Half the Horizon's Gone- for perdiccas
Title: Half the Horizon’s Gone
Author: primarycolors92
Fandom: Fringe
Gift for: perdiccas
Characters/Pairing: Alt!Olivia Dunham, Alt!Lincoln Lee, Alt!Charlie Francis; Red Team Friendship
Rating: PG-13 for language and some content
Word Count: ~2200
Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe.
Spoilers/Warnings: AU after 3x08, “Entrada”.
Summary: Agent Dunham is scheduled for release from the Fringe Division Medical Center, pending confirmation of her recovery from trans-universe crossing. During her time at Medical, Agents Francis and Lee (acting director, Fringe Division New York) were informed of the nature and duration of Agent Dunham’s mission. All three Agents have been granted four (4) days of vacation, with the caveat that Agent Lee remain on-call in the case of an emergency Fringe event.
Author’s Note: A thousand thanks to my beta, ozmissage, who continues to be wonderful and insightful in a thousand different ways. Title and cut text belong to Metric’s “Calculation Theme.”
Peter is naked except for the gun in his hand. The light highlights his cheekbones and biceps and the bright steel, leaving his eyes in shadow.
Did you really think they would just send her back? His cadence mocks her. After everything she knew, everything she saw?
Peter begins to cry. His voice and hands are steady.
I told you I would kill you if they harmed her.
Peter pulls the trigger.
Olivia sits up in bed, breathless and wide awake. The sheets form shackles around her ankles; she is completely alone.
“Pupil dilation looks good, appropriate response to light stimulation.” The med tech returns the penlight to his pocket. “Have you noticed any neural abnormalities? Phantom smells, hallucinations, ringing ears, night terrors, that sort of thing?”
“Nope.” Olivia’s smile fits a little too tight. “No abnormalities whatsoever.”
“Great.” The med tech nods and doesn’t notice a thing (she’s just that good). Then again, the med tech looks all of twelve; Olivia fights the temptation to call him Doogie. “Then we’ll just give you your last round of shots and you’ll be cleared to get out of here.”
Liv’s smile feels a little less strained. “Great,” she echoes.
The Secretary comes to find Olivia before she can leave the facility. (She tries not to envision him in his boxers, but it’s more difficult than she imagined.) He is gentle with her but it is false and it grates now that she knows what sincerity looks like on his face (now that she knows better than he exactly what he has lost).
How are you feeling, he asks her, and she answers fine. It’s easier than I’m not feeling anything, and it’s what he wants to hear.
Liv’s ten steps outside the building when Charlie answers her call.
“Livvie?” he answers and from anyone else the concern and the nickname would drive her nuts, reach under her skin and itch at her for hours. Instead she smiles.
“That’s Agent Dunham to you. I’ve been released.”
“So I’ve heard,” and Olivia barely has time to raise her eyebrow before she’s looking around to find the (black, inconspicuous, never-quite-right) car that signifies a non-emergency Fringe vehicle. It’s three spots to her right.
“Charlie, you did not send someone to pick me up. I’m perfectly capable of catching a cab.”
“Oh, I didn’t send him anywhere. I’ll see you soon, okay?” Then there’s just a dial tone on the other end and the driver’s side door is opening.
“Hi, Liv,” Lincoln says. She can’t stop herself from running the last few feet to hug him. He smells the same as always; for a moment it feels a little like safety.
Lincoln drives her to her apartment long enough to pack a bag. North is all he’ll tell her when she asks where they’re going, even when she leans forward and smiles and lets her hair (red again) fall over one shoulder.
Olivia packs sweaters that remind her of her mom, considers bringing one of Frank’s for all of thirty seconds before the thought makes her want to scream.
She can feel Lincoln pretending not to watch her, eyes quiet and careful. The weight of the words he’s not saying press against her chest until she can barely breathe. Instead, she hides herself in the bathroom and fights back angry tears. It’s too much; observation by doctors and nurses and the Secretary, observation by Lincoln. Her life is so far out of her control that she isn’t sure she can do this, isn’t sure she can get into a car with Lincoln and let him take her wherever he wants. Olivia grips the basin of the sink until the white of her knuckles match the porcelain.
Her hair is red again (that’s something). She doesn’t cry.
