[Boston, MA]
The third time her apartment opens on Milliways, Olivia doesn't walk inside. She hesitates, framed in the doorway -- long enough to see the Window cycle through another explosion, long enough to spot what looks like another troll building some kind of contraption (Nepeta's friend-sibling, maybe?) -- then shuts it and leans her back against the door, the metal numbers digging between her shoulder blades.
The Harvard lab is fourth on her speed dial. Sweeping her hair aside, Olivia presses the phone to her ear and waits through the humming buzz.
Click. "Bishop's Beef and Head Shop."
In spite of herself, Olivia grins. "Hey. It's me."
"Olivia!" Immediately, Peter's voice warms. "Hey. How's it going?"
"Um...interestingly." She says it with a delicacy that doesn't wholly suit her; on the other end of the line, she can all too clearly picture Peter raising an eyebrow. "Sounds like it's going about the same over there?"
Peter sighs. Long-suffering: "Walter's sharing bong hits with the cow."
"You're kidding."
"Wish I was."
"Did he say why?" Olivia steps away from her door, hefting her bag a little higher as she walks to the elevators. Her flats tap out an echoing staccato on the floor.
"Something about her appetite flagging and worries about malnutrition affecting milk production." She can practically hear his eyes rolling. "But, if you want some high-quality THC-laced milk next time you're over here -- "
"I think I'll pass." Smothered laughter tints her voice. "Um, speaking of coming over -- is Walter in any shape to talk for a little while?"
Peter snorts. "Are you kidding? He's been talking to Gene for two hours straight," he says. More seriously: "He's as good as he ever is. What's going on?"
"I'll tell you once I'm there." Olivia exits back onto the noisy Boston street, raising her voice to compensate for the burr of engines and blaring of horns. "See you in fifteen?"
"Yeah, okay." Peter's tone walks a thin edge between concern and wariness. "See you then."
Twenty-five minutes later, Peter and Astrid are both staring at her. Walter, beaming fit to burst, just looks as bright-eyed and enthused as ever by what she's described to them.
"A stable soft spot?" Peter repeats, incredulous.
Olivia spreads her hands. "Permanent, from the look of it. Apparently the location and frequency of its appearances can vary, but the bar itself -- it doesn't change. I've seen it three times so far and as far as I can tell, it's a fixed point."
She glances to Walter. "I don't think it's connected to the Other Side, either. Nothing...glimmered, that I saw."
(She has to look at Walter as she says that. If she doesn't, she has a brief and fleeting worry she'll look at Peter instead.)
"Well, it wouldn't, of course." Walter's briskness -- as if her observation is so indisputable as to be barely worth a mention -- grates on Olivia a little more than it might have before Jacksonville. She sets her teeth as the elder Bishop continues, grinning, "What you're describing, my dear, is much more similar to a shared pocket that any universe can access, a, a point of overlap that could serve as an independent universe in its own right. If the Other Side were to deposit a person or an object into the pocket, then that of course would glimmer, but the pocket itself -- "
He bustles to his feet. Peter shoots Astrid a resigned glance: here we go. You get the mop and I'll get the dustbuster.
Olivia ignores them. "Lieutenant Hoshi did describe it as a place between universes," she offers to Walter, a bit cautiously.
"Purely a misnomer." He pokes his head into the nearest cabinet. Plastic rustles; several seconds later, he emerges with a wad of Ziploc bags. "Or a convenient and very simplistic term if you prefer. This has of course been theorized, Belly and I discussed it at length some years ago, after -- " A sly look. "Quite a lot of time in a lovely beachfront property with an equally lovely batch of LSD -- "
"Walter," interjects Peter sharply, eyebrows raised. "The point."
"Yes! The point," he says, prying open one of the bags, "is that from time to time, a...detritus of sorts can peel off from the edges of any given universe." Walter sweeps the edge of his hand along the closest table, collecting tools and neatly arranged Post-Its against his palm. Dismayed, Astrid opens her mouth before changing her mind and forcing it closed again. "You see, every universe constantly sheds minute amounts of matter, often no more than a handful of atoms at a time, and conservation of energy suggests that should the atoms remain unchanged from their basic state, they must go somewhere."
His gathered spoils tumble into the open bag. Walter zips it shut and holds it up for them to see.
