fringekink_mod: Olivia Dunham with flowing hair...and a Santa hat + caption (secret santa olivia)
[personal profile] fringekink_mod posting in [community profile] fringe_kinkmeme
In a festive mood for Fringe? For a gift exchange of fiction, art including icons, or vids?

Then you're about to enter the right universe:

To SIGN UP, all you need to do is add a comment to this very post containing your request.

Sign-ups are between now and 1 Novemberclosed now. All the requests will be jumbled up and sent back out by 6 November.

RESPONSES to gift requests are to be posted between 16 and 23 December --

ideally anonymously (with your reveal after Christmas, i.e. after 25 December, in your own fanspace). Two ways to do this:

a) Add your response as an anon comment to the request you've been matched up with. (For fic, that allows for roughly 3,000 words in one comment, multiples of course encouraged. Vids & art are trickier, but only a bit.)

b) Jot down the link to the actual response in a blog, on the AO3 (pseudonyms option suggested), or any other platform. (If you need an invite code for the AO3, tell us, and you'll have it in no time.)

If anon doesn't work for you -- no dummy accounts possible, or your working hours look a lot like Olivia's -- that's fine; post the link to your own fanspace with the response. Just, don't tell Alt!Astrid.

Please don't sign up if you believe you'll be unable to complete a request given to you.

If you realise you can't make it, please tell us as early as possible, and we will try to organise a pinch hitter so that your recipient isn't left without a gift at the end of the fest.


To join the exchange, post a request with the following information:
Blog: [DW handle] OR [LJ handle] OR [AO3 account] OR [ handle] OR [...]
E-mail: Should of course be working.
Things I'd like: Please request at least three things here...but ultimately feel free to add as many things as you'd like at this point. Doesn't mean you'll get them all, but there's no harm in asking, and it ensures you get a great Secret Santa match. If you'd like a specific pairing or character, then speak now or forever hold thy peace. Don't forget to ask for icons or vids too -- we all know the likelihood is low in a small fandom such as this one, but hey. Worth a shot!
Things I wouldn't like: If there's anything you wouldn't like to receive (pairing in a fic, French electropop for your vid, bright-green textures in your icons) then here's the place to mention it. Without character-, pairing-, or kink-bashing, of course.
What I can do: Are you great at a certain genre (gen, het, slash)? Are you the specialist for writing specific character/s or pairing/s? One of the excellent Fringe vidders out there, or an icon-maker with aspirations? One of the folks on tumblr who brighten every Fringe fan's day? As ever, specifics are great so your match brings you tears of happiness instead of, you know, the opposite.
What I can't do: If there's anything you feel you can't do, then please say so here. Same disclaimer as above applies.
Pinch hitter?: In the event of someone not being able to complete their gift are you willing to be stand-in writer, artist, or vidder?
The Fringe Secret Santa is open to fanfic, fanart including icons, and fanvids; on the fic side everything goes -- all we ask for is a minimum wordcount of 750, that kinks are tagged and warnings included.

Happy holidays! And thanks to the ever-excellent mods over at [community profile] sga_santa, from whom the template for this text is snagged with permission.

Feel free to snag this Fringe Secret Santa icon. More yet to come...


Date: 2011-10-24 06:25 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Blog: ziparumpazoo (pretty much everywhere)
E-mail: ziparumpazoo AT
Things I'd like: Foremost, dear Secret Santa, I would like you to have fun with this. Pretty much anything with Olivia in any incarnation (except dead) would make me happy, but for more specific requests: amberverse Olivia/Walter-their first meeting at/after St.Claire's. Roadtrips. Sensory deprivation and apple pie. Red!Olivia - the spy who came in from the cold. Olivia/Peter, coffee and ice cubes and that time we danced in the desert under the stars. Lincoln, Astrid (or Lincoln/Astrid), everybody needs an alter-ego. Charlie/Olivia, but 'Kiddo' has such a nice ring to it.
Things I wouldn't like:I prefer emotional or conceptual over explicit, that is, if smut reads like a biology textbook, I'm more than likely to just skim. And Vids. They just don't click for me. No spoilers past whatever has already aired in the US when this goes live, please, but speculation is okay.
What I can do: Just about anything, fic-wise, though I tend to lean more towards writing het than slash.
What I can't do: Juggle and carry a tune, not necessarily at the same time. Also, icons. Photoshop intimidates me.
Pinch hitter?: For sure. Sign me up as a writer.
From: (Anonymous)
A/n: Set in Amber!verse/new timeline/whatever you would like to call it. I'm not sure if this is shippy or not, so you can go ahead and make that call. :)

It still amazed Lincoln that despite all the weird, make-your-skin-crawl events he dealt with in Fringe Division everyday, there were still times where they had to do mundane things like paperwork. His first week working with them he almost forgot paperwork existed. It was a welcome change, though. No bouncing bodies or people who change their face. Just filling out reports like the good old days.

Well, like good old last month.

It was hard to believe that his whole world had flipped around in a few days. This was the kind of thing you saw in bad sci-fi films. The rookie cop has to fumble around with a bad ass crew that fights aliens and monsters and God, when did his life become this?

Dr. Bishop asked if he could go get a milkshake, and to everyone's surprise Olivia offered to take him. She ushered him out the door with a “We need to talk.”, and Lincoln was left to fill out stacks of forms with Astrid.

Astrid has always been nice to him, but he realized that in his week with Fringe Division, she was the only one who he hadn't sat down with and talked to yet. He was with Olivia almost all day, and Astrid frequently stayed at the lab to help Dr. Bishop. Maybe this would be the right time to get another perspective on working in this division. Olivia had been polite, but it was easy to see that she wasn't the “sharing” type.

Astrid slid him a cup of coffee as she sat down across the table.

“You know, they don't have coffee on the Other Side.”

Lincoln glanced up, smiling at the mug in front of him. “The other side?”

“The other universe.” She smiled and grabbed a pen and a stack of papers.

“Oh. Yeah.” He looked back down at the paper and paused. This was as good a chance as any to ask how she dealt with all that they did, wasn't it?

“Other universes. I didn't even imagine that kind of stuff before....” He trailed off.

Astrid gave him a small smile. “I know. It's hard to wrap your head around. I'm still working on it. But you'll get there eventually. Soon, a weird day will be one without a problem that only Walter understands.”

Lincoln nodded. The next few minutes passed with only the noise of their pens scribbling on the forms. As he took another paper off the pile, he glanced up at Astrid again.

“Do you ever think about what you're like? Over there?”

She let out a chuckle. “All the time. Are you thinking about what you'd be?”

He tried to shrug apathetically, but his face surely betrayed his confused thoughts. “I met Olivia's.... Person. Double. Doppelganger-”

“Whatever you want to call it.” Astrid interrupted him with a grin. “Yeah. She's something, isn't she?”

“It's weird. Probably the weirdest thing I've seen yet.”

“People we know who aren't people we know. It takes some getting used to.” She folded her hands on top of the desk.

“Pretty much everything we do takes some getting used to.”

Lincoln mirrored her actions, pushing aside the papers.

“I've figured that out.” He stared at her for a moment, waiting to see if she would continue on with their work or if he could push the conversation further. She merely smiled at him.

“So, what do you think you're like?”

Se responded right away. “I'm a substitute teacher who helps city kids learn to read during the day and fights crime as a superhero at night.”

There was a long pause.

Astrid reached over and tapped his hands. “What about you?”

Lincoln shook his head quickly. “I have no idea. A substitute teacher?”

“So I can work at different schools. Come on, you can't avoid the question.”

“I don't know!” He leaned back in the chair, any thoughts of completing the paperwork gone. “How did you come up with that?”

She laughed. “I've had a bit to think about it. I've never actually met my.... Whatever. And Olivia doesn't like to talk about her time on the other side. So I just made something up. Kind of like an... Alter-ego.”

He grinned. “I hadn't thought of it like that.”

She shrugged, grabbing the empty mug in front of her and standing up to refill it. “It's more fun this way.” She turned her back to him. “What do you want your alter-ego to be, Lincoln Lee?”

The wooden chair legs creaked as he leaned further back. “I don't think I want to be a superhero.”

Astrid came back to the table and firmly set her cup back on the table. “You want some?”

Lincoln looked at his forgotten cup of coffee. “No, thanks.”

She sat back down. “Why not a superhero?”

“I was never really into superheros.”

Astrid slowly spun the spoon around in her coffee. “Okay. Then what do you want to be?”

He shrugged. “Maybe I'm just me. I work in the Fringe Division and don't get any sleep at night.”

Lincoln thought he saw the briefest eye roll before she shook her head. “That's not an option. Come on! You get to create any version of you. No more paperwork,” She gestured to the stacks littering the desks. “No more errands for Walter or Olivia or whoever.”

He was beginning to think of how to respond when the doors creaked open. Walter Bishop strolled in first, clutching a large drink and animatedly talking to Olivia about something. Lincoln glanced over at Astrid, who was already standing up.

“Can I get back to you on that?”

“Sure.” She eyed Dr. Bishop, who was attempting to drink his milkshake, walk down the steps backwards, and talk to Olivia at the same time. “I'm going to go deal with that. Make sure you make it something good, okay?” She sent him one last smile before jogging across the lab and snatching the drink out of Walters hand.

Olivia gave him a small nod as she walked past into her office. Lincoln guessed he was supposed to finish up these papers on his own. He grabbed his pen and stared down at the file in his hand.

Now, what was better than being a superhero....

Re: Superhero Hype (Lincoln and Astrid- everybody needs an alter-ego)

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-12-25 12:41 am (UTC) - Expand

Date: 2011-10-24 10:40 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
BLOG: rainer76 at lj
E-mail: rainer76 AT
Things I'd like: A focus on Peter in some shape or form. I'm fairly laid back, in love with the entire roster of characters, so feel free to take it wherever you want. Rough ideas: an outsider POV encountering the team. Walternate's first meeting with his son and realising he doesn't actually feel anything toward him. Olivia and Peter being playful and *not* angsty. Slash, kinks, humour, Lincoln, Astrid, Broyles, more than happy with any of it.
Things I wouldn't like: I'll let you know when I find it.
What I can do: I'll try my hand at anything and hope the character passes muster.
What I can't do: Never used photoshop and I tend to look at vids as magical and pretty.
Pinch hitter?: As a writer.

Snow and Lights

Date: 2011-12-20 07:13 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
A/N: set in some nebulous timeline where everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.

The SUV skidded to a stop, bumping into the curb with a final crunch. The wind was howling outside, whipping the snow into blinding waves. Olivia unclenched her fingers from around the steering wheel. The lights of the house blazed like a beacon through the snow. Smiling, she braced herself and opened the door.

The cold caught her breath away and her eyes watered. She dashed up the sidewalk, ploughing through drifts that were forming against the front of the house, then skidded on the wooded steps, made slippery with snow. She caught herself with one hand and muttered, "Fuck."

Peter flung the door open while she was still fumbling for her keys, shivering on the porch.

He was frowning, brow creased and mouth set in a tight line that she'd learned to associate with her doing things that he thought were dangerous, and well, he probably had a point tonight. He pulled her inside and slammed the door, wrapping her in his arms. "Jesus Christ, Olivia."

She shivered. "It's not that bad."

He started pulling off her snow-caked scarf and hat. "By your standards or the rest of the world's?" His voice was terse and low.

"Peter..." She tried to catch his hands in hers, but he batted them away to get to the buttons of her coat. "I didn't think it would be that bad." He nodded stiffly, and his cheek felt hot when she cupped it with half-frozen fingers. "I'm fine."

His eyes were bright when he looked up at her, wide and stunningly blue. Her stomach clenched at the naked worry in his face. She took care of herself - she'd always taken care of herself. Peter had slipped past her defenses unnoticed and now that he was there Olivia couldn't remember what she'd done without him worrying about her.

"I'm fine," she repeated.

He pressed his fingers over hers. "You're freezing."

"It's cold."

Peter rolled his eyes and pulled her away from the door. Olivia looked over to the darkened parlor-turned-bedroom. "Where's Walter?"

"Stuck at Astrid's. They're watching Torchwood until the roads are clear, which will probably be sometime next week." He walked her backwards to the foot of the stairs and she sat, letting him deal with her shoes. She wasn't sure her fingers could negotiate the laces just yet.

Peter glanced into the living room. "I decided to make use of the time. Surprise him."

The room was littered around the edges with boxes, the center taken up by a tree covered in silvery garland and white glass globes. He looked sheepish and anxious. Olivia leaned forward and kissed him, rubbing her cold nose against his warm one. "Perfect."

He lowered his eyes to her boot laces and said, "I thought you'd like it, too. I know we don't usually do anything for the holidays, what with saving the world taking up all our time, but it's been quiet this year. I thought..." He swallowed hard.

"Hey." Olivia touched his cheek and his tilted his face up towards her. "Thank you."

He stood and stepped back, and she followed, stepping around the puddles her boots left on the floor. She slipped past the boxes and picked up a length of left-over garland off the floor.

Peter flicked the lights off, leaving the room in the cool glow from the blue lights on the tree. "Walter's favorite colors."

Olivia grinned at the blue light dancing off the silver and white, bright and sparkling. "Mine, too." Olivia caught Peter watching her from the corner of her eye. "What?"

He shook his head and stepped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Nothing. I just like seeing you happy."

She leaned back into him. "Oh, yeah?"

He nuzzled through her hair to her ear. "Mmmhmm."

She turned in his arms and looped the strand of garland around his neck.

Peter laughed. "Want me to get some bows, too?"

She scraped her teeth over her lower lip and looked up at him from under her eyelashes. "If you do, does that mean I get to open my present early?"