They pull up to the train station. It’s incongruous and terrifying.
Lincoln must see something change (she’s losing her poker face after just an hour in his company) because he’s suddenly explaining.
“We thought it would be nicer than the zeppelin. With the, uh, the view and the better food.” He tries for a smile but falls short.
Olivia, always the better actor, makes it all the way. Lincoln stops with his hand on the door and swallows hard.
“Liv,” he says, and the car is suddenly cold. “I didn’t-Charlie said something to me, right at the beginning when she came back, about maybe it not being really you and I just… I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”
Liv wants to smack the puppy-dog eyes off his face. She wants to promise him it’s okay.
“People take the train a lot over there. There’s no zeppelins, so it’s more popular.” She sounds like she’s giving a tenth-grade report; Lincoln pretends (terribly) to not be completely confused.
Olivia shrugs and gets out of the car. It’s true, and it’s easier than saying I’m not sure I’m still me.
Charlie’s waiting inside the station terminal. She doesn’t run to him, but she smiles like it’s going to break her face in half.
Thank you, she whispers tight so only he can hear.
It’s the three of them standing in the mostly empty station, and it’s better than anything Olivia’s felt in a long, long time.
The train is taking them to Maine. Olivia’s only been once, in the summer, and all she remembers is sticky pine and the sharp taste of summer blueberries.
There are no blueberries in Maine anymore.
The train car is almost empty, an anachronism in a world where air travel is quicker and cheaper and overall more convenient. Lincoln lifts her bag without asking, struggling when the strap catches against the edge of the overhead compartment. Liv catches Charlie’s eye, replies to the quirk of his lips with a twist of her own. She slides into the window seat, leaving room for Lincoln to sit by her side.
“What?” Lincoln asks, looking up at Charlie standing in the aisle with his duffle on the ground.
Charlie widens his eyes (Liv envisions some kind of demented squirrel, and then tries very hard not to). “You’re not gonna lift my bag too?”
Lincoln grins. “Lift it yourself, bug boy.”
“You guys want anything to eat?” Lincoln’s halfway out of his seat, fingers tapping against his thigh and unable to sit still for more than ten minutes in a row.
“Get me a sandwich, will you?” Charlie’s frowning down at the latest baseball scores (the team names both deeply familiar and newly surprising) so he doesn’t see the suspicious glare Lincoln sends his way.
“I’m your boss now, you know.” Charlie grunts. “Liv, you want anything?”
“Just a soda water, thanks.” She smiles at him, and when he smiles back his whole face is ten years younger. It’s sweet, and a little sickening. She watches him walk the whole way out of the car.
“You wanna talk about it?” Charlie waits till it’s just the two of them to ask. She can’t tell if it’s a sign something’s wrong.
“Bout what, Charlie? How much I missed you?” She’s teasing but it doesn’t hit the mark; Charlie’s eyes flicker with questions he doesn’t want to ask.
“Yeah, whatever.” Charlie tries for faux-offended and leans back in his seat. He’s far better than Lincoln at pretending he’s not watching her. Olivia tries to sort through the thousand things she might say, then just picks one at random.
“She had this boyfriend,” Liv tells him.
“Yeah?” Charlie says, and she looks out the window so she won’t have to see his face change when he says, “Oh.”
She can feel him looking at her now; she stares at acres of dead trees and doesn’t see a thing.
“You…” Charlie tries again. “You okay?”
“Don’t tell Lincoln?” The second she’s done asking Olivia knows it was the wrong thing to say. Charlie shifts in his seat. “It’s just that I want to tell him myself. When I’m ready.”
Charlie speaks to her gently, like she’s an animal or a child or a civilian. Like she’s someone else. “Sure, Livvie, whatever you want.”
Whatever you want. It’s absolutely absurd; it takes all of Olivia’s self-control to hold back a laugh.
After a few hours, they arrive at Charlie’s Uncle Joey’s cabin in the Maine woods. There’s snow on the ground, and the cold turns all three of them red.
An unmarked Fringe car is waiting for them at the train station. Charlie drives and Lincoln sulks about sitting in the back and Olivia feels a little bit of the tension (fear) begin to leak out of her bones.
The small town has an even smaller grocery store. It’s not too hard for Olivia to track down Lincoln, who has been pondering in front of the cereal selection for over five minutes.