"And so it is into the pocket they go, where, with enough jumbling and mixing, they begin to take on shapes." A vigorous shaking ensues, tangling the paper and tools together. "Forms, independent of whatever form those atoms may have initially taken -- such as this bar you've discovered," he adds as an aside to Olivia.
Astrid, still eyeing the remains of what must have been her own research, shakes her head. "So why is it so easy to access the pocket?"
"Ah. That, I'm afraid I'm not so sure of," admits Walter. "But perhaps it could have something to do with the primordial soup from which these forms spring." He rattles the bag, earning another barely-suppressed wince from Astrid. "The atoms may be displaced, but if kept under the right conditions, a sort of...connection to their former universe may remain; a certain pull they could exert, however small it might be."
If it was difficult to look at Peter before, it's even more difficult now. Walter isn't looking at him either, Olivia notes.
"Because this matter drifted away of its own accord, rather than being forcibly ripped from its universe, it lends a certain stability to both the originating universe and anything that may be contained within that pocket. Much more so than you would get in your traditional crossing over -- yet!" He beams. "The draw remains. And while it remains, it could be possible to exploit the link between any given universe and the pocket containing that universe's detritus."
Olivia exhales. To be honest, it sounds exactly like the kind of theory one would expect two scientists to construct in the middle of an acid trip. Of course, until several weeks ago, she wouldn't have had physical proof to corroborate the model. Walter's explanation is better than nothing.
Maybe.
"Oh!" Finally, Walter notices the meaningful look Astrid's directed his way. "I'm terribly sorry, Astro, here -- I would very much," he goes on, wistful now, as he hands Astrid the bag, "like to see this bar for myself, Agent Dunham."
Olivia shakes her head. "It's not something I can control," she says. "The door tends to appear at random. It's the same way for everyone else there, from what I understand."
"Hm. Pity." The wistfulness hasn't abated -- and then, suddenly, Walter brightens. "Olivia, would you be willing to serve as my eyes and ears the next time you find yourself within Milliways?"
She blinks. Guarded: "How so?"
An hour later, she has to nudge open her apartment door with one toe, lest she spill the thick sheaf of paper in her arms. To study, Walter explained, and to report. There are long lists of variables to examine, questionnaires to apply, samples to collect should she be able to do so.
At least it's not an isolation tank and a bunch of LSD dumped into her own bloodstream, she thinks.
The Harvard lab is fourth on her speed dial. Sweeping her hair aside, Olivia presses the phone to her ear and waits through the humming buzz.
Click. "Bishop's Beef and Head Shop."
In spite of herself, Olivia grins. "Hey. It's me."
"Olivia!" Immediately, Peter's voice warms. "Hey. How's it going?"
"Um...interestingly." She says it with a delicacy that doesn't wholly suit her; on the other end of the line, she can all too clearly picture Peter raising an eyebrow. "Sounds like it's going about the same over there?"
Peter sighs. Long-suffering: "Walter's sharing bong hits with the cow."
"You're kidding."
"Wish I was."
"Did he say why?" Olivia steps away from her door, hefting her bag a little higher as she walks to the elevators. Her flats tap out an echoing staccato on the floor.
"Something about her appetite flagging and worries about malnutrition affecting milk production." She can practically hear his eyes rolling. "But, if you want some high-quality THC-laced milk next time you're over here -- "
"I think I'll pass." Smothered laughter tints her voice. "Um, speaking of coming over -- is Walter in any shape to talk for a little while?"
Peter snorts. "Are you kidding? He's been talking to Gene for two hours straight," he says. More seriously: "He's as good as he ever is. What's going on?"
"I'll tell you once I'm there." Olivia exits back onto the noisy Boston street, raising her voice to compensate for the burr of engines and blaring of horns. "See you in fifteen?"
"Yeah, okay." Peter's tone walks a thin edge between concern and wariness. "See you then."
Twenty-five minutes later, Peter and Astrid are both staring at her. Walter, beaming fit to burst, just looks as bright-eyed and enthused as ever by what she's described to them.
"A stable soft spot?" Peter repeats, incredulous.
Olivia spreads her hands. "Permanent, from the look of it. Apparently the location and frequency of its appearances can vary, but the bar itself -- it doesn't change. I've seen it three times so far and as far as I can tell, it's a fixed point."