"Are you sure you've been a good girl?"

Olivia wrinkled her nose at him. "Are you playing Santa, or are you my present? I'm getting confused by the Christmas-themed sexual innuendo."

Peter laughed and she pulled him to her with the garland. His lips curved against hers. He plucked at the silver stuff. "You have some kind of Christmas fetish, Dunham?"

"You have some kind of problem with that?"

"Who, me?" He nipped at her lips and kissed her again. "I think you'd know me better than that by now." She slipped her hands under the edge of his shirt and he flinched away. "Jesus, woman, your hands are cold."

She grinned and pushed her hands down the back of his jeans. His hips jumped forward into hers. "You're nice and warm."

"I wasn't driving around in a blizzard. God, your fingers are like ice. Do not touch my dick until you're warm."

Olivia started laughing, wrapping her arms around Peter to steady herself. There were tears in her eyes by the time the laughter subsided. Peter was grinning at her, shaking his head. He threaded his fingers through her hair and kissed her, solid and warm, his tongue pushing into her mouth, spreading heat between them. She raised up on her tiptoes, tilting her head to let him deepen the kiss.

Their breathing was ragged when they separated, and Olivia hummed as Peter kissed her throat.

Peter opened her shirt, kissing his way down as each undone button exposed more skin. He kissed her shoulders when he slid the straps of her bra down. Kissed her nipples when the bra was tossed aside. Olivia swayed on her feet and tightened her fingers in his hair as he kissed a line down her stomach again. He dropped to his knees and nuzzled her belly.

She reached down and tugged on his shirt until he raised his arms to let her pull it off. She tossed it towards the pile of boxes. Peter grinned up at her and licked her stomach just above the waistband of her pants. His grin widened and looked up, past her eyes to the ceiling.

Olivia tilted her head up and laughed at the bundle of mistletoe hanging from the light fixture. "You've gone all out, haven't you?"

"I'm a big fan of a well-crafted plan." His hands were hot as he slid them into her pants, cupping her ass before pushing her pants down, catching her panties as well. He held her steady as she stepped out of her clothing and kicked it away.

Olivia twisted her fingers into his hair as he kissed her thighs, nuzzling between them until she shifted, spreading her legs wider. She gasped at the heat of his mouth, his slick tongue and prickly chin. She tightened her fingers and ground against his face, shuddering when he made a pleased sound. She stepped back and he followed, grumbling when she was out of reach.

Olivia sank to her knees, holding Peter's face between her hands and kissed him. He pushed her back, pausing to kick his pants off, then stretched out beside her. Peter looped the end of the garland around her neck where it tangled in her hair. He brushed his lips over hers, fingers trailing over her stomach. Olivia rested one hand on his hip and smirked. "Can I touch your dick now?"

Peter laughed and rolled on his back, pulling her with him. The string of garland arched between them, glittering in the light from the tree. Olivia kept her weight on her knees, holding herself over him, leaning forward to kiss him lightly.

"I just wanted to make sure."

"Olivia, please."

She ran her tongue over his lower lip, tracing the curve, and he groaned. She teased him with her fingers, light strokes before holding him steady and sinking onto him. He stayed still under her, letting her settle on him, stroking little circles on her hips with his thumbs. Peter slid one hand up her stomach, between her breasts to rest over her heart. His eyes were heavy-lidded and dark, a little collection of stars in them from the reflected lights.

Olivia moved slowly, watching Peter's eyes flutter shut as she rocked her hips. She braced her hands on his chest, felt his heart beating hard and steady under them, matched the rise and fall of her hips to the rhythm. Peter's hands moved over her chest, cupping her breasts, brushing her nipples. Olivia tossed her head back and ground down against him. She stilled for a moment and looked down at him.

"You gonna lay there and let me do all the work?"

His grin was hungry. "Just enjoying the view." Peter's hand drifted down and his thumb skated over the curve of her belly. Olivia sucked in a sharp breath when he rubbed a rough circle over her clit. His other hand tangled with the garland in her hair to pull her down even as he jerked his hips up. Olivia moaned into his mouth.

They moved together, Peter rising up to meet each downward push of her hips until Olivia shuddered and dropped her head to his shoulder. Peter's body locked tight under her, voice strangled as he gasped her name.

Olivia slid bonelessly to the floor, sprawling next to Peter. Peter stretched out next to her and picked little bits of silver out of her hair. She snuggled into him, shivering a bit as sweat dried on her skin. "You didn't put the tree up for Walter, did you?"

"Huh? No. Of course not." Peter reached over her and pulled a blanket from the couch. "And we're deeply in debt to Astrid for keeping him tonight. I didn't count on him getting stuck there because the roads were closed. We probably owe her a new car or a pony or something."

Olivia rested her head on Peter's chest and pulled the blanket tighter around them. The lights of the tree sparkled and Peter's breathing was evening out to a steady, familiar rhythm. She smiled and let her eyes drift closed. "Worth it."

Re: Snow and Lights

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-12-20 07:51 pm (UTC) - Expand

Re: Snow and Lights

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-12-20 08:20 pm (UTC) - Expand

Re: Snow and Lights

From: [personal profile] rainer76 - Date: 2011-12-20 09:53 pm (UTC) - Expand

Re: Snow and Lights

From: [personal profile] monanotlisa - Date: 2011-12-21 02:05 am (UTC) - Expand

Re: Snow and Lights

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-12-22 04:03 am (UTC) - Expand

Re: Snow and Lights

From: [personal profile] wendelah1 - Date: 2011-12-24 04:50 pm (UTC) - Expand

Date: 2011-10-25 12:08 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Blog: Elfin here, crazylittleelf at LJ & the AO3
E-mail: butlerke at
Things I'd like: (so many things)
Vid to When the War Came by The Decemberists. 
Vid of the alt-team to Planetary (Go!) by My Chemical Romance.
Fic in which Lincoln (either) or both)) is kinky and is super-enthusiastic about his kinks.  I don't even care what the kinks are.  I don't even care who he's paired with.
A crossover!  If you've been dying to write a Fringe/The Goonies crossover and have been wondering, who the hell would read this?  I'd read it.  Bonus for a Fringe/Dawson's Creek crossover.
Peter/Olivia curtain fic from the short-lived grey-verse.
Alt-Lincoln & Alt-Charlie gen; drinking, talking baseball, playing video games, discussing Lincoln's hair.  Whatever.
Gen fic of Walter, Astrid, and Olivia as a made-family in the amber-verse.
Peter, pre-series, being the con-man that he is.
Things I wouldn't like:  I'm deeply uncomfortable with anything that casts alt-Olivia as the bad guy, so I'd rather pass on that.
What I can do: Fic and icons.  Really, I'll write damn near anything.
What I can't do: I am rubbish at vidding.
Pinch hitter?: Yep!  Both for fic and icons.

Date: 2011-12-23 09:35 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Hi, it's your secret Santa. I'm working on your request and should be done by tonight, just in case you were wondering what on earth was taking me so long.

(no subject)

From: [personal profile] elfin - Date: 2011-12-23 10:00 pm (UTC) - Expand
From: (Anonymous)
Summary: The team that plays together stays together, as far as Lincoln's concerned.
Spoilers: Up until and including "Entrada" in the 3rd season.

“Hey, boss-man,” Olivia said, leaning in the doorway to Broyles’ – now technically Lincoln’s – office.

It’d been a shitty day, with too much paperwork and worrying, but Lincoln could always find a smile for Olivia. He leaned back in his chair, stretching out his arms. “How can I help you, Agent Dunham?” he asked, mock-serious.

She sauntered in and parked herself on the top of his desk, staring down at him. “You busy tonight?”

“Maybe,” Lincoln said, instead of Even if I had plans, I’d cancel them for you.

“How about if we made it worth your while, huh?” Olivia said, leaning in a little closer.

“Who’s we? You and Charlie?”

“No, me and the Brooklyn Dodgers. Yeah, me and Charlie, at his place, tonight. Are you in?”

Lincoln tilted his head thoughtfully. “I don’t know, there’s some reading I’ve been meaning to catch up on, and I’m running out of clean socks, you know how it is.”

Olivia laughed, sliding off his desk and heading for the door. “Wash your socks tomorrow night,” she said. “Charlie’s place at eight, Lincoln.” She turned around before opening the glass door. “Oh, and bring your rope.”

“What? Wait, seriously?” Lincoln said, sitting up straight in his chair, trying to convince his dick that this was not the time and place to start perking up.

Olivia winked at him, then walked out the door. Lincoln sat very still, waiting for his flush to fade and his erection to wilt. This day had just gotten a hell of lot better.


Charlie’s place was nothing special, almost as small Lincoln’s shoebox sized one-bedroom, but his bed, on the other hand – Charlie’s bed was huge, had a mattress with just the right mix of firmness and softness, and a very useful wrought-iron headboard. Charlie’s ex had left it there when she took off for Seattle, and that’s how Lincoln knew she was nuts, because he would never have left that bed behind.

The bed was the main reason that when Lincoln, Charlie and Olivia decided to spend a night in, it was almost always at Charlie’s apartment. That, and Charlie usually had good food in his fridge, courtesy of a cousin who worked as a grocer out in Jersey, and Lincoln liked to mooch.

Right at the moment though, all of Lincoln’s appreciation was for the bed that he was stretched out across. Tied hand and foot, with plenty of room left for Charlie lying next to him similarly tied – oh yeah, Lincoln loved this bed.

Olivia was standing at the end of the bed, only mostly naked unlike the two of them, working at the knot on Lincoln’s right ankle; when she was done, she dragged the tip of one finger across the sole of Lincoln’s foot, making him jerk. “Hey!”

She grinned at him, pleased as a cat who’d gotten into the cream. “You two make such a pretty picture, I wish I had a camera,” she said, holding her hands up like a frame.

“Sure, that’s nice, now are you going to do something about it or just admire our chiseled physiques?” Charlie said, shifting so that his hip bumped against Lincoln, a warm spot against Lincoln’s bare skin.

Olivia raised an eyebrow, and then dropped her panties and crawled onto the bed. She clambered between them, her long hair draping down and brushing over Lincoln’s thighs and stomach. He sucked in a breath, his abs tightening, his hands clenching on the cool loops of the iron headboard.

Olivia hovered over them on her hands and knees for a moment before lowering herself down on top of them, spreading herself out like a starfish and letting out a contented little sigh. Lincoln gasped, couldn’t help it, feeling Olivia’s body pressed against his own, her leg slipping between his and the soft nub of her nipple touching his chest. Charlie made a strangled noise next to him.

“This is nice. Maybe I’ll just stay here for a while,” Olivia said, sounding as if she were seriously considering it.

“Liv,” Lincoln whined, and he was man enough to admit that it was definitely a whine, “come on.” He shimmied under her, pushing his thigh up to rub against her pussy. Olivia ground down against him with a happy humming noise but didn’t move. Lincoln closed his eyes and tried not to pant. He loved this part almost as much as the actual fucking: the anticipation of it, helpless to do anything but wait for Olivia to decide what to do. The few times that it had been Olivia tied up instead of him or Charlie, Lincoln had done his best to impart that feeling to Olivia, and if this was her way of seeking revenge, well, he wasn’t complaining over here.

All Olivia said was, “I’ve missed – uh, this.” She snuggled closer, and her hand curled around Lincoln’s shoulder. “We should do this more often.”

Between the time spent recovering from his burns and Olivia’s delicate mental state, it has been a while since they’ve spent time like this. Lincoln can’t agree fast enough, “Yeah, we should.” As because he can’t help himself sometimes, he added, “You know I have handcuffs too, right? And anklecuffs? The comfortable kind.”

Charlie said, “Oh, Jesus,” trying to sound long-suffering but only making it to intrigued.

Olivia started giggling quietly on top of them, which felt way better than it probably should have. Lincoln lifted his hips hopefully, and Olivia sat up. She stared down at them, naked and gorgeous and laughing, and Lincoln only groaned a little when she said, “This isn’t a good time for a ball and chain joke, is it?”

“What did I do to deserve you two?” Charlie asked, and Lincoln asked himself that every day. He figured it must have been something pretty damn amazing.

Re: Team Building Exercise (Alt!Lincoln/Alt!Olivia/Alt!Charlie)

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-12-25 12:45 am (UTC) - Expand

Date: 2011-10-25 01:07 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Blog: mrs_nerimon at LJ
Things I'd like: alt!Lincoln/alt!Liv- The day the altverse ends, Walter&Astrid (friendship)- making Thanksgiving dinner, Peter/Olivia- anything set in s1, or the second half of s3. Oh, and if anyone would feel up to writing a Parks and Rec/Fringe crossover, I would probably die. Tom/Astrid would be a great addition, but certainly not a requirement.
Things I wouldn't like: No slash, please. Anything goes song-wise for vids. Nothing too angsty for Peter/Olivia.
What I can do: Het and gen fics. I can do vids, but no promises on length.
What I can't do: Icons, or anything related to photoshop.
Pinch hitter?: As a writer, sure. :)

Date: 2011-10-25 03:08 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
(TAKE 2)
Things I'd like: Fics involving my favourite pairing Peter/Olivia, gen or het. And if the fic could involve a mystery, that would be awesome. Fluff is always welcome with me, but some conflict is good too. :) (So Peter/Fauxlivia is okay in the case of conflict xD) icons and vids and videos of Peter/Olivia area also always welcome. Also, any icon featuring Walter and/or Gene. That would totally make my day! (And any rating is fine. ANY rating.) :)

Things I wouldn't like: Peter/Fauxlivia, or Peter/Astrid, and no character death please! (Unless it isn't permanent. Or unless there is a declaration of love first. xD)

What I can do: I can definitely write fics! I am best at het, I don't usually do gen (but it can be easily done), and I can attempt to do slash. I've written it for friends before so I can attempt to do so here. I'm definitely comfortable with working on Polivia stuff. I'm just starting to get into the realm of making icons but I would definitely love the chance to work on more.

