Observations on the Feeling of the Beautiful and Adorable
So. Hum. I don't really know how to explain this fic. It's been on my to do list for more than a week, so as I struggled to write a fic from Lincoln's POV, I figured I might as well finish it.
I wanted to write something short and cute, but I ended up writing this overgrown, preposterous drabble instead. I apologize for a ll the goddamned fluffiness, and overall ridiculousness of this fic.
3660 words. and really I feel like the most humorous thing about this fic is how long it is when there is basically no plot. Nicely done, self. Oh well...
There is a shuffle of feet and when he looks up from the pictures of the autopsy (organs turned to mush, always nice) he sees Lincoln in the doorway, furrowed brow and small pout.
He's been staring at gruesome pictures for the best part of the afternoon, so he can't really say he's enjoying himself right now but there is something about Lincoln doing the thirty-ish male version of pouting - which, he'd like to point out, is in no point different of the fourteen-years-old-girl one - that cheers him up instantly.
"Hey, are you okay?"
"I'm fine." Lincoln answers curtly. He moves his arms, before tensing and aborting the motion, and Peter has the sneaking impression that he was going to cross his arms. Which would have been utterly delightful if potentially damaging for their new friendship, as he is quite sure he couldn't have resisted the temptation to inform the agent exactly how much like a teenage girl he looked.
"Oh, really, because you seem... tense?" He asks with a fake concern, because he saw Lincoln not an hour ago and he is pretty sure nothing horrible happened since. Also, pouting.
Lincoln purses his lips even more and quite pointedly looks everywhere but Peter, obviously not wanting to answer him.
Peter sighs and kicks the chair in front of him. The rattle makes Lincoln jump a little and he eyes the chair cautiously, because, obviously, a chair offers many dangers to consider. He restrains himself from rolling his eyes and says with a calm certainty:
"You will sit on this chair"
It is Lincoln's turn to sigh as he answers.
"Peter, how many times should we have this conversation? You are not, I repeat, you are not a Jedi, thus do not have any minds tricks to use on me."
Peter thinks it is quite an unfair assessment. He had only tried it only once before to get Lincoln to assist Walter in the autopsy, and it was the day after they spent the night watching the original trilogy. Context is important.
Furthermore, he didn't call Lincoln on all the inane remarks he made, and boy, did he make some. When he is tired he doesn't seem to retain any brain-to-mouth filter, so amongst the comments about the character's outfits, quips about some dialogue lines, and the random observations on the homoerotic undertones of the movies, Peter learned a few things about him.
For example, he learned that he had once a dog that he thought looked like Chewbacca, so he had wanted to call him that, except he was seven at the time, so he got it wrong, and called him Chubacha instead. He didn't change it when he realized his mistake, because Peter, how could you do that to a dog, he would have been so confused. So despite his older brother's taunts, he had kept the name.
Also, Han Solo had apparently been his first crush, and was still his favourite character. He talked way too much about him, so no, it wasn't out of some weird jealousy – despite what Lincoln thought and said – that he had taken every occasion to point out his flaws. What if he is his favourite character too? He still doesn't know why Lincoln seemed to find this bit of information so damn hilarious: you can perfectly love a character and be critical of him.
So anyway, context: he got even less sleep than usual, and he still thinks he had been entitled to try to profit from the fact that Lincoln was the newbie to get him to do some ungrateful tasks.
Lincoln is staring at him, crossed arms and a resolute expression on his face. Not looking in any way like a petulant child. Nope.
Peter stares back, until Lincoln lets out yet another sigh and finally sits down. No need to be a Jedi to have astonishing mind powers, he thinks with a great satisfaction.
"So... What is the problem? Did Walter asked if he could record your brain waves again? Or did he try to convince you that measuring your skull to then establish your phrenological profile was indeed a fun idea?"
Lincoln looks at him through squinted eyes, slightly aghast.
"No... Why? Is this something I should be expecting, the phrenology thing?"
"Well, he did ask me this morning. But I don't doubt he will soon leave this idea behind. Hopefully not to concentrate on another long past pseudoscience, like physiognomy."
Lincoln still looks perplexed.
"He dug out some of his old epistemology books." He adds shrugging a little, as if it explains everything. Lincoln nods once, so it probably does, somehow. After all, even if he's only been there for three days to help them on their investigation, he has had plenty of time to get to know Walter.
The silence stretches on. Lincoln has this stubborn look again, and Peter is quite curious as of to what could have annoyed him so much, so he figures he isn't above a little guilt-tripping if it gets him answers.