She glances to Walter. "I don't think it's connected to the Other Side, either. Nothing...glimmered, that I saw."
(She has to look at Walter as she says that. If she doesn't, she has a brief and fleeting worry she'll look at Peter instead.)
"Well, it wouldn't, of course." Walter's briskness -- as if her observation is so indisputable as to be barely worth a mention -- grates on Olivia a little more than it might have before Jacksonville. She sets her teeth as the elder Bishop continues, grinning, "What you're describing, my dear, is much more similar to a shared pocket that any universe can access, a, a point of overlap that could serve as an independent universe in its own right. If the Other Side were to deposit a person or an object into the pocket, then that of course would glimmer, but the pocket itself -- "
He bustles to his feet. Peter shoots Astrid a resigned glance: here we go. You get the mop and I'll get the dustbuster.
Olivia ignores them. "Lieutenant Hoshi did describe it as a place between universes," she offers to Walter, a bit cautiously.
"Purely a misnomer." He pokes his head into the nearest cabinet. Plastic rustles; several seconds later, he emerges with a wad of Ziploc bags. "Or a convenient and very simplistic term if you prefer. This has of course been theorized, Belly and I discussed it at length some years ago, after -- " A sly look. "Quite a lot of time in a lovely beachfront property with an equally lovely batch of LSD -- "
"Walter," interjects Peter sharply, eyebrows raised. "The point."
"Yes! The point," he says, prying open one of the bags, "is that from time to time, a...detritus of sorts can peel off from the edges of any given universe." Walter sweeps the edge of his hand along the closest table, collecting tools and neatly arranged Post-Its against his palm. Dismayed, Astrid opens her mouth before changing her mind and forcing it closed again. "You see, every universe constantly sheds minute amounts of matter, often no more than a handful of atoms at a time, and conservation of energy suggests that should the atoms remain unchanged from their basic state, they must go somewhere."
His gathered spoils tumble into the open bag. Walter zips it shut and holds it up for them to see.
"And so it is into the pocket they go, where, with enough jumbling and mixing, they begin to take on shapes." A vigorous shaking ensues, tangling the paper and tools together. "Forms, independent of whatever form those atoms may have initially taken -- such as this bar you've discovered," he adds as an aside to Olivia.
Astrid, still eyeing the remains of what must have been her own research, shakes her head. "So why is it so easy to access the pocket?"
"Ah. That, I'm afraid I'm not so sure of," admits Walter. "But perhaps it could have something to do with the primordial soup from which these forms spring." He rattles the bag, earning another barely-suppressed wince from Astrid. "The atoms may be displaced, but if kept under the right conditions, a sort of...connection to their former universe may remain; a certain pull they could exert, however small it might be."
If it was difficult to look at Peter before, it's even more difficult now. Walter isn't looking at him either, Olivia notes.
"Because this matter drifted away of its own accord, rather than being forcibly ripped from its universe, it lends a certain stability to both the originating universe and anything that may be contained within that pocket. Much more so than you would get in your traditional crossing over -- yet!" He beams. "The draw remains. And while it remains, it could be possible to exploit the link between any given universe and the pocket containing that universe's detritus."
Olivia exhales. To be honest, it sounds exactly like the kind of theory one would expect two scientists to construct in the middle of an acid trip. Of course, until several weeks ago, she wouldn't have had physical proof to corroborate the model. Walter's explanation is better than nothing.
Maybe.
"Oh!" Finally, Walter notices the meaningful look Astrid's directed his way. "I'm terribly sorry, Astro, here -- I would very much," he goes on, wistful now, as he hands Astrid the bag, "like to see this bar for myself, Agent Dunham."
Olivia shakes her head. "It's not something I can control," she says. "The door tends to appear at random. It's the same way for everyone else there, from what I understand."
"Hm. Pity." The wistfulness hasn't abated -- and then, suddenly, Walter brightens. "Olivia, would you be willing to serve as my eyes and ears the next time you find yourself within Milliways?"
She blinks. Guarded: "How so?"
An hour later, she has to nudge open her apartment door with one toe, lest she spill the thick sheaf of paper in her arms. To study, Walter explained, and to report. There are long lists of variables to examine, questionnaires to apply, samples to collect should she be able to do so.
At least it's not an isolation tank and a bunch of LSD dumped into her own bloodstream, she thinks.