What I can't do: I should specify, I can't really do femslash. But again I suppose I could try, however it wouldn't be too graphic. And I can't do vids. (Sorry!)
Pinch hitter? Sure! I could stand in as a writer.

Date: 2011-12-22 04:21 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Peter’s first thought wasn’t a thought as such, more an automatic response to stay alive: flailing his arms, kicking his legs, and then a deep gasp of air as his head broke the surface of the water. This time there were no father and son in a fishing boat to come to his rescue.

On the plus side, Peter reflected, it wasn’t winter and he wasn’t freezing to death below a ceiling of ice.

It took him a couple of seconds orientate himself – it wasn’t like he came here for fun – before he headed for the far shore.

Why was it he always seemed to go under as far away as possible from any civilization?

It wasn’t until he was nearing the shore that he realized that he was also naked.

“Perfect,” Peter muttered as he felt his feet touch bottom.

Not only did he have no idea which universe he was in, but he had no idea when it was, both in terms of the date and the hour.

From the forest he heard the sound of running feet and he froze. He was literally as naked as the day he was born and had no way to defend himself. Resigned to getting hauled in for indecent exposure, Peter waited where he was, cool water lapping softly just under his sternum, to find out what his fate would be.

This time he wasn’t saying a word until he figured out where he was.

Two military-looking types broke through the trees and skidded to a stop. While they weren’t wearing fatigues, they were dressed entirely in black; black ball caps, black t-shirts, black BDU pants, and black army boots. More worrying was the fact that they both had guns strapped to their right thighs. The one on the left smirked at him and crossed his arms; the one on the right kept her eyes fixed squarely on Peter’s.

“Can I ask what you’re doing here, sir?” the woman asked in a no-nonsense voice.

“I’m not exactly sure.” Peter crossed his arms and felt foolish, but there was no helping the fact that he was buck naked and had no idea how he’d gotten here. Though at an educated guess, Peter figured ‘here’ was Reiden Lake.

“Can I asked what happened to your clothes?” asked her counterpart. Peter could hear the amusement in his voice as he leaned a shoulder against a tree trunk.

“I’m not exactly sure about that either.” Peter grinned sheepishly. Experience had taught him that the less threatening he looked, the better the outcome of any particular situation.

“If you wait where you are, sir,” said the woman, “I’ll get you a blanket from the shack.”

“Thanks.” Peter smiled gratefully at her.

“Want to tell me how you got here?” asked the man as his partner disappeared back into the trees.

“I wasn’t trying to be evasive before; I have no idea how I got here. I have no idea what I’m doing here. And, no, I have no idea where my clothes are.”

Though he was trying, Peter couldn’t make out any distinguishing markings or patches to give him the smallest clues as to which universe he’d found himself in. He couldn’t even tell if the guards were private or military. If he had to venture a guess, Peter would put money on them both being ex-military now employed by the private sector. However, he couldn’t even begin to speculate as to why they were out here.

“Do you know where you are?” the man asked in the deceptively relaxed manner of those trained in a very specialized, very deadly, form of combat interrogation.

“Reiden Lake.” Peter tried not to let it sound like too much of a question.

“Where did you come from?” The tone stayed mild, but Peter could see the man’s eyes assessing everything, despite the smirk and relaxed stance.

“Look, I’m naked, getting colder by the second, and feel like I haven’t eaten in a week. I don’t have any answers for you. Not because I’m hiding anything, but because I really have no idea how I ended up here.”

Which wasn’t exactly true, but Peter wasn’t going to start explaining his hypotheses about alternate universes, diverging timelines, mistakes in the slipstreams of the world, and Observers who somehow seemed to get involved far more than their name suggested.

Before the guy could ask him any more questions, the woman came back with a standard issue grey wool blanket folded over her left arm.

“I’ve radioed back to HQ and they’re sending a jeep,” she addressed them both, again looking him directly in the eyes. “I’m going to turn my back.”

“Thanks,” Peter said.

“Don’t be too grateful,” the man said sardonically, “I’m not going to turn around.”

“Usually, I get my date to buy me a drink and fries before I let them see me naked.” Peter said, smiling wryly.

“Think of me as love at first sight type of date,” the man shot back.

“Can I at least know your name?” Peter inquired.

“Bill Black,” the man told him. “My partner, Jill Green.”

“For real?” Peter stared at him incredulously.

“If I was going to make up names, don’t you think I would have done better?”

“Fair enough.”

“If you two are done flirting, do you think that Mr. Bishop would like to get out of the water so we can get back to monitoring the lake?” Jill asked, addressing her partner before turning her back.

“How do you know my name?” Every muscle in Peter’s body tightened when she said his name. And though he knew it was hopeless, he tried to figure out a way to escape.

“Since you disappeared the second time, the lake has been cordoned off and we’ve set up twenty-four hour surveillance,” Bill informed him as Peter made his way out of the water.

Shocked, cold, and more than a little worried, Peter wrapped the blanket around himself.

“How long was I gone?”

“Seventeen months,” Jill informed him when he and Bill walked up to stand next to her. “There are a lot of people who are going to be very interested in your return. Welcome home, Mr. Bishop.”

Home could mean just about anywhere and anytime. Numbly, Peter followed them into the woods, automatically skirting the twigs and small rocks in the path as his mind whirled at the possibilities.

# # #

This time, he kept his mouth firmly shut, pleading ignorance to pretty much every question anyone asked him. It was too late to pretend he didn’t know his own name, but experience was one hell of a teacher and he refused to say anything else until he talked to someone he knew and he could take his cues from them.


The voice was familiar, as was the blond hair, but Peter had no idea which version of Olivia had just slipped silently into the room while he was staring out the window. Peter had been so caught up in figuring out a strategy for surviving this world that someone – Olivia – had managed to enter the room without him being aware.

“So it would seem.” He steeled himself against the flood of emotions that washed over him; happiness and worry, joy and sorrow, friendship and desire. The love he felt, would always feel, was both incredible joy and gut-ripping pain.

“Where were you?” Olivia asked as she walked up right into his personal space, her eyes searching his for answers he couldn’t give.

“I don’t know.” It took a physical effort not to reach out and touch her, but he’d been fooled by clever doubles before. And his last memory was stepping aside when he realized that the woman who was so like his Olivia wasn’t quite right and would never be his lover.

“Peter?” Olivia cocked her head and worry filled her eyes. “Do you know who I am?”

“You’re Olivia Dunham.” That, he figured, he could answer without revealing too much. Not that he really had all that much to reveal besides confusion and hopes barely surviving the repeated bludgeonings of fate.

There were just too many variables for him to know if this Olivia is his Olivia.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Studying blueprints.” It was another safe answer that also had the happy coincidence of happening to be true. If it turned out he was back with Olivia 2.0, he didn’t want to say anything that could cause her to want to lock him up.

The fact he once again found himself in a world so similar to his that he couldn’t currently tell them apart hurt. That he couldn’t just pull Olivia into his arms and hold her until his world made at least the smallest bit of sense was tearing him apart.

Not that any of that was anything Peter was willing to talk about right now. That he might almost be home, but not quite, might almost be with her, but not quite, hurt too much to bring up if once again it turned out he was in the wrong time, wrong place.

“You have been gone for nearly a year and a half. Your…” Tears gathered in her eyes as she trailed off. “Your body was found on the shores of Reiden Lake eight months ago.” Olivia took a huge step back from him and crossed her arms. “The body showed no signs of decomposition.”

Shock Peter didn’t think he was capable of feeling rocked him back a full step. Dead. They thought he was dead in this universe. Again. Or maybe just for the first time as he really didn’t know where he was.

“You buried me?” The pain on Olivia’s face was plain to see and Peter couldn’t help but stepping forward, trying to offer her whatever comfort he could.

“Where have you been?” she whispered, voice achingly filled with loss that nearly brought him to his knees.

“I don’t know.” At this point, he would gladly tell her if he knew, just to try and ease some of the agony that he could feel coming off of her in waves. If this wasn’t his Olivia, then she was one that was just as in love with him as his was.

They stood in silence for countless minutes just studying the other, weighing the person in front of them, trying to determine what to say. Out of the four Olivias he’d had contact with, two of them had loved him. Or maybe it was the same one, just at different times. And one fooled him into believing that she loved him as much as he loved her.

“Stegosaurus?” Olivia finally whispered.

“Olivia?” Peter asked, hardly daring to believe that the woman standing in front of him was his Olivia.

“Stegosaurus,” she repeated, staring at him with tears in her eyes.

“Pale Blue Eyes,” he responded.

Unable to hold back any longer, Peter was next to her in two strides, wrapping his arms around her. From the way her arms banded around him and her shuddering breaths, Peter couldn’t help but accept that while he might be out of time, he was most definitely back where he belonged.

Part of the fallout from FauxLivia was a secret code between them, one that she had to say without any prompting from him, to confirm her identity if there was ever any question. As far as they could tell, there was just one Peter Bishop, but it didn’t hurt to be careful, so he had an answering phrase.

“Where have you been?” she asked again, her face buried in his neck.

“Honest to god, Olivia, I have no idea.” When he started to pull back, her arms tightened around him. Freeing his arm from around her back, Peter ran a soothing hand down the sleek fall of her ponytail over and over again.

“No burrowing,” she mumbled, her breath still hitching against his throat.

“Promise,” he said, even as his other hand rubbed a couple of circles over the small of her back.

She pulled back from him, searching his face. “Jerk.”

Whatever else she wanted to say, he cut off with his lips on hers. It felt like it had been years since he’d last held her, months since he’d last kissed her. And from the desperate way she was returning his kiss, it must have been the same for her.

“I love you,” she whispered when they broke apart.

“I love you too,” he answered, wondering exactly how long she’d waited to hear him return her sentiment. From the fleeting smile and the joy in her eyes, too long.

And then he didn’t care, because her lips were on his again, and her tongue was seeking entrance into his mouth. She tasted like home and safety, like a thousand private moments and a million hopeful dreams.

Peter wasn’t sure where he’d been or why he’d been. He carried with him memories of two different times, two different Olivias since he’d last seen his and he didn’t give a damn.

All he wanted was never again to be far away from the woman in his arms. He held on to her as tightly as he dared, terrified that she would disappear if he didn’t.

Shudders shook his body – relief and joy – and seemed to engulf Olivia. Together they broke the kiss, but didn’t pull too far apart and he rested his forehead against hers.

“I want to go home,” he said, hoping she knew he meant he wanted to go back with her, wherever she was going.

“Soon,” she promised, pulling back to look at him. It seemed as if she couldn’t get enough of just looking at him. “I just want to stay here for a little while longer.”

“Okay,” he murmured, wrapping one arm around her waist as he stroked the tears away. Just once, he would like to not have caused her so much pain that she cried because of him. That the pain was mixed with a bittersweet joy at his return didn’t erase the initial cause.

“I missed you,” Olivia said, cupping his face with her hands, then slowly traced his eyebrows, the rise of his cheeks, the line of his jaw.

“I missed you, too,” Peter told her, leaning in to her touch. Wanting more of the soft caresses, wanting never to long for them knowing he had no right to them, knowing that though the woman before him looked exactly like his Olivia that she wasn’t the one he loved.

“I thought you said you didn’t know where you were.”

“For seventeen months, no, I have no idea where I was.” He kissed her softly, then pulled back to look her in the eye. “But for nearly a month I was somewhere that was like home, only not quite. You were there, but you didn’t know me. Didn’t know what we were to each other.”


“I don’t know.”

Olivia nodded her acceptance, then just went back to tracing his features.

Outside of the room, Peter could hear some sort of commotion, but no one was calling either of their names and he didn’t think that anyone cared right now what they were doing. So there they stood in each other’s embrace, exchanging slow kisses and long looks because frankly, even if he got to stay here, even if this was his home – and he was really starting to think that it was, that the woman in his arms, returning kiss for kiss, touch for touch, was his Olivia – Peter wasn’t sure what was going to come next and right then was just about perfect.

With a sigh, he gathered her close and just savored the feel of her mouth under his, the way her body fit against his, the way that part he couldn’t explain with science was finally at peace.

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Date: 2011-10-25 07:22 am (UTC)
biodamped: (Default)
From: [personal profile] biodamped
Blog: [personal profile] biodamped, also known as [ profile] lilianvaldemyer or alyelle

E-mail: alyelle [at] gmail [dot] com

Things I'd like: Ficwise - Olivia/Peter anything would make my life; an epic adventure/romance especially so. I'd also quite welcome an ensemble Christmas crackfic (bonus points if it involves Olivia and Peter being shippy or if Walter makes cake!), red!verse Lincoln/Fauxlivia and something to do with baby Henry, or icons. I never say no to icons.
IN GENERAL: I like my smut smutty, and my romances sappy. I have no problems with AU so long as the characters are... well, in character. My favourite fics tend to be either a bit surreal and highly evocative, rather like my favourite poets (Sylvia Plath, TS Eliot, ee cummings), or just plain hilarious. I usually prefer my icons without borders and text, unless the text is hilarious and appropriate.

Things I wouldn't like: songfic, character death, anything that involves non-con scenarios, graphic bloodletting, Fauxlivia/Peter or blue!verse Lincoln/Olivia.

