girls looked, lying there, bullets in their heads, chilled her to bone. She doesn't get it. All her life she's been able to understand motives and intentions, but this, this has her stumped.
As they stop at a traffic light, she notices a man, standing at the bus-stop. He seems to be staring at her, which is impossible through tinted windows, yet he inclines his head, ever so slightly and she's almost sure he sees her. Even more strange is his grey suit and fedora. He looks almost…sad, she thinks, just before they drive off.
Charlie makes a left onto Ocean Avenue and glances at her. "You okay?"
She turns to look at him and swishes her mouth to one side. "Yeah, I'm just thinking about Ferelli. He didn't pack any clothes or take any money. It's like, all he wanted was to be alone, by himself, you know?"
"Well, studies have shown that sociopaths have a proclivity towards solitude. Maybe he got tired of having a family, keeping up the act." Agent Lee's voice pipes up from the backseat. Both she and Charlie turn back for a second, having forgotten he was there at all.
"I suppose," she says. "That still doesn't explain the unknown man though."
"Alright," Charlie pulls up in front of a crumbling apartment block on Foster Avenue. "We're here."
All three of them exit the vehicle, guns in hand. She leads them in, with Agent Lee in the middle and Charlie flanking. They go up one flight of stairs, guns held low, arms straight down, knees bent as they silently creep. The corridors are dark and musty, they smell like weed and vomit and last night's dinner. She resists the urge to gag. She and Agent Lee take opposite ends of the door, while Charlie stands in front of it and knocks - gently at first. After five seconds of no response, he looks at her and she nods before he kicks in the door. There's something about that move that she finds undeniably appealing. Not that she'd ever tell him that of course.
They sweep the place in less than a minute only to find it almost completely bare save for the lumpy mattress against the radiator.
"You sure he still lives here?" Charlie asks, running his finger over the dusty ledge.
She raises a shoulder. "Apparently."
"Well if he does, he's not eating much." Agent Lee opens the fridge to find nothing but a jug of water and a couple of thermometers.
"What the hell is goin' on here?" Three pairs of eyes turn to the door, where a geriatric, balding man wearing only boxer shorts and a stained vest stands scowling at them.
Simultaneously, they flip their badges. "FBI," comes the generic pass. She steps forward and holds out her hand. "I'm Agent Dunham, these are my colleagues. We're looking for a Mr Ferelli do you know where we can find him?"
The old man shakes his head. "Ferelli? Nah, I ain't seen no Ferelli. Lenny lives here. Good man. Pays his rent on time."
"Mr - ?"
"Greeves. Name's Greeves. I'm the supa here."
"Mr Greeves," she digs into her pocket and pulls out the folded fax she has from the NYPD. Attached is a picture of Ferelli. "Is this Lenny?"
"Yeah, that's him. He in some kinda trouble?"
"Do you know where we can find him?" Charlie asks, stepping forward.
Mr Greeves shrugged a bony shoulder. "I reckon he'd be comin' home right about now. Takes the L train, on DeKalb."
"Thank you," she says swiftly and motions for the others to follow her.
"You think we can catch him on the station?" Charlie asks, knowing the way her mind works.
"We can sure as hell try."
"So Agent Lee, you play poker?" Charlie leans back turns slightly to look at the younger agent sitting in the back.
"Um, poker?" Agent Lee adjusts the glasses on the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, I can play. I mean, I haven't since college, but sure, I guess it's like riding a bike, right?"
"Somethin' like that." Charlie smiles. "Anyway, the guys sometimes get together to play poker on Wednesdays, you should come this week, get acquainted with the locals."
Agent Lee finds himself grinning. "Yeah? I'd love to. I mean…" He clears his throat, "Sure okay. Agent Dunham, will you be there?"
She puts down the binoculars she's holding to watch the subway entrance across the street and laughs slightly. "No, uh, they don't let me play cards with them anymore."
"Well why not?"
"Because she cheats is why not," Charlie says, fixing her with a pointed stare.
"I don't cheat," she replies innocently.
"Oh please," he turns to Agent Lee, "It was, wait," he looks back at her, "how many weeks was it before we realised you were countin' cards?"
She gives him a close mouthed smile and shrugs carelessly. "I'm good with numbers."
He rolls his eyes, "Yeah, well next time I go to Vegas, you're comin' along."
She shakes her head and brings the binoculars back to her face just as a plethora of people emerge from the tunnel. "Hey what time is it?"
"4:15."
"I think this is it."
They scan the crowd intensely for the next few minutes before Agent Lee spots him. "There," he yells. "There in the grey coat, it's Ferelli."
Charlie cocks his gun, they follow.
They're halfway across the street when Ferelli looks up and catches her eye. It's a brief moment, not even a second, but she sees it: recognition. And then he's off.
He turns around, back into the crowd, fighting through the barrage of people coming up in the opposite direction. "He's spotted us," she yells, before taking off after him, barely checking if they've heard her, focused solely on the Ferelli's disappearing form.
He's making his back down the steps, back towards the station, hoping to get lost in the throng of bustling strangers. And he almost does. She's fighting to get through them, fighting to move between bodies that are pushing to get past her. She hears herself say, "Excuse me," and then, "Move!" and eventually she's yelling, "FBI, outta the way!" and most of them are giving way, but he's still a couple of feet ahead of her and if he gets on another train it's over.
She watches him jump over the turn-style and follows suit. He runs into a woman, causing her handbag to spill all over the platform, but keeps on going. And she's chasing him, not stopping, not looking back. She can hear Charlie's voice somewhere behind her. Vaguely yelling, "FBI, everybody out!" She hears the shuffle of feet and sees a blur of figures move past, but her gaze is focused on Ferelli. He's backed up against a wall now, with no place to go except towards her or the train line and she's pretty sure he won't choose the line since she hears the L train coming from behind her.
Her gun's pointed directly at him and he's looking at her like he doesn't have a care in the world and suddenly all she can think about are those two little girls and the blood in their hair. I've got him she thinks. I finally have him.
And she's about to walk towards him, about to cuff him and read him his rights when the shrill screech of the train breaks beside her. Charlie's already called in. Asked that the doors be kept shut while they apprehend Ferelli and out of the corner of her eye, she can see the curious passengers come to the window, eager to be part of something bigger, eager to have something to tell their families around the dinner table.
There's a constant hum of noise in the station, the train, the passengers inside, the echo from above, even the sound of her own breathing, heavy and laboured from running. Yet suddenly all is still and the air becomes hollowed and filled with only four syllables. "O-LIV-I-A!"
It's as if she's been dreaming and with one word, she's woken up and suddenly, she can breathe, she hear and see, just for a moment at least. It's a surreal moment in which one soundbite so profoundly affects her. Her head snaps towards her source of the sound. And in the train carriage, stands a man. His palms pressed flat against the glass, his face contorted in a strange fusion of joy and anguish. "OLIVIA!" He yells again, his eyes searching her face, as if to make sure she is real. He bangs on the glass and it begins to crack, yet no-one around him seems to care or even notice. She's never seen him before, of course, nor does she have any idea how he knows her name. All she knows is that something inside of her is cracking, cracking like that pane of glass he keeps pounding against. It takes her a second to realise that she's crying and even then, she's not sure why.
By the time she hears the shot, she's already been hit and her shoulder feels as if it's about to explode. As she falls, she sees Ferelli and the gun in his hands and the coldness in his eyes. She sees his finger squeeze the trigger again and vaguely hears Charlie shout something in the background.
The second bullet hits her heart and then there is only darkness.