“What are your thoughts, Agent Lee, sir?” Liv employs her best agent voice, reserved only for times when Lincoln is being truly ridiculous.
“They don’t have Honey Apple Crisps.” Lincoln rubs his hand against his unscarred face in distress.
“I’d go for the Lucky Charms.” Lincoln turns to her in surprise; Liv presents him with her most serious face. “I have a thing for leprechauns.”
After a dinner of Bowl ‘O Noodles, because apparently Maine doesn’t believe in steak in a can, Olivia finds herself in front of Uncle Joey’s old 30-inch TV, squished between Charlie and Lincoln on Uncle Joey’s old tartan couch.
Firefly is on channel five, a rerun from season four. Charlie and Lincoln argue over her, the same argument they’ve had for years.
“Season three is obviously better than season four. River was barely even in season four.” Lincoln’s leaning across her to make a point and when Charlie moves to respond, his thigh presses against Liv’s own.
It’s Maine in winter and the cabin’s heater is twenty years old. Liv feels the warmest she’s been in months. The heat and the safety, and maybe the few sips of wine from Lincoln’s glass, loosen her tongue and before Liv knows it she’s breaking into Charlie’s retort mid-flow.
“You guys want to know something cool?” They just stare at her, because apparently this is a very difficult question. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”
Liv pauses for effect, and to make sure she’s really about to divulge highly classified information. “Their Olivia once defused a bomb. With her mind.”
There is a moment when the only sound is Captain Reynolds on the TV. Charlie and Lincoln stare at her blankly. It’s maybe a little adorable.
Charlie speaks first, cautiously. “Like, psychically?” Liv nods.
A moment, and again the Captain has the stage.
“Whoa,” Lincoln says, as Charlie nods solemnly, then, “wait, so can you…”
Liv doesn’t bother hiding her smile as she heads back into the kitchen for more greasy noodles.
“Livvie, wait! Can you really…”
Behind her, both men are staring, jaws working in silence. Liv almost makes it to the noodles before she breaks down laughing.
Peter’s standing in front of her, unarmed.
Who are you? he demands, and Olivia doesn’t know how to answer.
Who are you? Peter asks, and now his voice is gentle. Liv presses her hand against his cheek, but his skin is so cold.
You don’t live here anymore, Peter. Her hand falls away; in his eyes she sees nothing but confusion and pain.
That morning there’s a fresh coat of snow, another inch dusting ground and tree limbs alike. When Liv goes down for breakfast the rest of her team is already there, eating Lucky Charms with plastic sporks, in jeans (Charlie) and a matched set of silk, pinstripe pajamas (Lincoln). Olivia and Charlie learned long ago not to mock the pajamas.
The boys are in mid-discussion when she comes down, barely pausing to say ‘good morning’, and Liv takes a moment to relish the way they are no longer watching her every move.
“You can not.” Charlie stabs the air in Lincoln’s general direction with his spork. It’s not particularly terrifying.
“I can too. It’s a talent.” Lincoln’s nearly bouncing from one side of the tiny room to the other in an effort to prove his point, whatever that may be.
“You cannot write your entire name in the snow with a single piss. There is no way.”
Lincoln’s grin is all teeth. “You wanna bet?”
“Let me just get my coat.” They both turn to look at her. “Lucky Charms can wait.”
Lincoln’s half way through the letter ‘o’ when Liv catches Charlie’s eye and, with all the stealth training afforded to Fringe Division’s best agents, launches a snowball directly at Agent Lee’s ass.
Lincoln squawks and spins around (careful to zip himself up first), collecting material for the projectile as he goes. Liv’s defensive maneuvers end with snow coating her back.
“One rule,” Charlie says, interrupting Agent Dunham’s strategic retreat. “Yellow snow is off-lim-“
Both snowballs land directly on his face. It deteriorates from there.
When a cease-fire is finally negotiated, none of them can feel their fingers or toes, and the outside of the cabin is a veritable battlefield. They’re standing by the entrance, stripping off their drenched hats and coats and gloves, when Olivia feels the last piece slot into place.
“I’m still me,” she tells them, melted snow trickling down her neck. They look at her (but not like she’s crazy) with red noses and apple-cheeks and trusting eyes.