What I can do: Olivia/Peter, for preference, or ensemble. I'm fairly comfortable with most genres and ratings. I do quite enjoy writing crack and/or bizarre sciencey stuff as well as romantic pairings (that's a leftover from writing for Doctor Who for so long). I'm also willing to have a go at Fauxlivia/Peter or Lincoln/Olivia, but basically, if I don't want to read it, it's pretty safe to assume I won't want to write it. Also I will happy make icons/headers and fanmixes. Fandom underestimates the power of a really good fanmix. At the moment I'm a couple of weeks behind US airings, but that should be caught up by the time this is due, so assume I can write for whatever has aired.

What I can't do: Walter/Astrid, rape or non-con, violent stuff, and slashy porn. Also I can't vid, sorry. :(

Pinch hitter?: For icons, yes, sure. For fic, it would depend; my working hours are actually exactly like Olivia's. If you're desperate, shoot me an email. The worst I can say is no.

Mistletoe (Olivia/Peter)

Date: 2011-12-24 12:57 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
A/n - a little elf said your story would be late in coming, and nobody should be short a gift at Christmas, so please forgive that this filled another prompt in the meme just a few minutes ago. I think that prompter wouldn't mind sharing, as it fits with your request not too badly either. :)
(set roughly early series)

“T’was the night before Christmas, and all through the lab, all the creatures are stirring. It’s really quite mad.”

“Nice Walter.” Peter plucked a piece of tinsel off his shoulder. “Isn’t this getting a little out of hand?”

“Nonsense, Son,” Walter answered, tottering at the top of a step ladder. “Nineteen years at St. Claire’s. I have some catching up to do.”

Peter really couldn’t argue that; it’d been a long time since he’d celebrated the holidays himself. But, he did have his limits, and helping Walter hang twelve hundred blinking red and green LED lights was pushing them.

“Is Agent Dunham going to be back soon?” Walter leaned over to ask. The ladder started to the totter and Peter lunged to steady it.

“That’s what she said when she called.”

Walter grinned. “Excellent.”

“Walter. What’s going on?”

“Did you pick up the rum?” Walter tried to divert him. “Can’t have eggnog without the rum. Do you think Olivia will join us for eggnog?”

“If you have rum, I think there’s a pretty good chance of that.” Walter gave him a look. The one that he saved for when he thought Peter was purposely being dense. “Fine. Yes. I think there’s a chance Olivia will stay for a drink,” Peter answered to placate him.

Walter hummed a few bars of a carol that Peter vaguely remembered his mother singing once upon a time. Peter plugged the last string of lights into the power bar and froze, waiting for something to short out. When nothing happened, he muttered a short prayer of thanks. There was a scraping sound behind him, and he turned to see Walter dragging the step ladder over to the top of the stairs. It was a disaster waiting to happen.


“Son, give me a hand here. I want maximum coverage. Olivia will be here soon.”

Peter made a grab for the back of his lab coat, but Walter was too fast. “Walter, what’s going on here?”

“Christmas,” Walter answered. The corners of his mouth twitched, slightly, just enough that Peter knew Walter was up to something. He caught the way Walter’s eyes dart up to the archway above the steps and that’s when he saw it.

“It” being the largest sprig of mistletoe Peter had ever seen. He sighed.

“Really Walter? Olivia’s not going to fall for that.”

“Fall for what?” Of course that would be the exact moment Olivia would walk through the door. She stopped beside Peter and looked up where he was staring.

Peter wanted to ask if it suddenly felt a little warm in the lab (twelve hundred lights must generate a bit of heat, right?), but just settle for clearing his throat.

“Olivia,” Walter greeted her from the step ladder. “We were just talking about you.”

Olivia bit back a smile that made Peter’s stomach flip-flop. “Apparently,” she said. “Is that mistletoe Walter?”

“It is. Sharp eyes you have my dear.” Walter was practically vibrating.

“It’s kind of hard to miss,” Peter said.

“It’s also hard to miss that you are standing under it,” Walter added. “Right next to Agent Dunham. Come on, Son,” he stage-whispered. “Don’t leave a pretty girl just standing there.”

And that’s when Olivia blushed. Peter wanted to bang his head against the wall. Walter was setting them up, once again. An awkward silence followed.

It was broken by the sharp tap of heels on the concrete floor.

“Walter, the first batch is done, but I don’t think--“ Astrid trailed off mid-sentence while she took in the scene in front of her. Peter wished he could disappear. Or at least change his last name and absolve any relationship with his father.

“Oh for crying out loud.” Astrid dropped the sheet of cookies she was carrying onto the lab bench, rolled her eyes, and strode across the lab to where they were all standing. She placed her hands on Olivia’s cheeks, planted her lips on Olivia’s, and kissed her, fully. Deeply. Olivia brought her own hand up to Astrid’s shoulder and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss.

Peter reminded himself to pick his jaw up off the floor. Beside him, Walter let out a grunt and something that sounded a bit like “That’s not how it was supposed to work.”

Finally, Astrid broke the kiss, letting her fingers linger on Olivia’s cheek, and turned to Walter. “You are needed in the kitchen. Your cookies are burning.” She turned and strode back across the lab, snagging her cookie pan on the way past. Concerned for his shortbread, Walter followed.

Peter looked back at Olivia, saw her staring back, and took a step forward. “Listen, about Walter,” he started to apologize, but she stopped him with her, pressing her index finger to his lips. She looked up, and Peter followed her gaze.

The mistletoe bush still hung there, above them.

Olivia grabbed the front of his shirt in her fist and pulled him to her, until they were standing there, nearly touching. Her lips were still pink and swollen, and Peter felt his breath catch. She tightened her grip and held him close. And smiled.

“Merry Christmas?” she whispered and leaned in.

Yes, Peter thought when they broke for air, it definitely was.

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Re: Mistletoe (Olivia/Peter)

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Stocking Stuffer Gift

Date: 2011-12-24 06:51 pm (UTC)
mysecretsanta: bird wearing a santa hat (Default)
From: [personal profile] mysecretsanta
Here are some icons/bases whipped up just for you, posted at my journal with the sillyname because I can't figure how to post them as an anon.

Follow the link.

Re: Stocking Stuffer Gift

From: [personal profile] biodamped - Date: 2011-12-25 11:22 pm (UTC) - Expand
From: (Anonymous)
Enjoy! (Secret Santa)

Olivia Dunham was sitting at her desk in the main area of Fringe Division. Agents were running all over the place. They constantly opened and closed doors. An occasional cursing would arise from the break room as someone had most likely burned themselves on the coffee machine. (The division really needed a new coffee maker, however the budget wouldn’t allow for it this year.) The sound of whirring fax machines and flipping pages were starting to get on her nerves.

It was during this time of the year, Christmas, when her colleagues seemed to constantly mill about in the main area, each fighting one another for the use of the fax machine, the photocopier, a stapler, or a hole puncher in order to finish up on their paperwork before Christmas Day. Because of course everyone knows that even wormholes threatening to rip through the fabric of the space time continuum wouldn’t dream of doing so until Boxing Day.

Olivia sighed and took off her glasses. The glare of her computer monitor and the strain of blocking out the noise around her was beginning to set off one of her migraines. She rubbed the bridge of her nose. It was times like this that she wished she had an office of her own.

At Fringe Division, all agents except the superior officers had desks in the main area. As much as she would like a promotion (Broyles himself had admitted she deserved one) the budget wouldn’t allow for it. While the Fringe Division on this side was funded by the government just like the one on the other side, in this universe America was still in the midst of an economic crisis. Thus, the lack of a promotion and an office.

She just needed a quiet place to work. Walter’s lab in the basement of Harvard, wasn’t an option either. While she considered it to be her second home, it was also Walter’s actual home. Because Walter lived in the lab, there wasn’t any extra room. The only other place that could have been used as an office was occupied by Walter’s bed and television set.

Taking work to her own home was Olivia’s last option, which she exercised regularly. However, she wished that one day she wouldn’t have to take her work home with her. She would work steadily until it was time for rest. However, she often found she couldn’t go to sleep at all. Those sleepless nights were often dedicated to working on the files she brought home with her. Olivia figured some nights she couldn’t sleep because she had a case file at home.

Often she would wake in the morning to the shrill ringing of her cell on the coffee table and the pattern of the couch imprinted on her cheek. If she had a place of her own to leave the case files... just a room with four walls and a door. (Oh god, how she wanted a door) then, with the files out of sight they would be out of mind and maybe she would be able to get a decent night’s rest.

There were two things Olivia Dunham wanted for Christmas: an office and a night where the idea of work never crossed her mind. Oh, and a new coffee maker for the Division. The current machine produced what could only be described as sludge. And with those sleepless nights, she needed a decent cup of coffee.

Hey, Olivia,” a voice said from beside her desk.

Startled from her train of thought she glanced up, slightly irritated at the interruption. A bright smile and kind eyes hidden behind a pair of dark rimmed glasses greeted her.
“You ready to go home?” Lincoln asked. He set his briefcase in the chair that sat beside Olivia’s desk.

She noticed the buzz around the copier was beginning to die down. She checked the time on her watch. 5:45pm. People were already lining up at the elevator to get out of the office. At the rate people were scrambling for the doors, you’d think there was a fire.

“Uh, not right now,” she said seeing the congestion of people at all of the nearest exits. “I think I’ll put in another hour before I leave.”

Lincoln nodded as he slipped on his coat. “Okay, well I guess I’ll see you on Monday. TGIF, right?” He grinned one last time before sprinting toward the elevator.

It was Friday. Olivia had completely forgotten. It helped that she didn’t have any major plans for the weekend. Rachel and Ella were in Chicago and wouldn’t be in Boston for another week. Astrid and Walter were having a movie night at the lab but that wouldn’t be starting until around eight. Walter insisted that all preparations for such an evening must at completion before the guest was to arrive. These preparations included making popcorn and quite possibly a cake. Astrid said she would text when it was safe to come over.

As for Olivia’s love life? That was non-existent. A while ago, Astrid had planted the idea in her head that Lincoln was cute. Olivia hadn’t been so sure. The sandy blonde/brown hair paired with those dorky glasses and that grin... she had to admit, Lincoln did have that “cute nerd” thing going for him. It was like some sort of “puppy vibe”. But like with an actual puppy, while they were nice to look at, there was no way in hell she would start making out with it.

Everywhere Olivia looked, people seemed to be matching her with him. Walter was dropping hints- and by hints they were blatant comments- about how their children would look. He was planning on developing a machine that would accurately predict how their combination of DNA would appear. To say the least, it made Olivia very uncomfortable.

Plus, during her adventures to the other side, she discovered the other Olivia would flirt with the Lincoln over there, even though she already had a fiancé of her own.

Actually, it was because “Fauxlivia” (as Walter liked to call her) had a thing for the other Lincoln, Olivia refused to acknowledge the idea of her and Lincoln being together. Olivia and her counterpart were as different as they came. Their coffee preferences were even different- Fauxlivia liked hers with milk; Olivia preferred hers black with one sugar. How could they possibly be interested in the same guy, who wasn’t technically the same guy?

Either way, Olivia wanted to distance herself from her doppelganger as much as she could.

And yet, Olivia found herself asking Lincoln out one evening. Or rather she asked him to meet up at an unreasonable hour at a small diner. When she found out he also wasn’t sleeping well, she liked the idea that she wasn’t alone. It got awful lonely the nights she couldn’t sleep. And the nights that she did sleep were as a result of working until exhaustion. It was an unhealthy habit, she realized.

So when Lincoln agreed to meet with her, Olivia would have been lying if she said she hadn’t been looking forward to that ‘date’. She also would have been lying if she said she wasn’t disappointed when she woke up the next morning to find herself sprawled on the floor with five text messages from Lincoln asking where she was and then finally telling her he had gone home for the night.

As a result, Olivia pretty much ruined any chance of a romantic relationship to form between them. She was okay with this. The only part she regretted was she no longer had someone to talk to after midnight. She was fairly certain Lincoln had his sleeping schedule back on track. They had a work relationship, that was it. So when 5:30pm came around, like everyone else in the office-

“Wow, this place is like a ghost town. Was there a fire or something?” said an unfamiliar voice behind her.

Olivia turned to see Peter Bishop emerging from the elevators. The man who knew everything about everyone and no one seemed to know a thing about him. The man who went from being a blue orb, to a naked man in a middle of some lake. The man who claimed to be Walter Bishop’s son.

Peter glanced at his watch. “What are you still doing here, Olivia?” he asked. “It’s almost six. On a Friday.”

“It’s Agent Dunham, Mr. Bishop. And I could ask the same of you,” Olivia said as she swivelled to face her computer.

She could hear the smirk in his voice. “Sorry, Agent Dunham. Those are the benefits of working for the Fringe Division and having no life.” He jogged down the steps and crossed the floor quickly to reach her desk. “Oh and a bodyguard, did I mention that part? He likes make sure that when I say I’m working, I’m actually working.” He slid into the chair that Lincoln’s briefcase had occupied and crossed his legs, ankle over thigh.

Olivia raised an eyebrow and continued to type away at the keyboard.

Peter cleared his throat. “I’m here to talk to Broyles. Is he still here?”

Olivia glanced up in the direction of Broyles’ office. “He should be. But he might be leaving pretty soon.”

“You planning on leaving soon?”

“Are you?” Olivia quipped.

Peter chuckled. “You’re right, I should leave you alone. Besides, I left my bodyguard downstairs. He might start getting worried.”

Olivia opened her mouth to respond, but when she looked up, Peter was already halfway down the hall towards Broyles’ office.

The man was such a mystery for her. He claimed to be Walter Bishop’s son, when the boy had died when he was young. He knew all about the Fringe Division and some very top secret cases, including information known only to the agents involved with that case.