"You forgot my coffee." He must say he is quite proud of the quiet hurt he put in the words.
Lincoln startles and looks guilty, before rolling his eyes with clear exasperation: Peter's maneuver is obviously not as smooth as he thought it was.
But it still works (mind tricks, he definitely has them): Lincoln lets out a final sigh, his shoulders slumping a little as he quickly says:
" She has done it again".
"Oh" is all Peter can say. Because as much as he understands where Lincoln is coming from, because Bell is a smug, condescending bastard, he did spend five minutes this morning laughing and snorting into his cup of coffee when he remembered the scene.
They had brought the second corpse, and Walter had asked Lincoln if he wanted to assist him in the autopsy, with a tone that clearly indicated that it was somehow a way to welcome him to the team, however briefly he may stay. Of course Lincoln accepted, but as used as he may have been to usual autopsies, he was obviously not prepared to the ones they got to do on an almost daily basis -he loves his life.
He had blanched when the ribs had been opened to reveal the jellied insides, and blurted out some bullshit excuse, or more exactly a long string of the less convincing excuses anyone ever thought of (something about laundry and a space station, he isn't sure, but damn if Lincoln isn't the worst liar he's ever met) as he slowly moved away from the table.
Bell had grinned and pinched his cheek, calling him, of all things to call a thirty-something special agent, adorable. In two seconds flat, Lincoln was livid for another reason entirely and exited the lab.
"Yeah. They were smoking..." He waves his hands and looks at Peter under his raised eyebrows, in a "you know what I mean" gesture". Peter can't help to snort a little at that. He can't stand Bell's guts and can't wait till he's out of his girlfriend, but he can't say he doesn't agree with his statement.
Because it is adorable really how Lincoln can't bring himself to say the word, as if avoiding to do so would somehow un-break the law. He doesn't know about what he should worry more: how Walter's pot consumption has increased since his old pal's back, or the liberality with which he uses the word "adorable" to refer to his new colleague.
Lincoln continues, eyes everywhere and knuckles white as he grips the edge of the table.
" It isn't like I was eavesdropping. I .. They were talking, and they didn't see me, and okay maybe I was more stealthy than necessary, but I just really didn't want to talk to her. So anyway, they were talking, and it was obvious it was about me, because Astrid said something I didn't quite catch, and then agent Dunham said, and I quote" Cue mimming " Oh, but he is such a cutie pie, I couldn't help it, really."
"Did she now? What a terrible, terrible thing to say."
His voice cracks, his lips involuntarily twitch up, and when Lincoln looks at him with a chiding expression, it's all he can do not to burst out laughing.
" You may find it funny, but I think it is patronizing. I mean, we're roughly the same age, so she shouldn't go around talking like someone's grandmother."
This shouldn't be so funny, because Lincoln has unknowingly hit home. It's been almost two weeks of carefully repressed rage, of nights without sleep because Olivia isn't there. Almost two weeks he's been sleeping alone, without her comforting presence and even breathing lulling him to sleep.
It's become really bad, bad enough that your only options left are either crying or laughing. He didn't cry since he learned about his mother's death.
So he laughs, as Lincoln watches him with raised eyebrows and crossed arms. When he calms down, Lincoln sent him another disapproving glare before continuing.
" Seriously I am slightly affronted. Also I have trouble to see how anyone can refer to a grown up as adorable. Isn't it supposed to be a quality used only for children? Or baby animals?"
He looks thoughtful.
" Especially the ones wearing diapers, which, by the way, I never got." Peter can't help to snort at that, and Lincoln seems to realize what he just said, eyes widening a little " Can we pretend I didn't say that? Or that we are not having this conversation? At all? "
Peter chuckles.
" Lincoln, seriously, you're not helping your case. No wonder she finds you so damn adorable"
Lincoln looks at him with pleading eyes, and there is a small part of him that thinks maybe he should let it go. The other part finds it too amusing to pass on though, so he says with the most serious tone he can muster under the circumstances.
" Besides, I'm not sure you can reduce adorableness to such limited categories. It's ineffable, like Beauty."
Lincoln looks at him for a second, clearly disbelieving.
-"Ineffable? Like Beauty", he repeats slowly , his eyebrows raising with each word. "Really, Peter? Because to my knowledge, many people have tried to define beauty, and I have yet to remember any, say, philosopher who wondered about the essence of adorableness. So let me go on a limb here and say that your comparison is pretty much unfounded. And crazy. "
"Well, I don't know about Hegel, but I'm pretty sure Kant had a theory on adorableness that he intended to link to his general aesthetics."
