Lincoln awoke early, the aroma of frying bacon and eggs pulling him from the depths of sleep. He put on his slippers and padded quietly out into the living room, finding Peter in the kitchen.

Peter gave him an odd look before grabbing a cup out of one of the cupboards.

"Coffee?" he offered.

Peter was wearing a tee shirt and boxer shorts, and, Lincoln noted, his feet were bare again. The GPS tether anklet, attached to Peter's leg at the insistence of Fringe division, hung just above his right ankle. At Lincoln's nod, Peter filled a mug with coffee and passed it to him before going back to stirring the scrambled eggs.

A few minutes later Peter came out of the kitchen with two plates piled high with scrambled eggs, bacon and toast. Lincoln, not quite the breakfast type, ate like he was famished nonetheless.

"Thanks, Pete," he said between bites. "I haven't had anyone make me breakfast in years."

"Well, I figure I have to earn my keep around here somehow."

Peter had his leg up on the chair he was sitting on, examining the GPS tether on his leg. Lincoln cleared his throat.

"You shouldn't mess with that," warned Lincoln. "Especially since that's the only reason they let you out of detention."

Peter looked at him and grinned.

"Do you seriously think I can't spoof this thing? I'm only staying in the apartment because I respect you."

Lincoln raised an eyebrow. "That model? There's no way in hell you can spoof it. It has a body-heat sensor to alert me with a text if you take it off. I can see where you are on my phone twenty-four-seven."

Peter smirked. "I will bet you the sum of one hundred dollars if I can spoof this thing."

Lincoln laughed. "You're in no position to start placing bets. You don't have any money, remember?"

Peter frowned. "Okay, smartass. I will do your laundry for a month if I can't spoof this thing by the end of the week."

Lincoln smiled, stood up and shook Peter's hand. "You're on. It'll be nice not having to do laundry for a while. I have to get ready for work. Thanks again for breakfast."

Lincoln headed for the bathroom. From behind him, Peter took a parting shot.

"You're awfully confident for somebody wearing Scooby Doo pajamas."

By the time Lincoln returned home, it was late and already dark out. He had checked his smartphone several times on the way home, keeping an eye on his guest by proxy; to his relief, Peter had not yet managed to vacate the premises.

Lincoln produced his keys from his coat pocket and went to unlock his apartment door, only to find that it was already unlocked. Seeing this caused internal alarms to flare, and he pushed the door open slowly and quietly, hand on his gun. The door was blocked by something solid, seemingly lying on the floor in the foyer. When he looked down, he saw a running shoe.

Peering further through the door's crack, he realized the shoe was being worn by someone.

He drew his pistol then cautiously pushed the door open as far as possible before squeezing through and taking a look at the body. He was relieved to find that it wasn't Peter; but his relief was overridden by alarm as he took in the mixture of silver and crimson blood splattered in the foyer.

The Shapeshifter wore the brown uniform of a UPS package handler, and the package and bloody clipboard lying on the floor nearby told him how it had gained entry; however, its head now hung at an unnatural angle, neck broken, and the base of its spine had been messily cut open, at the point where the Shapeshifter's currently absent data module would have been found.

Gun raised, Lincoln pushed on into the living room. He found Peter lying on the couch, holding a bag of frozen peas to the crown of his head. He waved in greeting.

"I think he was lookin' for you," Peter said in a sardonic tone of voice that told Lincoln he wasn't quite pleased with the situation.

Lincoln noted with satisfaction that Peter still had the GPS tether around his leg.

"I guess I should have told you we were working a Shapeshifter case," said Lincoln. "Sorry about that. Are you alright?"

Lincoln holstered his gun, deciding that if Peter was lying calmly on the couch, the apartment must be safe.

Peter groaned and sat up, removing the bag of peas from his head. "Yeah, I've had worse. Being beaten with a clipboard was a first, though. The data disk is on the kitchen counter."

Lincoln went into the kitchen, finding the module lying in a pool of mercury on a paper plate. He put the whole thing into a paper grocery bag so he could take into the lab tomorrow. Then he took a bag of frozen carrots out of the freezer, two beers out of the fridge, opened the cans, went into the living room and plopped onto the couch beside Peter. He held up the bag of carrots.

"I'll trade you for the peas," he said. "And here's a beer. Let's order pizza for dinner."

Lincoln pulled out his phone and called the nearest takeout pizza place.

Peter nodded and placed the new bag of frozen produce on the swelling bruise on his head. He took a sip of his beer before nudging Lincoln with his elbow.

"I'll kick your ass at Call of Duty while we wait."