He also knew her, or what he now believed to be a different version of her.

And the way he would look at her when he thought she wasn’t looking... a sadness lingered in his eyes. Those striking blue eyes that seemed to immediately locate her when she walked into a room.

Olivia shook her head. Focus, she scolded herself. She still had work to do until she was supposed to go to the lab.

She picked up her coffee mug and inspected the bottom. Empty. Olivia would need an extra kick from an old friend called caffeine before she was going to get anything else accomplished. She got up from her chair and headed toward the break room.

As she turned on the machine to make a new pot, Olivia drummed her fingers on the counter and found her mind wandering to the anomaly in her life.

She had to admit, Peter’s mop of curly brown hair looked pretty good when he styled it. And now that he was receiving a salary from the Division for helping with cases, his clothes were fitting a lot nicer. She was beginning to notice certain... features.

And that cocky grin of his went a little too well with his attitude. It was infectious. Sometimes, she had to prevent herself from smiling whenever he made a sly or sarcastic comment to one of Walter’s theories. Walter, because he was pretending that Peter did not exist, would continue to explain while Olivia bit back laughter.

Peter caught her eye once, after such a particular incident, and grinned upon seeing her suppressed smile. Sometimes she thought that he bothered Walter on purpose just to get a smile from her.

“Something funny?” Peter asked from the doorway.

Olivia jumped and brushed her hand against the heating pot.

“Ouch,” she let out a string of swear words.

Peter’s eyes widened. “Not anymore apparently.”

“What do you want?” Olivia asked before bringing the edge of her hand to her mouth.

“I was wondering if you were planning on coming into work tomorrow. There are a couple of things I need to do here but someone else needs to be in the building as well. And it being the weekend and all I doubt there’s gonna be many people around. Apparently my security detail doesn’t count. Broyles said he wouldn’t be here but you probably would.” Peter raised an arm to lean against the doorway.

“Yeah, I should be here,” Olivia mumbled around her hand.

“Excellent,” he flashed a smile. “Guess, I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Make sure you take care of that hand,” he called out over his shoulder.

Olivia poured coffee into her mug. By the time she left the break room, Peter was already gone.

That man always managed to catch her off guard or surprise her in some way, she thought. She couldn’t seem to figure him out. Perhaps he was from an alternate universe after all. It wasn’t as though the idea was impossible.

She slid into her chair at her desk and took a sip from her mug. She grimaced and looked at the cup’s contents once more. Dear god, that was disgusting.

part 2

Date: 2011-12-25 11:32 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
The next morning, Olivia found herself at the office suffering from yet another sleepless night. This meant she was most likely going to have to make another pot of that insufferable sludge that attempted to pass for coffee.

She slumped down at her desk and placed her head a little forcefully on the flat surface in front of her. She turned her head sideways and checked the watch on her wrist. 8:02 am. Peter would most likely be here soon. As soon as the thought crossed her mind the phone on her desk rang. The agent at the front desk said that a man by the name of Peter Bishop was waiting in the lobby area. Olivia gave them permission to let Mr. Bishop up.

After she hung up the phone, she turned up her computer.

Soon she heard muffled voices behind the closed elevator doors as it reached the floor the Fringe office was located.

“Look, I don’t need you to be upstairs with me. Agent Dunham will be here the whole time,” Olivia assumed Peter was talking to his security detail.

She heard a ding, and the sound of the elevator doors whooshing open. Olivia turned to face the two men leaving the steel box.

“See? There she is right now. She’ll be able to confirm what I’m saying,” Peter exited the elevator and a man in a black suit followed.
“Excuse me, Agent Dunham,” the man in the suit said. Olivia nodded, acknowledging his presence.

“Will it be a problem if Mr. Bishop stayed up here by himself for the remainder of the day?” Peter stepped slightly behind the man to shake his head.

Olivia set her jaw and bit her lower lip. “No agent, I won’t mind. Mr. Bishop shouldn’t be a problem. If he is, I’ll be sure to let you know. I believe I have your number somewhere from previous instances when I needed to reach Mr. Bishop.”

The other agent nodded and stepped back into the elevator.

As the numbers began to decrease above the closed doors, Peter groaned a sigh of relief.

“Finally. The only time I have by myself is when I’m at home or when I’m here.” He paused and tilted his head slightly, as if a new thought had occurred to him.

“Why did you go along with it? I thought you would want him to be up here with me, you know, to make sure I don’t get into anything.”

Olivia turned back to her computer. “Well, I know I don’t work the best with someone looking over my shoulder. I thought you might be the same way.”

“Thank you,” came the response. She could hear his footsteps hit the two short steps and head towards her desk.

The next thing she knew, a to-go coffee cup enter her field of vision.

She looked up at him questioningly.

“Black with one sugar, right?”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks.” Though she knew the coffee would be a relief from the horrendous mixture she would have to brew only a few feet away from where she was sitting, she felt uncomfortable about the fact that he knew her coffee order.

Peter nodded, “I’ll be in the copier room down the hall if you need me.”

Olivia smiled slightly and took a tentative sip from the cup. Finally, an actual cup of coffee.

The rest of the morning was uneventful. Olivia caught up on two cases worth of paper work. Out of five. After putting the second file away in a desk drawer, she looked at the time. 11:30 am. Almost time for lunch.

She ventured down the hallway to find Peter scrutinizing a map that was spread across one of the tables in the room.

She cleared her throat to catch his attention. Peter’s head snapped up at the sudden noise.

“Mr. Bishop, I was planning on ordering pizza for lunch. Is pepperoni okay?” Olivia asked, her hands behind her back.

Peter scanned her stature and smirked. “You don’t have to go to any trouble. I’ll be fine.” He looked back down at the map.

“I insist. After all you did save me from having to drink the coffee here this morning. Plus, you gotta eat right?”

He paused and slowly glanced up to meet her eyes. His eyebrow was raised. “You got me there. Pepperoni’s fine. Thanks.”

Olivia nodded and made her way back to her desk. She made a quick phone call and 20 minutes later, with a quick elevator ride downstairs, a large pepperoni pizza was in her hands and on her way to the break room.

When she got there she found that Peter was already at the table waiting. A set of paper plates and napkins had been set on the table.

She stopped at the door way.

“What?” Peter asked. “I was hungry.”

Olivia smiled slightly and set the pizza on the table.

The room was silent until Olivia had finished her first slice and Peter was half-way through his second.

“Do you need a straw?” Olivia asked. Peter paused a string of cheese hung from his mouth to his slice. “You know, to breathe?”

He gave an audible swallow and smirked. “I guess I was hungrier than I realized. Sorry, Oliv- I mean Agent Dunham.” He looked back down at his pizza and took another bite.

“Call me Olivia,” she said as she reached for another slice. “I feel like I know you better now to be on a first name basis.”

Peter laughed shortly, “I suppose I kind of freaked you out about the fact that I know everything you work on when I technically don’t exist in this universe.” The smile dropped away from his face.

“I’m beginning to get used to the idea. I mean I got used to the fact that there is an entire different universe with someone who looks exactly like me, except with that red hair.” Peter must have noted the distain in her voice.

“I’m sensing there’s a great amount of love between you two,” he said dryly.

“You have no idea,” Olivia rolled her eyes. “She thinks she’s so much better than I am. And that red hair, who is she trying to kid? We’ve always had a perfectly natural colour.”

“Well, I don’t think the red is that bad.”

“It bothers you a hell of a lot more after someone has kidnapped you and taken your place, your friends, your job, your life...”

Peter was still for a moment. “I can imagine.” He took another bite.

“I don’t know if you do, Mr. Bishop.” Olivia took another bite of hers.

He groaned, “Please, call me Peter. Mr. Bishop reminds me of school.”

“Elementary, high school, college?”

“All three. I got in trouble a lot.”

Olivia laughed.

“So... any plans for Christmas?” Peter reached for another piece.

She nodded. “My sister Rachel and my niece Ella are coming on Christmas Eve and staying for a couple days. You?” She asked automatically.

Peter smiled ruefully. “Not really. Turns out, when your father in this universe doesn’t want to acknowledge you exist, the holidays seem kind of... lonely.”

Olivia slowly chewed. “I- I didn’t mean...”

“I know you didn’t. It’s just me divulging in some self pity. It was my fault, I brought up the idea of Christmas anyway. Just one of those unachievable Christmas wishes. Got any of those yourself?” He grabbed a paper napkin and wiped his mouth.

“There’s a couple of things I’d like to happen but they aren’t really serious.” Seeing that both of them were finished she closed up the pizza box.

“Come on, tell me.” He placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward.

Olivia rolled her eyes and got up to put the pizza in the fridge. With her back facing him she said, “Lately, I’ve been wishing I had an office at work.” She closed the fridge door and turned to face Peter. “And a night where I had an evening where the idea of work never crossed my mind. Oh, and a new coffee maker for work,” she said as the old one caught her eye.

Peter grimaced. “I’m with you on that last one.”

“Well, I should be getting back to work,” Olivia said quickly.

“So should I, now that you mention it. See you later,” Peter walked left the room and back down the hallway back to the copier room. Olivia headed in the opposite direction back to her desk.

For the rest of the afternoon, all was quiet. Olivia finished all of her paperwork by 5:30 pm. She even managed to organize her desk. As she was about to leave she put on her coat and went to tell Peter, who she assumed was still in the copier room, that she was leaving and as a result he would have to leave as well.

As she turned the corner to enter the copier room she ran into something solid. That solid something turned out to be Peter’s chest.

“Um, hi,” Peter said.

“Oh hi,” Olivia said flustered, backing up and smoothing down her jacket. “I was just coming to let you know that I was gonna head out.”

“Excellent timing,” he said, gesturing to his appearance. He already was sporting a peacoat and leather gloves. “I was ready to go myself.”

“Okay, then,” she said awkwardly and turned to leave.

“Olivia?” Peter said.

“Yes, Peter?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to come to my place for dinner?” Olivia turned to see him placing his hands in his pockets.

“Uh, I don’t know, Peter...”

“Everybody’s gotta eat, right? I make a mean homemade lasagne.”

Olivia bit her lower lip, mulling the options over in her head. Either go home and have a frozen TV dinner and be alone for the rest of the night or homemade lasagne and some not so bad company.

“Plus, my body guard’ll be outside. Just in case,” Peter winked.

Olivia smiled. “Give me your address, I’ll go home and change and come over around seven?”

“Sounds good,” Peter grinned and wrote down the address on a scrap piece of paper. He handed it to her. “See you at seven.”

Seven o’clock came around and Olivia found herself outside the house the FBI had set up for Peter.

When he opened the door the most heavenly smell wafted to her senses.

“That smells wonderful,” she said as Peter helped her slide her coat off her arms.

“Thanks,” he said as he hung up the coat in the hallway closet. “When you don’t sleep well and live by yourself, you tend to get bored. So I picked up cooking. Something I got from my dad, I guess.”

Olivia nodded.

Dinner was ready in about half an hour. Turned out he had the lasagne prepared beforehand. It was something that he had planned for dinner regardless of whether she had accepted his invitation.

Dinner conversation was light. They talked about the weather and work... well as light as work conversation went for working at Fringe Division.

As they were doing the dishes from dinner, the conversation went silent. Olivia was still thinking about Peter’s situation. He was so alone in the world. Sometimes she felt as though she could be in the same situation but then she realized, at least she had Rachel and Ella. Peter truly had no one. At least in this universe.

She broke the silence. “I’m trying to get Walter to warm up to you, you know. But he refuses to acknowledge even the idea of you. He’s just so-”

“Stubborn?” Peter finished her sentence. “Yeah, even in my universe he was stubborn.”

He paused. “It hurts, you know.” He rinsed the pot he had finished scrubbing. “He won’t even look at me. It’s difficult knowing that I’m not where I’m supposed to be. Just like when I look at-”
“Me?” Olivia finished.

“Yes,” he said softly as he handed the pot to her. Their hands brushed. “And no at the same time.”

Olivia was sure he could sense her confusion.

“It’s like how you and the Olivia from the other universe are. You share the same face but aren’t anything like one another. Except with my Olivia, you share much more traits with her than I can explain. Knowing that you are like her but aren’t is confusing. And yeah, it does hurt.” Peter began to let the water drain from the sink.

“But my Olivia, wherever she is,” he closed his eyes, “I’ll always love her. After what we’ve been through... I just can’t lose her again.” He opened his eyes. The expression on his face, Olivia could only describe as love. She thought that wherever his Olivia was, she sure was lucky to have a man as dedicated and loving as a guy like Peter.

Peter suddenly cleared his throat and took the pan from her hands and placed it in a bottom cupboard.

“Have any place you need to be?” he asked.

Olivia shook her head.

“You enjoy Die Hard?” he raised an eyebrow. “It’s the perfect Christmas movie. All of the basic holiday cheer with a touch of violence.

Olivia smiled.

She sat herself on the couch and Peter set up the DVD. Once it was playing, he went into the hall closet and pulled out a blanket. He tossed it on the cushion beside her.

He said, “It gets kind of chilly in this room.”

So Olivia took the blanket, thanked him and proceeded to wrap up in it. She remembered watching John McClane climb on top of the elevator in the elevator shaft.

The next thing she knew it was the next morning and she was practically lying on top of Peter.

His sent was a clean musky smell, which somehow he still managed to achieve even though it was the morning. Eyes still half shut she slowly moved to an upright position as to not wake him up.

She carefully began to stand from the couch.

“Good morning sleepyhead,” was Peter’s response as Olivia tried to make her getaway. When she looked back he had one eye open.