That is possibly the most absurd thing he has ever said, and even tired as he is he'd feel embarrassment., except Lincoln's eyes lit up and his smile is blinding -Lincoln never smiled that way before, and it turns out Peter quite likes it, likes the dimples and shining eyes- as he answers.
"Oh, really, Kant? As in Immanuel Kant?"
"Of course, who else?" He answers breezily. "The planned title was Observations on the Feeling of the Beautiful and Adorable".
"So..." Lincoln trails " a sequel to the Observations on the Feeling of the Beautiful and Sublime then."
"Exactly. It's a little known fact, but he was big on sequels: the draft of "The return of the Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals". was found in his bedside table too."
So he was wrong: this is the most absurd thing he ever said. Not far away, Gene moos, no doubt in agreement.
"You are ridiculous", Lincoln tells him. His brows are furrowed and his mouth is set in a thin line. Peter thinks he means it to be disapproving, except the corners of his mouth are twitching up and he sounds inexplicably fond.
"Oh, I am ridiculous?"
Lincoln just nods and looks as if as if the answer should be obvious. Which, okay, it is, but still, Peter decides it is on.
"I am. Really? Because in the two years I spent in this lab, I don't recall having any heart-to-heart conversation with, say..." He trails, smirking to himself, savoring the slow look of surprise and horror on Lincoln's face " a member of the bovine species."
It is quite a big ammunition that he didn't plan on using it so soon. Now that he thinks of it, he probably should have used what he had learned from their movie night instead. But when Gene mooed he suddenly remembered Lincoln asking her questions about her day, her role in the team, if Walter really was as crazy as he seemed, as if it was the most mundane thing in the world.
In the end, he thinks the mixture of embarrassment and exasperation on Lincoln's face is definitely worth it.
"It wasn't a conversation. I was tired, and I didn't think there was anyone else "He glares at Peter, probably reproaching him his sneakiness "And..."
"And ?"
Peter asks, and tries not to grin as Lincoln ducks his head, looking both stubborn and uncomfortable, his mouth twisting halfway between a pucker and a pout. He thinks again, adorable, and yet again that he has got to stop dubbing pretty much everything Lincoln does or says as such. This behavior should be reserved to creepy eighty-years- old male who enjoyed possessing young women.
There are staring at each other again and Peter is sure, he just is, that he is going to win. After two minutes, Lincoln seems to realize that too. He shrugs and lets out an exasperated sigh.
Peter really enjoys how petulant he is acting today. He knows already he'll take a great delight in reminding him of it.
Lincoln doesn't often roll his eyes, or grin, doesn't often let anyone see past the neutral mask of his efficiency. Every time he does, it feels like being let into a secret.
So what if Peter goes sometimes to great lengths just to have a glimpse of the many layers Lincoln is hiding?
"And she seemed a little down." Lincoln says, quietly.
Peter tries not to laugh, really, he does, but this is too much and he's had too little to sleep, so he thinks he doesn't deserve the disapproving and mock hurt look Lincoln sends his way, before adding loftily, smirking a little:
"I must say her conversation was just as riveting as yours is when you lack caffeine. She moos, you grunt. And I'll take the cow over the caveman any day "
His smirk has bloomed into a full grin now, and Peter tries to resent that, but there are those dimples again, and well... It's not really something he can deny: he can't function without coffee. Just can't.
But he feels he earned the right to be petulant too, so he crosses his arms, and proceeds to glare at Lincoln.
"I am not listening to you. You are a ridiculous person who talks to cows. Now, go and get me coffee like you promised you would." He huffs.
Lincoln chuckles a little but he gets up, not without rolling his eyes at Peter one last time (and wow, thrice today, Peter notes, smug).
He comes back ten minutes later and puts down a steaming mug of coffee in front of him.
Peter has had time to cool down and reflect on his frankly worrying behavior, but he still can't resist the temptation to annoy Lincoln a little more.
He leans on his forearms, and stretches until his face is only a few inches apart from Lincoln, who has looked up from his report and is staring at him with a deer-in-the-headlights look. Peter stares at him some more, enjoying the slight flush spreading on Lincoln's cheeks, before saying, the small smirk on his lips contradicting his earnest tone:
"Thank you for the coffee, Lincoln, It really was nice, and, dare I say, adorable of you."