It feels true.
Author: primarycolors92
Fandom: Fringe
Gift for: perdiccas
Characters/Pairing: Alt!Olivia Dunham, Alt!Lincoln Lee, Alt!Charlie Francis; Red Team Friendship
Rating: PG-13 for language and some content
Word Count: ~2200
Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe.
Spoilers/Warnings: AU after 3x08, “Entrada”.
Summary: Agent Dunham is scheduled for release from the Fringe Division Medical Center, pending confirmation of her recovery from trans-universe crossing. During her time at Medical, Agents Francis and Lee (acting director, Fringe Division New York) were informed of the nature and duration of Agent Dunham’s mission. All three Agents have been granted four (4) days of vacation, with the caveat that Agent Lee remain on-call in the case of an emergency Fringe event.
Author’s Note: A thousand thanks to my beta, ozmissage, who continues to be wonderful and insightful in a thousand different ways. Title and cut text belong to Metric’s “Calculation Theme.”
Peter is naked except for the gun in his hand. The light highlights his cheekbones and biceps and the bright steel, leaving his eyes in shadow.
Did you really think they would just send her back? His cadence mocks her. After everything she knew, everything she saw?
Peter begins to cry. His voice and hands are steady.
I told you I would kill you if they harmed her.
Peter pulls the trigger.
Olivia sits up in bed, breathless and wide awake. The sheets form shackles around her ankles; she is completely alone.
“Pupil dilation looks good, appropriate response to light stimulation.” The med tech returns the penlight to his pocket. “Have you noticed any neural abnormalities? Phantom smells, hallucinations, ringing ears, night terrors, that sort of thing?”
“Nope.” Olivia’s smile fits a little too tight. “No abnormalities whatsoever.”
“Great.” The med tech nods and doesn’t notice a thing (she’s just that good). Then again, the med tech looks all of twelve; Olivia fights the temptation to call him Doogie. “Then we’ll just give you your last round of shots and you’ll be cleared to get out of here.”
Liv’s smile feels a little less strained. “Great,” she echoes.
The Secretary comes to find Olivia before she can leave the facility. (She tries not to envision him in his boxers, but it’s more difficult than she imagined.) He is gentle with her but it is false and it grates now that she knows what sincerity looks like on his face (now that she knows better than he exactly what he has lost).
How are you feeling, he asks her, and she answers fine. It’s easier than I’m not feeling anything, and it’s what he wants to hear.
Liv’s ten steps outside the building when Charlie answers her call.
“Livvie?” he answers and from anyone else the concern and the nickname would drive her nuts, reach under her skin and itch at her for hours. Instead she smiles.
“That’s Agent Dunham to you. I’ve been released.”
“So I’ve heard,” and Olivia barely has time to raise her eyebrow before she’s looking around to find the (black, inconspicuous, never-quite-right) car that signifies a non-emergency Fringe vehicle. It’s three spots to her right.
“Charlie, you did not send someone to pick me up. I’m perfectly capable of catching a cab.”
“Oh, I didn’t send him anywhere. I’ll see you soon, okay?” Then there’s just a dial tone on the other end and the driver’s side door is opening.
“Hi, Liv,” Lincoln says. She can’t stop herself from running the last few feet to hug him. He smells the same as always; for a moment it feels a little like safety.
Lincoln drives her to her apartment long enough to pack a bag. North is all he’ll tell her when she asks where they’re going, even when she leans forward and smiles and lets her hair (red again) fall over one shoulder.
Olivia packs sweaters that remind her of her mom, considers bringing one of Frank’s for all of thirty seconds before the thought makes her want to scream.
She can feel Lincoln pretending not to watch her, eyes quiet and careful. The weight of the words he’s not saying press against her chest until she can barely breathe. Instead, she hides herself in the bathroom and fights back angry tears. It’s too much; observation by doctors and nurses and the Secretary, observation by Lincoln. Her life is so far out of her control that she isn’t sure she can do this, isn’t sure she can get into a car with Lincoln and let him take her wherever he wants. Olivia grips the basin of the sink until the white of her knuckles match the porcelain.
Her hair is red again (that’s something). She doesn’t cry.
They pull up to the train station. It’s incongruous and terrifying.