“I’m sorry I must have fallen asleep,” she checked her watch. It was 8:30 in the morning. She was surprised she had fallen asleep much less slept for so long.

“Don’t worry, I fell asleep too. Must have been a little bit after you did, otherwise I would have let you have the couch for yourself.” He rubbed an eye half-heartedly.
Olivia paused. “Oh god, it’s 8:30 in the morning. I stayed here all night!” She stood frozen in place.

“Don’t worry,” Peter said as he stood up from the couch. “I’ll tell my body guard that nothing happened.”

Olivia flushed at his comment, “Please be sure that you do. Also, shouldn’t you know his name by now, other than body guard? His actual name is-”

“Tony, I know.” He grinned. “Knew it from the first day he was assigned to me. I just do that to annoy him.”

Olivia nodded. “Well, I should probably go.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

“Sorry, for falling asleep on you.”

“Not a problem. That was probably the best night’s sleep I’ve had since I popped into this universe.”

As Olivia put on her coat and gave a short wave to him as she left the house she thought, Funny, I was going to say the same thing.

part 3

Date: 2011-12-25 11:32 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
When Olivia walked into the office Monday morning, few people had yet to make it into the office, however those who were there were milling about in the break room.

“What’s going on?” Olivia asked as she walked in the room.

“New coffee maker,” one agent said excitedly.

“Someone had it delivered a couple of minutes ago,” another one added.

Olivia had a pretty good idea who was behind the appearance of the new device. She went to her desk, picked up the phone, and punched in some numbers. She began to twist the phone cord around her fingers.

“Bishop,” was the response after two rings.

“You really outdid yourself, Peter. People are going nuts over this new coffee maker.”

“I’m glad I could help,” replied the tinny voice.

“You really didn’t have to do that you know,” Olivia noticed she had trapped her fingers in the phone cord.

“Well, I figured when I am at the office there’s no need for me to suffer along with the rest of you,” he chuckled.

“Didn’t it cost quite a bit? I’m pretty sure I saw a cappuccino setting on it,” she shouldered the phone and began to free her fingers.

“What can I say, when you don’t have much of a social life, and when the FBI takes care of the bills, you begin to notice you have a bit of extra cash laying around.”

“Not that much extra cash. Well, the entire department thanks you, Mr. Bishop.”

“Oh, please. It was nothing, Agent Dunham.”

There was a moment of silence between the two. Olivia wasn’t quite sure what to say. She wanted to say thank you personally for his efforts to fulfill her Christmas wishes.

Peter spoke up, “Well, two out of three ain’t bad, right?” Olivia could hear the smile over the phone.

“Two out of three what?” Olivia was confused.

“Two out of three items on your Christmas wish list. I talked to Broyles and he said that the payroll couldn’t handle another promotion this year. So no office. At least not this year.”

“In that case, two out of three isn’t bad at all,” she smiled in return. She was still amazed at how much effort he put into making her life a bit happier.

“Well, I need to go. My body guard is taking me shopping and I said we could leave five minutes ago. Just a minute, honey,” he called to someone in the background. “Sorry, about that,” he said to Olivia.

She didn’t acknowledge the interruption. Instead she said, “Thank you, Peter.”

“Have a merry Christmas, Olivia.” The line clicked and went dead.

Suddenly Olivia wished things were different. She wished that she the one he was looking for.

She wished she was his Olivia.

Re: part 3

From: [personal profile] biodamped - Date: 2011-12-26 02:05 am (UTC) - Expand

Date: 2011-10-26 09:14 pm (UTC)
alizarin_nyc: (catherine tate)
From: [personal profile] alizarin_nyc
Blog: alizarin_nyc (on LJ, DW, and AO3)
Things I'd like:
1. Fic. Since I haven't followed every plotline to the letter, something that involved heavy duty canon knowledge would be wasted on me. I love creepy stuff, gore, wacky science, characters being unaccountably awesome, sex, smut, kink, emotional depth, humor. Not all at the same time, of course, unless it fits the bill. I love Olivia, Lincoln and Astrid. Slash, het, femslash, all to the good.
2. Vid. I've just started vidding and love the concepts. Sell me a pairing that's not obvious, or catch the characters in some light-hearted moments. Go arty if you want. I also like teasers or trailers, so feel free to do a "short" too.

Things I wouldn't like: kidfic, out of character fluff, pregnancies.

What I can do: I can vid, but I'm new to it, so the request would have to be more general than specific. I can write stuff. And things. Usually I write slash, sex, mystery plots and heads getting bashed in.

What I can't do: See above re: vidding. I'm not great at writing Peter, I think, though I have not tried. And won't be able to comply with heavy canon specifics because of incurable brain fog.

Pinch hitter?: In the event of someone not being able to complete their gift are you willing to be stand-in writer, artist, or vidder? YES. ASK ME.

Date: 2011-12-24 02:31 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Title:"Inspired by True Events"
Author: anonymous
Rating: Teen (language)
Pairing: None. This is genfic.
Word Count: 1634
Summary: For a top-secret division, they were pretty easy to find once he had the camera feeds in hand.
Spoilers: None of any consequence really.

Author's Note: You mentioned in your sign-up that you weren't following canon super closely. That's good! Because this goes AU after scene five or so in the first episode of season four.

The FBI Wall of Honor lists only 36 "service martyrs," agents who died as a direct result of adversarial action. No one would have predicted Robert's name would end up engraved on that wall. It didn't make any sense. They shouldn't have been in that warehouse. They worked white collar crime, insurance fraud. They were good at it, too.

When the call came through for a team to investigate a lead into an illegal arms sale, Lincoln had balked at the assignment. It wasn't their area, he had argued. Why them? But Robert had looked on it as a lark, a chance to get out of the office on a nice day. Robert had joined the FBI after a stint of military service in some unnamed foreign country. He didn't like to talk about it. Lincoln had joined up after finishing his MS in Stats.

Robert liked kicking bad-guy ass.

Lincoln liked analyzing data.

He admitted that his plan to track where they were taking Robert's body was ill-conceived. For a top secret division, they were pretty easy to find once he had the camera feeds in hand. Getting the agents who were supposed to be guarding the facility to let him through had been ridiculously easy, too. All he'd had to do was show his badge, mention his partner's name, and tell them he had an appointment with Agent Dunham. It had gone fubar, as Robert would have put it, pretty quickly after that initial success. He hadn't expected Dunham's boss to call his SAC . He hadn't expected to be put on administrative leave, pending a disciplinary hearing.

"Agent Lee, I know what you're going through," his boss told him. "But you can't do this. You're interfering with an investigation that's now light years above your clearance level." Dickerson was a decent man but he had no idea what it was like to have the image of Robert's dead body replaying in his mind. He saw himself running after the perp, then returning to Robert's body, looking at Robert's face, then through it, watching as his features changed from a man he knew well into something unrecognizable, something monstrous. Every time, Robert's face dissolved as if from within, turning into a gelatinous mask. Every time, Lincoln arrived too late and the perp was already gone and Robert was already dead.

As far as he was concerned, he was still part of that investigation. No one was going to take that away from him, no matter how high her security clearance or how classified her department. He owed that much to Robert, to Lisa, to the kids. He owed it to himself.

He decided to file his report when he got back to New Haven. Those text messages from his boss could wait, too.

The coffee shop across the street from his hotel was a godsend; he hadn't been able to even think about sleep since they'd taken Robert's body away. The décor reminded him of that Edward Hopper painting that hung in the Art Institute in Chicago. The coffee was bitter and filmed with oil, but it was hot and plentiful, and the waitress seemed fine with him sitting there all night. Maybe he should call his friend at the Times. No, he'd hold that option in reserve for if he did get fired. In the meantime, he still had some resources and he intended to use them.

He was trying to flag down his waitress when he spotted her. Shit. He knew he shouldn't have set up shop so close to her apartment. This was just a few blocks from her place. Maybe she wouldn't see him.

"Agent Lee. What are you still doing in Boston? " What the hell did Dunham think he was doing?

"That's really none of your concern," he countered, looking at her straight in the eye.

She didn't look away. "It is if you're still here investigating this case," she said evenly.

She slid into the seat next to him. "I think we need to talk."

"No, we don't."

"We take the death agent very seriously in our division. This investigation will have the highest priority."

She looked tense but sounded very in control, as though she was choosing her words carefully, as though her least mistake might cause him do something rash, something violent. He wanted her to understand he wasn't like that.

Suddenly he got it, why she was so anxious for him to leave it alone. "Robert wasn't the first, was he? There were earlier deaths. That's why your division showed up so quickly. There's a pattern that you're investigating."

Olivia looked startled, but recovered quickly. "I'm not at liberty to say."

"Look, I need to know what you know. This is my partner we're talking about," he spat out.

She didn't appear fazed. "That's why you need to be off this case, Agent Lee. You've suffered a loss, you're in shock and you're not thinking clearly," she said earnestly."There's a reason you're on administrative leave. It's for your safety and the safety of the other agents working with you. You haven't even been debriefed. Your partner was married with two children, wasn't he?"

"Yes." He didn't need to say anything more. The murder had made Robert's life an open book.

"You were close to his wife and to his kids," she pressed him gently.

"Yes. They were like the family I never thought I'd find," he admitted.

"Then go home. Be with them. Grieve with them. They've already lost so much. Don't compound this tragedy by doing something stupid."

There was wisdom in those words, as much as he hated to admit it. He swallowed hard. " you think you'll be ready to release Robert's body? I know she'll want a family service and there'll be an official ceremony as well." And I'll be asked to speak at both of them. He wanted to close his eyes and cover his face with his hands but he kept himself upright.

She hesitated. "I'm afraid we won't be," she said finally.

"What do you mean? What are you going to tell Lisa?" What am I going to tell her?

"I'm not sure about that," she admitted. "This is an unusual situation. Ordinarily in a case like this, we tell the victims' families that they're still missing but that we will continue to look for them..."

Who the hell were these people? "You mean you lie to them? You understand what you're saying? Those families are going to spend the rest of their lives wondering what happened to their loved ones, looking for answers. Can you imagine what that would be like? To have that... that hole in your life."

"This may not be what you want to hear but this is the truth. Everything you describe will be classified top secret and the documentation transferred to my division," she said resolutely.

"I don't understand. Why are you doing this?"

"We can't release their bodies because we would have to disclose how they were killed. That would call attention to our division and that we cannot have." She looked down at her hands and then back at him. "I've already said too much. I've got to go." She began to stand, but he put a hand on her arm, letting go when she pulled away.

"You need to listen to me. Robert died in the line of duty. Lisa deserves the truth, and so do her kids. There's already a paper trail a mile wide of this. My eyewitness account, my phone call to the ME, my official report. You can't bury it all. I won't let you."

She stared at him for a minute, then exited the booth and walked out.

He slumped back in his seat. That could have gone better but at least now he knew what he was up against. He began to pull out his phone, thought better of it and signaled the waitress. He needed to head back home, get to Lisa and the kids, tell them the truth before their government started telling them lies. If he was right, this case was just the tip of the iceberg.


"We have a problem, Agent Dunham. A serious problem."

"Yes, Sir."

"Agent Lee has allies, powerful ones. He's using every weapon at his disposal." Broyles tapped on the stack of papers in front of him. "We went ahead and released Agent Danzig's's body to his wife. But that hasn't stopped the barrage of FOIA requests, 200 so far, with no end in sight, or the phone calls from the press. The New York Times, the Boston Globe..."

Olivia stared straight ahead. She knew exactly what was coming next.

"He's still on administrative leave. His disciplinary hearing is scheduled for next week. You'll be called to testify against him."

She nodded. She was waiting for Broyles to pass judgment on her. She knew she was at fault. This man, Agent Lee, looked so much like the man she knew and had worked with on the other side that she'd made the critical mistake of trusting him with information he never should have been allowed to have.

"He is on a crusade. Without knowing the full extent of what the implications would be for national security, he wants to expose the actions of the Fringe Division to the public. You and I both know that can't happen."

"Yes, Sir."

"He'll have to be discredited, and dismissed. It's a damn shame. The man was a good agent. So was his partner."

"I know."

"How did this happen, Dunham?"

"I...I told him the truth about why we couldn't release the body."

Broyles narrowed his eyes slightly, then nodded in understanding. "I see. Make sure it doesn't happen again. You're dismissed."

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Date: 2011-10-26 10:03 pm (UTC)
monanotlisa: Astrid Farnsworth! (astrid - fringe)
From: [personal profile] monanotlisa
Blog: monanotlisa at LJ, DW, tumblr, and twitter

E-mail: above handle at gmail dot com

Things I'd like:

Character-wise, Blue!Olivia/Blue!Lincoln, Amber!verse versions, although given this my tumblr tag, I'll take any and all permutations in a pinch, from Olivia/Alt!Lincoln over Liv/Lincoln to ye olde parallele pairing, Liv/Alt!Lincoln. My biggest wish of them all is another vid for Olivia/Lincoln. Like, only the third one in all the world. I would love it and hug it and call it...whatever you name it, really. That said, I tend to like canon best of all; depending on where the show takes us until mid-December, I'd also be thrilled about anything involving Astrid, in particular Astrid/Olivia. Nina is another favourite of mine, and could always do with more screen/pagetime. I'm all for the Alt!verse team too, especially Charlie, whom I miss madly.

Content-wise, I want it all but am happy with everything that gives me strong characterisation. I adore humour and off-beat portrayals; I'm in awe of people who write plot well. Rating-wise, higher is better (but of course, as ever, the erotic is better than writing explicit sex just for the sake of explicit-ness. Is that a word? It should be). If you are like me and very much into specific prompts, check out this one, or that one, or ohhh, look! :)

Things I wouldn't like: I'm not hugely into unhappy endings, angst, or sap. While I've shipped Olivia and Peter for many a season, they're also not what I crave right now.