Lincoln is glaring at him now and he opens his mouth to answer, but before he can, Peter leans to kiss him. He goes for his lips (because he enjoys Lincoln's terrified expression as he does so), before dodging at the last second and smooching on his cheek.
It is loud, and closer to the mouth than he intended but it's been a long day so he thinks he can be excused for his bad aim.
When he draws back, after a few seconds - he estimated a proper smooch should last between five to fifteen seconds- Lincoln splutters a little, before informing him calmly that he hates him. But he is biting the inside of his cheeks to contain his smile so Peter can quite safely venture the opinion that he doesn't.
"Sure you do. » He grins before taking a few sips of his almost too hot coffee and returning back to his files.
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Lincoln suddenly says, smirk tugging at the left corner of his mouth.
"I'm sure you were quite a "cutie pie" yourself, as a kid." His hands are around his mug, but Peter feels the quotations marks in his voice just the same.
He suddenly has a bad feeling about all this.
"Okay" he trails. "Where are you going with this?"
Lincoln looks at him with wide eyes and slightly parted lips, and he would be the perfect picture of innocence if not for the smirk he can't quite hide.
" Oh, nowhere. Just wondering if Walter would let me take a look at some old family albums, that's all."
"He wouldn't", he says with more conviction than he feels. Because this is exactly the sort of thing Walter would do.
"Hmm. I'm not sure about that. He likes me, has little to no knowledge of social conventions and he is also insanely proud of you. And that, my friend, is your downfall."
He is grinning now, the perfect image of mischief and Peter groans. As much as he would like him to be wrong, he knows he isn't.
Walter would be delighted to show him pictures, and god, probably tell him too how surprised he was that he wasn't more fat while pointing out at his ten-year-old chubby self.
And Lincoln is right. Walter does like him: as it turns out, Lincoln, like Astrid, uses baking as a relaxing method (and Peter still has trouble to accept that normal people, people outside of movies or TV shows, do that), so on the second day, he came with at least five different chocolate cakes. Walter did like him before that, but Peter knows his appreciation increased greatly at the sight of the sweets. Hence the ask for assistance, and the disaster autopsy.
Peter had opened his mouth to mock him, but Astrid had looked at him with a clear "Don't you dare" expression, so he didn't. Plus, Walter had looked utterly gleeful, far from the guilt-ridden look he sported the last few days. He would have been a complete bastard to deny him that.. and, well, Lincoln does make an amazing chocolate pie.
"Are you threatening me?" He tries to sound menacing, but they both know he is defeated, so when Lincoln condescendingly pats him on the cheek, he bears it with gritted teeth.
"Of course not. Now stop pestering me and go back to work".
The next day, when Peter gives his coffee to Lincoln, he watches him closely and chuckles when Lincoln sees the scribbling on his cup : "cutie pie". There have been a long line at the coffee shop and a few heads turned when the apathetic girl at the counter shouted his order.
It is worth it thiough: t is not even 9 a.m, and Lincoln is already rolling his eyes at him, a small smile on his lips, dimples showing a little.
He doesn't look exasperated, like he did the day before, but Peter doesn't doubt one moment that if he annoys him one too many times, all hell will break loose.
It is time for a truce, so he gives Lincoln the Styrofoam container he was hiding behind his back. Lincoln raises his eyebrows and opens it with caution. He watches the content for a few seconds, frowning as if trying to make sense of them, before he is smiling again.
He snorts softly and asks to Peter, his tone incredulous.
"Are those whale-shaped pancakes?"
"Yep. I made them myself. They were my favorite when I was a child. I figured it was a good trade for an album photo, don't you think."
Lincoln gives him his look that clearly says "Peter Bishop, you are being ridiculous", and really, Peter thinks it is unfair that he has already a look for that. Though if he is honest with himself, he doesn't mind too much.
Lincoln looks at him with pursed lips, obviously weighing his options, and after a minute of scrutiny, nods once.
"Truce?" Peter asks, grinning, "Truce" answers Lincoln, grinning too.
That's when he realizes that the background noise of Bell and Walter's bickering has died down. He tears his eyes from Lincoln and finds three pairs of eyes fixed on them.
Walter is looking halfway between confused and mocking; Astrid is shaking her head, clearly disbelieving, and Bell is looking at them with raised eyebrows.
"You two are so adorable."
Peter doesn't know how he manages to sound even more smug than usual, but for once, he doesn't feel like punching him. Too much.
He turns to Lincoln. They roll their eyes at the same time.