warriors with wild hearts. fringe. peter bishop/olivia dunham, lincoln lee. olivia dunham is an extraordinary woman. lincoln lee can understand why peter bishop loves her so much. one story, three perspectives.
(Lincoln Lee)
He exits the standard FBI-issued car and breathes in the crisp morning winter air, cups of coffee and bagels balanced on the small cardboard takeout tray. He squints at the apartment building across the street; even though it is barely 9 a.m., the curtains are still drawn, as if it was shutting the world out (and in some way, he thinks, it is). He shouldn't expect anything less; last night has been quite draining for everyone at Fringe Division.
Even if David Robert Jones is still rogue, at least Olivia is safe.
He's just becoming aware of the person walking down the street when he's reached the bottom of the stairs leading to Olivia's apartment building, his arms full with paper bags from what looks like the local supermarket. He's panting slightly, obviously in a hurry to come back from his errands as fast as possible.
"Hey," Peter greets.
Lincoln nods; the other man looks like he's been run over by a bus, jaw dark with bruises and cuts, and Lincoln remembers vividly the wild look his eyes during the time Olivia was missing, only to be replaced with something even deeper when he was reunited with the woman he loved, the both of them barely able to stand amidst the chaos of police cars and FBI agents and ambulances, but unwilling to let go.
"I was just stopping by to see if Olivia was okay," he says and helps Peter with the front door.
"She was still sleeping when I left," Peter says it as if it's the most natural thing in the world, which Lincoln presumes is. He still can't quite wrap the concept around his head; Olivia remembering a timeline that technically never existed, because of the drug in her and the powerful bond between her and the man she loves.
Peter tries to balance all bags in one arm to fumble with the keys dangling from his fingers and Lincoln offers to help him. "Thanks," Peter says gratefully before opening the door.
Everything is silent. Lincoln closes the door behind him as Peter grabs the paper bags and quietly heads for the kitchen. As Lincoln follows, he can barely make out the slumped form under the covers in the darkened bedroom on the far end of the apartment. "How is she doing?" Lincoln asks again, almost a whisper.
Peter navigates Olivia's kitchen with practiced ease, going from one cupboard to another. "Shaken up. Exhausted. But she will be fine. She's Olivia." There's pride in his voice when he says it, and Lincoln guesses that man's seen her fall down more times than it should have happened, but seen her always get back to her feet and move on. She bent under the pressure but never broke, strong as she is.
She is an extraordinary woman, indeed. And Lincoln can understand why Peter Bishop loves her so much.
How far would you go for love?
Apparently crossing universes and bending timelines, and everything in between. This is a story only the two of them are privy to now, not quite a secret thing but hidden nonetheless to the rest of the world, unaware, like a child playing hide-and-seek and peeking from around a tree, laughing and teasing.
"By the way, thanks for bringing breakfast," Peter says with a smile.
Oh. Lincoln stares at the groceries Peter brought back with him, and back to his own bag and Styrofoam cups and he realizes with a start that maybe he shouldn't be here at all. He's made it quite clear a couple of months ago that Olivia Dunham didn't leave him feeling indifferent and Peter may have even encouraged it while he was trying to get to a home he was already back to without knowing. But now that's changed, and Peter is indeed home, with Olivia. It's a subject Lincoln doesn't really want to broach, because how do you talk about that, really? "Maybe I should go."
Peter laughs quietly. "No, that's okay. You can stay."
So he stays. He sits awkwardly at the kitchen table while Peter deals with the mundane task of putting the groceries away. As if alert for every noise, he suddenly looks up. "'Livia?"
There's tossing and turning, and a contented hum. Then, the unmistakable sound of feet padding on the floorboards. "Peter." Her voice is hoarse and she looks ten times worse than last night, Lincoln thinks as she rounds the corner and into the small kitchen. Her eyes are sunken, a gash above her eyebrow barely held together with stitches and her lower lip has been split in two. Her long blonde hair is a wild mess, something Lincoln is not accustomed to seeing, her hair most of the time held in the restraints of an elastic band. She looks raw and almost feral, and beautiful at the same time, her eyes darker than usual. A warrior, really.
Her exposed arms and shoulders are covered with bruises, and her neck bears the evidence of two hands closing around her throat, angry red marks that makes Peter's jaw clench every time his eyes settle on that particular area, Lincoln notices.
"Hey Lincoln," she smiles before heading towards Peter.
Lincoln tries to advert his eyes but there's some sort of odd masochistic fascination in watching them. They kiss softly and she smiles against Peter's lips even if it seems to hurt, murmuring a soft "Good morning," to which he responds in kind. Her hands settle on his waist and he closes his eyes as he kisses her forehead. Their gaze cross just when their fingers tangle lazily, before they let go as he gently ushers her to sit, and even if it's a brief moment of intimacy, Lincoln wonders how he could have ever competed with Peter for Olivia's heart.
He's been there all along, even when she didn't know it.
"Lincoln brought breakfast."
Olivia looks up from her steaming cup of tea (coffee will make your headache worse, Peter gently reminds her) and he feels at a loss for words. "I just—I was just on my way to work and I thought I could see how you were doing—" I forgot that Peter would be there. Of course he would be there.
"Thanks," she just says and doesn't tease him.
Lincoln doesn't stay long. Olivia eats a bagel half-heartedly only because she's a little hungry but looks more like she is going to nod off and dive nose first in her Earl Grey. Peter doesn't look much better, blinking slowly until a full blown yawn escapes his mouth. "Sorry," he says, all the while rubbing Olivia's back. He then stops, as if realizing what he's been doing and gives her a sheepish smile.
Lincoln checks his watch. "I should get going." He doesn't let them protest, not that they would put up much of a fight anyway; they look seconds away from hitting the sack again.
For a moment there, he envies Peter Bishop very much. He imagines them lying in bed together, too exhausted to do anything else but sleep, but holding onto each other in their sleep, fingers tangled as they face each other. He can just even start trying to imagine the contentment on her face, because the hole in her life she talked about during his first week at Fringe Division isn't there anymore.
So yes, he envies Peter Bishop in that moment; not because he is with Olivia and he's the one giving her that sense of peace she was desperately looking for, but because they have each other, because they have this something tangible in their life and because the love they have for each other has made things beyond the impossible possible, pushed back all limitations.
"See you at the office," he finally says and she waves him goodbye, thanking him for the bagels and a coffee she didn't drink.
The door closes with a definite click behind him. He walks out in the crisp morning air, inhales deeply. The sun is rising fast and bright. There's a ton of paperwork waiting for him but compared to the wild chaos of last night, he welcomes the relief of doing a task as mundane as this. Maybe they have only made it as far as the eye of the storm yet and the fight isn't over, far from it.
But still.
Today looks full of possibilities, though.
(end part 1)