What I can do: Are you great at a certain genre (gen, het, slash)? I write and make icons, both reasonably well if you like dialogue, character interaction, and twisty turns of phrase. My fanart is sadly not up to tumblr standards, but I'm in possession of a copy of PhotoShop and perfectly willing to make you a wallpaper or somesuch of a character, pairing, or scenario you can't find out there.

What I can't do: Am not good with Peter or Walter; the Bishop boys are in more capable hands elsewhere.

Pinch hitter?: Alas, no.

Stocking Stuffer

Date: 2011-12-24 12:22 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
(sorry, written on the fly, hopefully there's be something bigger and better soon)

There’s a picture of Captain Lee taken when he was sixteen, body coltish, hair plastered to his forehead, braces on his teeth. Olivia sees the photograph at the Senator’s house on a lazy Saturday afternoon, whitewashed walls surrounded by an impeccable garden that stretched out for how many miles. It was perfect. Her first distinct thought was ‘no fucking way,’ followed by giddiness.

It was tradition, expected, for teammates to find the most damning photo of their colleagues and parade it around for public ridicule. Liv’s nursing a Long Island tea and contemplating theft of property – if it’s possible to make it out of the Senator’s house with a bulky frame stuffed under her shirt, or if security would jump her for stealing the ‘silverware.’

Lincoln looks uncomfortable, spine straight, expression solemn. It’s the type of stance one associates with sepia photographs from the nineteenth century.
Olivia wants to reach into the past and muss his hair, rumple Lincoln’s clothing, until the stiff lines of his body turn into loose curves. In the picture Nick Lane has one arm thrown over Lee's shoulders, his grin wide, manic. Both boys are dressed in their prep-school uniform, science brigade, first class.

The Boy Scouts, Charlie had teased.

Lincoln’s been groomed for Fringe division his entire life.

In contrast, Charlie came out of the disbanded FBI and Liv got her walking papers straight out of the military, curiously, her sponsorship into Fringe unknown.

Lincoln's face is rounder, softer at the edges, beside him Nick is nothing but sharp angles.

Olivia finds herself staring, tracing the negative light of a solemn boy with glasses, a neat hairstyle and prim uniform. She can’t reconcile the image with her Lincoln, as if she’s seeing some alternate version of who he might have been.

“I’m a good cook,” Lincoln had said to Olivia on her second day on the job. “I do wonders with a tin of bully-beef and a can of tomatoes.”

“Fine dining.”

“I spare no expense. Consider it a prelude to our first date, which I estimate to be three years down the track, depending on Frank.”

She checked the air canister on her belt and stood up, body stooped in the confines of the van. “You have a set formula for your mathematics, Lothario?”

“Entire schematics devoted to the subject.” He smiled at her, bright and undeterred. “They say women love a confident man.”

Liv shot him a sideways glance, amused. “They? Your second-hand information is correct…and a little alarming.”

Lincoln pulled a face, checked his weapon. “It’s not ‘second-hand’ information. I’m vastly experienced, I’ll have you know.”

Olivia looked out the window of the van. The Washington Monument cast a middle finger in the distance, a stark exclamation mark, or as Olivia privately thought of it a national ‘fuck you’. “And most women like a confident man right up until the point they decide it’s arrogance instead.”

“I’m not arrogant.”

He hadn’t looked goofy in that moment. Lincoln looked as solemn as his sixteen-year-old self, honest where everyone else was shaded grey. “I just know what’s worth waiting for.”

Olivia kicked Charlie in the ankle to startle him awake. “If you can stretch the can of bully-beef into a three-way meal, I’ll consider it.”

There are braces on Lincoln’s teeth in the photograph. He looks pinched, too cognisant of the job he’ll be posted in, only a few short years in the future.

Of the graduating class in Field Sciences, 2000, Olivia knows only a handful are left. She pulled Lincoln’s ass out of a Class Four Event on her first day on the job. He kissed her in the aftermath, pulse hectic under her thumb, and attended Nick’s funeral two days later.

Olivia compares the two boys side by side - Nick’s wide smile, his bared teeth, dilated eyes – a fun-house mirror of laughter sliding into terror. Beside him, Lincoln looks like the epitome of a geek: a far cry from the casual lope and scruffy exterior of today’s appearance. He looks sixteen and scared, body rigid.

Olivia still has the urge to steal the evidence, but not to display it for ridicule. She wants to cover the vulnerability, keep it guarded and secret. She wonders what Lincoln might have been like if he hadn't learnt to cover his exterior.

Re: Stocking Stuffer

From: [personal profile] monanotlisa - Date: 2011-12-24 12:47 pm (UTC) - Expand

Re: Stocking Stuffer

From: [personal profile] ziparumpazoo - Date: 2011-12-24 04:39 pm (UTC) - Expand

Re: Stocking Stuffer

From: [personal profile] wendelah1 - Date: 2011-12-24 11:53 pm (UTC) - Expand

Re: Stocking Stuffer

From: [personal profile] monanotlisa - Date: 2011-12-25 01:38 am (UTC) - Expand

Re: Stocking Stuffer

From: [personal profile] cantarina - Date: 2011-12-27 05:59 pm (UTC) - Expand

Re: Stocking Stuffer

From: [personal profile] cantarina - Date: 2011-12-27 09:33 pm (UTC) - Expand

another stocking stuffer

From: [personal profile] mysecretsanta - Date: 2011-12-25 02:19 am (UTC) - Expand

Date: 2011-10-31 03:58 am (UTC)
yahtzee: (Default)
From: [personal profile] yahtzee
Blog: yahtzee on DW, yahtzee63 on LJ (preferred), yahtzee at the AO3
Things I'd like: (1) Anything exploring the friendship between Astrid and Walter from Astrid's POV; she seems to care about him greatly, though she does far more for him than he does for her, and I would like to get her POV on why. (2) Blueverse Olivia meets Redverse John Scott. What's he like? What happens? Would prefer something not particularly shippy, but a reminder of how far she's come. (3) Peter, Olivia and Walter in a cozier, happier moment. Maybe something Fringey happens that is actually really lovely for a change?
Things I wouldn't like: Redverse Olivia/Peter, Walter/Astrid as a romantic 'ship, character-bashing of any stripe
What I can do: I write fic! Enjoy het more than slash but will write whatever.
What I can't do: I'd rather not write threesome fic or redverse Olivia/Peter.
Pinch hitter?: Maybe?
From: (Anonymous)
The thing is: the first time Astrid meets Walter Bishop he pushes her into oncoming traffic.


On her person Astrid carries a combination earpiece and camera Dr. Bishop married together, a gun, an FBI radio and a pair of runners she keeps in the well of her car seat at all times. She knows better than to wear nice clothing or even her most favourite shoes. At Walter’s behest, Astrid’s crawled through air ducts, along sewers, over bodies, and on one memorable occasion *up* a California redwood, balanced precariously between the trunk and a branch that was thick as a small tree.

Her breath had come in sharp bursts, almost asthmatic with fear; bark beneath her nails and nothing but a rocky precipice below, a forest stretched before her like the blurred strokes of an impressionist painting, a blotting of jade and olive green.

“It’s breathtaking,” Walter whispered in her ear and Astrid had stared, stunned by the vista of nature: by the sharp cry of a peregrine as it pin-wheeled in the dawning hush. It took a moment before Astrid comprehended what he said then she hollered, furious with Walter for making her climb the tree for no other purpose.

She had scampered down like a twelve year old, dropping from branch to branch, feet skidding along the ancient trunk until her toes touched the earth.

Astrid carries with her a notepad, a pen, and the unspoken knowledge Walter sees the world, its collection of oddball inhabitants, its frenetic beauty, while perched on her shoulder.

He sings sometimes, glam-rock melting into German nursery rhymes, his voice acerbic in her ear. Walter’s regard should pull Astrid off balance, tip her over the edge with a rush of vertigo, but she has yet to fall from the heights he entices her to scale.



“It’s not over. Reanimation of the corpse will give Agent Dunham some answers at least. We could attempt another joining of minds - “

“Walter,” Astrid says.

“Find out who else was responsible for the Flight 627,” Walter says frantically. “Seven hours at least before decay of the synapses becomes irreversible –“

“Dr. Bishop,” Astrid tries again.

“It can be done! You can’t send me back yet!” He’s circled the table twice, maintaining exact distance. There’s a wet spot near Walter’s crotch that Astrid doesn’t comment on. His reactions aren’t his own yet, mind and body divorced from each other after two decades of prescribed and experimental medication. “I didn’t fail,” he insists.

He looks terrified. The etched lines of Walter’s face speak of the contingencies of his release, none of which were met. Save John Scott’s life.

It was a chance to impress Olivia with his intellect and the final result was a cooling body on a slab. John never even awoke from his coma.

“I didn’t have enough time. Please don’t send me back.”

He’s balanced on tenterhooks, face grey as he twitches from her approach.
There’s something small, selfish, inside Astrid that wishes Olivia were here to deal with Walter, to assuage his terror, to look him in the eye and say *Sorry, but it was a good try, no guarantee there will be a next.*

“Walter, the decision isn’t up to me,” Astrid reminds carefully. “And Richard Steig is in custody.”

They have the culprit, just not a breakdown of chemicals used to infect the passengers of Flight 627. That too will come, through reverse engineering and patience, only too late to save their co-worker. Astrid’s uncertain what Agent Dunham will do – the state of her grief, the nature of her relationship with John at question - but if Walter breaks apart now, if he shivers and shakes, fails to produce *any* type of result, the end game is pre-written.

“If you want to stay out of Saint Claire’s, find a cure so this won’t happen again. Let Olivia have some measure of peace.” Don’t let her go back in the tank, Astrid encourages silently. She leans over the cadaver, curling her hands around Walter’s forearm and agrees. “It’s not over unless you want it to be. Give Olivia a reason to look at you twice, Walter.”

It should feel like an imposition, to reach out when there were other, more important people who slipped through Astrid’s fingers.

Walter says searchingly. “Who was it?”

Astrid startles, her fingers turn loose, opening like a petal. Walter doesn’t wait for an answer. Seemingly, he lost interest before the question left his mouth.

“I’ll need to perform a thorough autopsy. No further dalliances in the tank for Agent Dunham I’m afraid. Would you be kind enough to assist me?” He makes eye contact briefly before his gaze skitters away.

Where Walter was high-strung with fear, now he’s nervous with inactivity, vibrating with the need to prove himself, to make his presence indispensible. Astrid feels her stomach roll over. She has it on good authority a background in linguistics and computer science doesn’t qualify her for a human autopsy, the largest thing she’s dissected is a frog.

Her mouth opens and closes almost haplessly. “What’s my name?”

“Astrid,” he proclaims immediately.

He says it with a hard A and soft D, all the letters in between rushing forward in ambush. Walter reaches over John Scott’s body with his hand extended, the motion awkward; oblivious to the blood on his gloves. He says her name like he can ill afford to forget it. “It’s Astrid, and I’m pleased to meet you, miss.”

Astrid looks at the corpse briefly and blanches.

“Good to meet you too, Walter.”

His request is deeply inappropriate. Walter doesn’t consider the possibility they might have known one another (which in fairness, they don’t), but it should feel wrong to partake in a fellow agents autopsy. Astrid should look down and have an immediate sense of her own mortality, of the perils the job entails. Instead, she looks at the disease that has wasted John Scott’s body into a Halloween costume, (translucent skin, ivory bone, teeth visible), and thinks gross/squishy/I don’t think I want to touch that and finally, it’s freakishly brilliant. Suzy would have loved it.

They hull John’s body until it resembles a macabre canoe; organs removed, his rib-cage spread wide. Astrid weighs her pound of muscled flesh, jots down altering notes on his brain and heart function. Unconsciously, she starts to drift closer.

She has the sense Walter’s watching her, his eyes assessing.

“Relatively, they’re only separated by thirty centimetres,” he says imperiously, fingers gentle on Scott’s brain stem. “Thirty centimetres between the brain and the heart, such an inconsequential distance, yet sometimes it feels as if they’re miles apart.”

“I suppose. But then you’re a scientist, keeping heart and mind separated ought to be second nature.”

He stares at her, eyes half lidded, his lower face pulling into a patented sneer.

She can find no discernible pattern in the manner of Walter’s work. It appears he approaches a problem from above, below, side-on, and when none of that works, he’ll spin it on its ear and start over again. He works with a frantic undercurrent as if tripping on ideas.

“I’m not your common scientist.” Later he’ll add: “Keeping heart and mind separated was ever my failing.”

It takes Walter fourteen hours to find a cure for Disease 627, for the tension in his shoulders to abate. He looks at her giddily. “Can we tell Agent Dunham?”

Sixteen hours too late for John.

Astrid hesitates as she disinfects her hands, taking in Walter’s smile, how he seems to have lost years in the space of a scientific discovery. She can see him suddenly as a young man.

“Olivia’s at the bureau, Walter.” His smile dims, feet shuffling backward. “You’re welcome to come with me?”

In fact, Astrid hasn’t forgiven him for their first meeting.

There’s a darkening bruise on her lower jaw, her right wrist still aches from where she hit the pavement. She remembers the car; the way the snow had crunched under her gloved fingers, how the cold seeped into her kneecaps and how the breath left her body in a violent whoosh.

Dr. Bishop pales. “No. I’ll wait in the lab if you don’t mind.”

She grabs her coat and car-keys silently, makes her way to the door.