Lincoln must see something change (she’s losing her poker face after just an hour in his company) because he’s suddenly explaining.
“We thought it would be nicer than the zeppelin. With the, uh, the view and the better food.” He tries for a smile but falls short.
Olivia, always the better actor, makes it all the way. Lincoln stops with his hand on the door and swallows hard.
“Liv,” he says, and the car is suddenly cold. “I didn’t-Charlie said something to me, right at the beginning when she came back, about maybe it not being really you and I just… I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”
Liv wants to smack the puppy-dog eyes off his face. She wants to promise him it’s okay.
“People take the train a lot over there. There’s no zeppelins, so it’s more popular.” She sounds like she’s giving a tenth-grade report; Lincoln pretends (terribly) to not be completely confused.
Olivia shrugs and gets out of the car. It’s true, and it’s easier than saying I’m not sure I’m still me.
Charlie’s waiting inside the station terminal. She doesn’t run to him, but she smiles like it’s going to break her face in half.
Thank you, she whispers tight so only he can hear.
It’s the three of them standing in the mostly empty station, and it’s better than anything Olivia’s felt in a long, long time.
The train is taking them to Maine. Olivia’s only been once, in the summer, and all she remembers is sticky pine and the sharp taste of summer blueberries.
There are no blueberries in Maine anymore.
The train car is almost empty, an anachronism in a world where air travel is quicker and cheaper and overall more convenient. Lincoln lifts her bag without asking, struggling when the strap catches against the edge of the overhead compartment. Liv catches Charlie’s eye, replies to the quirk of his lips with a twist of her own. She slides into the window seat, leaving room for Lincoln to sit by her side.
“What?” Lincoln asks, looking up at Charlie standing in the aisle with his duffle on the ground.
Charlie widens his eyes (Liv envisions some kind of demented squirrel, and then tries very hard not to). “You’re not gonna lift my bag too?”
Lincoln grins. “Lift it yourself, bug boy.”
“You guys want anything to eat?” Lincoln’s halfway out of his seat, fingers tapping against his thigh and unable to sit still for more than ten minutes in a row.
“Get me a sandwich, will you?” Charlie’s frowning down at the latest baseball scores (the team names both deeply familiar and newly surprising) so he doesn’t see the suspicious glare Lincoln sends his way.
“I’m your boss now, you know.” Charlie grunts. “Liv, you want anything?”
“Just a soda water, thanks.” She smiles at him, and when he smiles back his whole face is ten years younger. It’s sweet, and a little sickening. She watches him walk the whole way out of the car.
“You wanna talk about it?” Charlie waits till it’s just the two of them to ask. She can’t tell if it’s a sign something’s wrong.
“Bout what, Charlie? How much I missed you?” She’s teasing but it doesn’t hit the mark; Charlie’s eyes flicker with questions he doesn’t want to ask.
“Yeah, whatever.” Charlie tries for faux-offended and leans back in his seat. He’s far better than Lincoln at pretending he’s not watching her. Olivia tries to sort through the thousand things she might say, then just picks one at random.
“She had this boyfriend,” Liv tells him.
“Yeah?” Charlie says, and she looks out the window so she won’t have to see his face change when he says, “Oh.”
She can feel him looking at her now; she stares at acres of dead trees and doesn’t see a thing.
“You…” Charlie tries again. “You okay?”
“Don’t tell Lincoln?” The second she’s done asking Olivia knows it was the wrong thing to say. Charlie shifts in his seat. “It’s just that I want to tell him myself. When I’m ready.”
Charlie speaks to her gently, like she’s an animal or a child or a civilian. Like she’s someone else. “Sure, Livvie, whatever you want.”
Whatever you want. It’s absolutely absurd; it takes all of Olivia’s self-control to hold back a laugh.
After a few hours, they arrive at Charlie’s Uncle Joey’s cabin in the Maine woods. There’s snow on the ground, and the cold turns all three of them red.
An unmarked Fringe car is waiting for them at the train station. Charlie drives and Lincoln sulks about sitting in the back and Olivia feels a little bit of the tension (fear) begin to leak out of her bones.
The small town has an even smaller grocery store. It’s not too hard for Olivia to track down Lincoln, who has been pondering in front of the cereal selection for over five minutes.
