As always, thanks to Uroboros75 for his beta reading skills, and to you, my readers. I never intended this "story" to go on this long, and I have other Fringe fanfic to write, so don't be surprised if this story starts to update slower. This one may never "end" in a conventional sense, however.
Olivia Dunham arrived at the lab earlier than usual; a joint meeting with the alternate Fringe Division had been scheduled. She was surprised to find that Peter and Lincoln had arrived before her.
Peter greeted her with a smile, as he usually did. Then he stepped forward and took her hand – she thrilled at his touch.
She stammered."Peter, I..."
With a flourish, Peter uncapped a black permanent marker and wrote a blocky "1" on the back of her hand. She looked up at him, confused.
"He got me while I was sleeping," Lincoln Lee said.
Olivia looked at him. Lincoln had a big, blocky "1" written across his forehead, and seemed quite annoyed. She looked at the other members of Fringe Division. Astrid and Walter both had markings on the back of their hands.
"It's so I can tell you from your alternate," Peter explained. "I've had a problem with that, in the past."
Peter looked at Broyles, who stared back impassively. When Peter moved toward him, Broyles interrupted.
"Do it and I'll shoot you dead, Bishop."
Peter shrugged, capped the marker and put it back in his pocket.
Broyles turned to the assembled Division and did a good impression of a Marine drill sergeant.
"Okay, people. Astrid will stay at the lab with Doctor Bishop and Gene the Cow. The rest of us have a meeting with the Other Side on Liberty Island. I want everyone on their best behaviour. Remember, we're representing our world in our dealings with the Other Side. So that means no slouching and no chewing of gum. Move out!"
Moving out, of course, consisted of walking to the parking lot and loading everyone into a Nissan Leaf.
Broyles, being the tallest, was the hardest to pack into the small electric vehicle. He ended up crammed into the back seat beside Lincoln, torso canted forward, knees drawn up toward his chest, long arms spilling over into Lincoln's personal space.
Olivia and Peter rode in comparative comfort in the driver's and passenger seats respectively.
"You remembered to charge this thing last night, didn't you?" asked Peter.
Olivia nodded, as she slowly pulled the vehicle out of the parking lot and onto city streets. "Of course I did. The FBI even sprang for a rapid recharge station at my apartment building."
Peter fiddled with the radio, eventually settling on an oldies jazz station he knew no one else in the car could stand for long. He settled back in his seat to watch their expressions.
They rode in relative peace for about half an hour before Lincoln made an inquiry.
"Hey...What's that beeping?"
Peter turned off the radio and listened. There was definitely a faint beeping noise. "It seems to be coming from the back, you guys. Maybe under the seat?"
A quick search of the vehicle commenced, culminating in Lincoln being forced to put his face in Broyles crotch to reach the beeping object.
"It's a Geiger counter!" Lincoln handed the boxy device to Peter. "But why is it beeping?"
"Oh, I understand," Peter said. "The car was made in Japan. The nuclear accident."
"The car is radioactive?" asked Lincoln in alarm.
"Yes, but not enough to harm us. You probably get dosed with more radiation from the lab," Peter replied.
Dunham, Broyles and Lee each did a double take. Broyles neck made a popping noise and everybody winced in sympathy.
"Why would we get dosed with radiation from the lab?" asked Olivia.
"Oh... I guess I forgot to tell you," Peter began. "Walter tried to replicate an atomic bomb last week."
Lincoln, clearly the junior member of the team, was the only one to be surprised. "He tried to build an A-bomb?"
"Just a little one. And I talked him out of it. I really shouldn't have gotten him that book on the Manhattan Project."
He turned the radio back on, hoping some smooth jazz would chill everyone out.
Some miles later, Olivia and Peter heard a complaint from the back seat.
"Stop touching me!" Lincoln said.
"I can't help it," replied Broyles. "I'm too big to fit in this car."
Olivia and Peter shared a look of genuine frustration.
Peter glanced into the back seat. Broyles long limbs were indeed spilling over into Lincolns personal space – not that anything could be done about the situation.
"Look guys, we have a long trip ahead of us. Just try not to bother each other. I promise, we'll stop halfway and everyone can get out and stretch."
They continued down the highway, with only intermittent arguing between Broyles and Lincoln in the backseat, which Peter and Olivia did their best to ignore.
An hour into the trip, Olivia felt the strange pressure in her head that signaled the onset of another migraine. She pulled the small, energy efficient vehicle to the side of the road.
"What are you doing?" Peter asked, "There isn't an exit here..."
"We're in trouble now..." Lincoln muttered.
"Your fault," muttered Broyles in reply.
Olivia glanced into the rear seat before replying.
"Nobody is in trouble. Peter, I'm getting a migraine. You drive."
Peter stared at her. "I don't have a driver's license. I didn't exist until a few months ago, remember?"
Olivia growled. "Peter."
Broyles spoke up, annoyance in his voice. "Bishop, take the wheel, that's an order."
Peter shrugged, and quickly switched places with Olivia, who produced two pills from an inside pocket of her coat and took them with a swig of water from a plastic bottle. She then lay back and closed her eyes.
A half hour of silence ensued, followed by Lincoln's voice.
"I have to pee."
Peter looked at his reflection in the rear view mirror. "Lincoln, I told you to go before we left."
Olivia glanced into the back seat. "Can you hold it for a while? We just got on the freeway."
Broyles, his voice muffled by his contorted position, replied. "You don't have to pee."
"But I do have to pee..." Lincoln whined.
"You don't have to pee," said Broyles.
"Yes, I do."
Broyles shifted uncomfortably in his seat until he could look at Lee.
"Lincoln, look into my eyes," Broyles said.
Lincoln did as instructed, and flinched, recoiling at the torment and purpose he saw behind the senior agents orbs. If the eyes were the windows to the soul, Broyles had been to some very dark places in his life, and come back whole, though not unscathed.
"Do you have to pee now?" Broyles asked.
"...Not anymore," replied Lee meekly.