“What are your thoughts, Agent Lee, sir?” Liv employs her best agent voice, reserved only for times when Lincoln is being truly ridiculous.
“They don’t have Honey Apple Crisps.” Lincoln rubs his hand against his unscarred face in distress.
“I’d go for the Lucky Charms.” Lincoln turns to her in surprise; Liv presents him with her most serious face. “I have a thing for leprechauns.”
After a dinner of Bowl ‘O Noodles, because apparently Maine doesn’t believe in steak in a can, Olivia finds herself in front of Uncle Joey’s old 30-inch TV, squished between Charlie and Lincoln on Uncle Joey’s old tartan couch.
Firefly is on channel five, a rerun from season four. Charlie and Lincoln argue over her, the same argument they’ve had for years.
“Season three is obviously better than season four. River was barely even in season four.” Lincoln’s leaning across her to make a point and when Charlie moves to respond, his thigh presses against Liv’s own.
It’s Maine in winter and the cabin’s heater is twenty years old. Liv feels the warmest she’s been in months. The heat and the safety, and maybe the few sips of wine from Lincoln’s glass, loosen her tongue and before Liv knows it she’s breaking into Charlie’s retort mid-flow.
“You guys want to know something cool?” They just stare at her, because apparently this is a very difficult question. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”
Liv pauses for effect, and to make sure she’s really about to divulge highly classified information. “Their Olivia once defused a bomb. With her mind.”
There is a moment when the only sound is Captain Reynolds on the TV. Charlie and Lincoln stare at her blankly. It’s maybe a little adorable.
Charlie speaks first, cautiously. “Like, psychically?” Liv nods.
A moment, and again the Captain has the stage.
“Whoa,” Lincoln says, as Charlie nods solemnly, then, “wait, so can you…”
Liv doesn’t bother hiding her smile as she heads back into the kitchen for more greasy noodles.
“Livvie, wait! Can you really…”
Behind her, both men are staring, jaws working in silence. Liv almost makes it to the noodles before she breaks down laughing.
Peter’s standing in front of her, unarmed.
Who are you? he demands, and Olivia doesn’t know how to answer.
Who are you? Peter asks, and now his voice is gentle. Liv presses her hand against his cheek, but his skin is so cold.
You don’t live here anymore, Peter. Her hand falls away; in his eyes she sees nothing but confusion and pain.
That morning there’s a fresh coat of snow, another inch dusting ground and tree limbs alike. When Liv goes down for breakfast the rest of her team is already there, eating Lucky Charms with plastic sporks, in jeans (Charlie) and a matched set of silk, pinstripe pajamas (Lincoln). Olivia and Charlie learned long ago not to mock the pajamas.
The boys are in mid-discussion when she comes down, barely pausing to say ‘good morning’, and Liv takes a moment to relish the way they are no longer watching her every move.
“You can not.” Charlie stabs the air in Lincoln’s general direction with his spork. It’s not particularly terrifying.
“I can too. It’s a talent.” Lincoln’s nearly bouncing from one side of the tiny room to the other in an effort to prove his point, whatever that may be.
“You cannot write your entire name in the snow with a single piss. There is no way.”
Lincoln’s grin is all teeth. “You wanna bet?”
“Let me just get my coat.” They both turn to look at her. “Lucky Charms can wait.”
Lincoln’s half way through the letter ‘o’ when Liv catches Charlie’s eye and, with all the stealth training afforded to Fringe Division’s best agents, launches a snowball directly at Agent Lee’s ass.
Lincoln squawks and spins around (careful to zip himself up first), collecting material for the projectile as he goes. Liv’s defensive maneuvers end with snow coating her back.
“One rule,” Charlie says, interrupting Agent Dunham’s strategic retreat. “Yellow snow is off-lim-“
Both snowballs land directly on his face. It deteriorates from there.
When a cease-fire is finally negotiated, none of them can feel their fingers or toes, and the outside of the cabin is a veritable battlefield. They’re standing by the entrance, stripping off their drenched hats and coats and gloves, when Olivia feels the last piece slot into place.
“I’m still me,” she tells them, melted snow trickling down her neck. They look at her (but not like she’s crazy) with red noses and apple-cheeks and trusting eyes.
It feels true.