It might be easier to call Agent Dunham with the news of a cure rather than going in person; but Astrid wants to check with the older agent, touch base and find out what’s going to happen next. Is this a one-off or the beginnings of a division? Is she expected to work with Dr. Bishop every day? Churlish and brilliant, mad or a visionary? Astrid doesn’t think she can handle Walter alone.

She doesn’t think any one person could.

“Astrid,” he calls gently, before she vanishes out the door. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m not accustomed to the outdoors anymore.”

The thing is: Astrid forgets the curious case of madness that begets Walter Bishop is not anything she has experience with. His flights of fancy, unexpected rage are as sudden as a snowstorm, turning the winding roads slick, unpredictable. His moods out-of-control-fast as a speeding vehicle.

“I know, Walter.”

She finds Olivia at Agent Scott’s desk at the bureau office, hands flat on his table. Olivia’s packing away his belongings methodically, her eyes veiled as she regards Astrid’s approach.

“Walter’s found a cure,” Astrid states forthrightly then feels the weight of the sentence penetrate her subconscious because he *actually found a cure*. “Steig…?”

“Isn’t talking.”

Whatever their relationship, Olivia shouldn’t have to pack away John’s belongings alone, not the day after he died.

Astrid bites the edge of her lip and motions at the desk. “I could do this for you, if you want. I think Walter could use some reassurance that you’re not about to send him straight back to Saint Claire’s.” She smiles uncertainly, probing for information, more for Dr. Bishop’s sake than her own.

Olivia looks down at the half-open drawer. “There’s not much to pack away to be honest. I was going to take the non-essentials to John’s mother.”

“Oh.” The two of them fall into an awkward silence, the desk spanning the distance between them. She waits a beat before changing the subject to what (Astrid hopes) is a safer topic. “And Walter?”

Olivia’s expression turns flat, uncompromising. “My guardian seems to think we should hang onto Dr. Bishop for a while.” Astrid stares, nonplussed, before Olivia elaborates. “Ms. Sharp’s clearance level is higher than yours or even mine. She recommended Walter to begin with.”

It doesn’t match the script in Astrid’s head. She thought it was Olivia who found Dr. Bishop, searching through forgotten articles to discover an edge, her every act driven with purpose.

“This isn’t a one-off investigation?”

“No. It’s not.”

There’s something brittle in Olivia’s expression before it’s locked down. Too complex to read, woven tight as a tapestry. The overall picture’s coloured with annoyance, rich with resolution, beneath it, runs a weave of betrayal.

Olivia’s thorough. Astrid’s known it after a mere twenty-four hours in her presence, but she thought Agent Dunham would have been more curious about Walter.

Astrid shifts her feet and stares at the shoebox containing John’s belongings. “Were you close?”

Olivia closes the lid on Agent Scott and rises to her feet stoically. “We were partners. He hinted, but well…I wasn’t interested.”

That’s the problem right there, Astrid thinks unbidden. You’re not interested in much of anything.

“So I can tell Dr. Bishop to relax and not pack up the lab?” The anger sharpens her tongue. Astrid’s feeling the corners of her tapestry; trying to see the whole picture through the knots and tangles, through the broken weave; to shake it out into a recognisable pattern. Olivia’s done her best to avoid Walter so far. Bitterly, Astrid’s come to the conclusion it reflects Agent Dunham’s attitude toward mental illness.

Olivia blinks, as if the idea of Walter’s distress hadn’t occurred to her, she says slowly. “Of course.”

“He’ll be glad to know that.”

She thinks about the wet spot on Walter’s pants, how his nervous tics, his twitches all accelerated the moment John Scott died. How one kind word from Agent Dunham might have offset the trickle of urine.

Just a squirt, he had said, face closed to any sense of embarrassment.

Olivia regards her. One hand fists around the medal of valour awarded to John: he kept it in his desk drawer for luck.

“Astrid, you should be careful with Dr. Bishop. The type of science he practices, his code of morality, it’s fluid, not stable.”

He hasn’t practiced in twenty years.

Astrid stills. She sees a loose thread, tantalisingly close, something she could let her fingers catch on. “Maybe you should get to know him,” she suggests mildly, thinking about Walter’s cure, how Suzy’s mouth tasted like mint julep, almond eyes lazy under the hammock, her bare toes scraping across the shorn summer grass. Astrid understands prejudice. She recognises brilliance just as readily.

Olivia’s teeth show. “Maybe I should.”

The older agent brushes past her, John’s shoebox tucked under one arm, her spine straight.

There are two schools of thought regarding first impressions: one, the instant sizing up done in less than two minutes, without any factual background, is always, instinctively correct. Two: a first impression, while important, counts for absolutely nothing in the long run. Embarrassingly, it takes Astrid almost two weeks before she realises Walter and Olivia know one another.

Two months later they head out for drinks, and while Astrid’s speech becomes slurred, she remembers the edge of bewilderment in Olivia’s tone. “Nina had no right to foist Walter on me like that. She knew Astrid….she *knew* what he did to us. ”

Olivia and Walter were an estranged child and parent - connected with remembered history; their emotions a hodge-podge of suspicion versus protectiveness. Astrid says, tipsy with alcohol. “But you’re relearning him.”

Because Walter’s different; because Olivia’s resentment isn’t directed at him entirely: Olivia’s confession feels like a lance at a festering wound, at an unknown hurt not even considered by the perpetrator. Something Olivia doesn’t examine until she’s loose with alcohol.

“Nina should have asked me first.”

Date: 2011-10-31 08:39 pm (UTC)
kerithwyn: Oracle (Default)
From: [personal profile] kerithwyn
Blog: kerithwyn at LJ, DW, and Ao3.

E-mail: kerithwyn at

Things I'd like: For you to write what you like, whether gen, het, or slash. I have a particular fondness for Lincoln of all permutations, especially Red. A Red!Lincoln/Blue!Olivia vid would make me cry with joy.
Otherwise -- Blue!Olivia and Astrid, friendship. Peter paired with anyone *but* Olivia, just to be contrary. ;) The world needs more fic featuring Broyles and Frank Stanton and Nick Lane and OMG, Charlie Francis. So much Charlie Francis fic.
Threesomes are *awesome* in any combination.

Things I wouldn't like: I read fic for the things the show won't give me, so P/O isn't my first choice. (Not allergic to it, though.) Heavy angst not so much, either.

What I can do: Gen, het, slash, mostly dialogue and characterization. You probably don't want me writing your epic Peter/Olivia romance, but otherwise I'm flexible. Haven't written a lot of Peter or Walter but willing to give it a shot.

What I can't do: Graphics or vids, sadly. Big action!fic unlikely as well.

Pinch hitter?: Writing. Depends on RL circumstances, but sure, drop me a line if there's a crisis.

Set Us Spinning 1/2

Date: 2011-12-19 11:45 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Summary: With all three of them, it feels a lot less like power games and a lot more like a team effort. Blue!/Amber!Olivia/Lincoln/Astrid.
Spoilers: All aired episodes.
Notes: My attempts to write porn without angst have fizzled dramatically. So... this is none of the above? But it is threesome, so let's go with that. Also, this fic is very Amber!verse because I am making interpersonal shit up, just so you know.

Set Us Spinning

After the first 3 AM date begins and ends with Olivia falling asleep on her couch and calling him frantically two hours later (yes, he was still awake) to apologize, they start meeting at each other’s places and walking to the all-night diner together.

Olivia says she doesn’t need much sleep, just naturally, and he can’t decide if it’s the truth or a serious form of denial about her insomnia. But he likes the company at the diner. They do paperwork together, or get some reading done, or just chat over their decaffeinated tea. He learns more about Olivia in the one week they do this than in the all four weeks he’s worked for Fringe Division combined.

Things change, as they inevitably do, the night she has a glass of whiskey in her hands when she opens her door. She asks if he wants to stay in tonight, she says she has a headache again. He smiles, understanding, and he drinks with her.

It’s a surprise to him when they fall in bed together, but apparently not to her. She says she liked seducing him. She says she thinks she gets a thing for her partners. She assumed it was a one-off deal with John, the partner that died, but now she’s wondering if it’s a thing.

He tells her that early on he had a similar thing going with Robert, until his partner got married, and he’s okay with a thing with her too, more than okay. They smile and fuck again, but they don’t sleep.

It’s just that Lincoln can’t shut his brain off. It wears on hims and he’s sure Olivia notices it. He knows he looks tired, sees it in the mirror in the mornings, and sometimes at the end of the day he’ll catch her watching him with tight lips. He hasn’t slipped up, made any glaring mistakes yet, but he knows the longer this goes on, that it’s just a matter of time.

He wonders if he could have hidden it better if they hadn’t started this thing between them, but he doesn’t regret his decision. He’s closer to her than he was before, much closer, and it makes him feel like he’s really her partner, like he’s really becoming a part of Fringe. He knows she’s going to do something eventually, but he’s having a hard time predicting exactly what.

The last thing he expects Olivia to do is bring Astrid in on the problem.

She corners him in the hallway, outside of Walter’s unoccupied room. He can tell something is up by the way she’s looking at him, like he’s a puzzle that needs to be solved.

“Olivia says you’re not sleeping,” she begins without preamble. “I have something that might be able to help.”

“Really?” he says, genuinely surprised. “What is it?”

“Just a sleep aid my therapist prescribed a while back. I haven’t needed it in a while,” she replies. “I don’t have any with me though, can I drop it off at your place later?”

Lincoln hesitates, saying, “I live in a hotel in... not a great neighborhood. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

Astrid puts her hands on her hips, like she’s just daring him to say she can’t handle a rough neighborhood. “Not if you want to sleep tonight.”

“What is it?” Lincoln asks skeptically. “Are you so sure it’s going to work? I’ve tried some over the counter stuff already.”

“Hey,” Olivia interjects approaching them from the lab and looking like she’s heard most of what they’ve said, “Lincoln and I have been meeting to go to this all-night diner together recently. We planned to go tonight, so you can drop whatever it is at my place, okay? We’ll see if it works out and if it doesn’t we’ll bum around the diner for a while. You can come too, Astrid, if you want.”

Lincoln gives her a significant look and asks slowly, “You’re okay with me hypothetically crashing at your place?” He’s not sure how she feels about letting other people in on what’s been going on between them. He’s not sure how he feels about it either.

“Sure, why not?” she answers naturally. “It’s not like I want my partner sleep deprived,” she says this with that teasing tone that makes her voice sound a little lower, a little scratchy, really sexy. “Astrid, does that sound good?”

Astrid glances between them, rather suspiciously, and then nods. “Yeah, that’s perfect.”

“The important thing to remember when you take this,” Astrid says several hours later, standing in Olivia’s entry way, holding out the little white pill she’s already told him is an ambien, “is you should really get to bed, like immediately.”

Lincoln looks down at the little pill. “Or what?”

Astrid’s expression is a little uncertain as she replies, “Nothing too terrible. My doctor just told me a few stories about people sleepwalking, or doing things they normally wouldn’t do, then waking up and not remembering. There’s kind of a whole website about people’s ambien adventures, look it up later if you want to. But, I always paid attention to the directions, so I never really had a problem.”

“Well,” Lincoln says, looking at Olivia sort of helplessly. “Where do you want me?”

“Oh, my bed’s fine,” she answers and Lincoln knows his mouth has fallen open. She smiles and walks past him to her kitchen, where she begins filling a glass of water. “It’s really fine. My sister took the guest bed with her when she moved out, and I haven’t had the time to go get a new one. I don’t think the couch is going to be comfortable enough for you. It’s not very big and there’s a lumpy spring right in the middle.” She’s smiling like she’d planned it this way.

Lincoln frowns and glances over at Astrid, who shrugs. “I really didn’t mean to put you out like this,” he says, turning back to Olivia, trying not to put too much of his discomfort in his tone. “I can just take it over at my place.”

“No way,” Astrid interjects. “I want to make sure it works. I don’t trust you not to lie about it and you need to sleep, Lincoln.”

He looks between them both and considers if this is some sort of weird conspiracy against him. Does Astrid already know about Olivia and him? Then he looks at the little pill and thinks about how badly he wants to get some rest, for real. The weeks of nights spent with his mind racing, muscles twitching and nervy, going over and over again all the crazy cases, Peter, Robert.

He takes the pill from Astrid’s hand, kicks it back dry, and then snatches the glass of water from Olivia. He takes a few gulps and walks over to set that glass on the counter. He fixes her with a stubborn look and says, “You’d better actually be okay with this.”

“It’s fine,” she says smiling. “It will be fine.”

“Lincoln,” Astrid admonishes, “you have to get to bed, now.”

He lets himself be pushed by Astrid through the wide french doors and into the next room, Olivia’s room. She pulls off his coat and they get sort of tangled in arms and sleeves. When Lincoln turns around to face her, unable to hide his annoyance, he sees that Olivia’s followed them.

“The closet is next to the washer and dryer,” Olivia tells Astrid. “Can you go hang that up? I’ll deal with this.”

She begins to pull at his tie and he grabs at her hands. “She’s going to come back in,” he says glancing at the door. “Are you going to tell her? I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that.”

“Astrid is discreet,” Olivia says patiently, pulling down his hands and loosening, then removing his tie. “I’ve worked with her for a long time. She’s perceptive. If she didn’t know before she got here, she will figure it out before she leaves. If you were so concerned about it, you should have thought things through before you took that pill.”

Lincoln breathes a laugh that turns rapidly into a sigh of defeat. “I hope I won’t be sorry I did.”

She smiles up at him and, having laid his tie on the bed, begins to work on his buttons. “You won’t be. Trust us.”

“I do,” he says without thinking, and realizes it’s true. He blinks slowly and wonders if that little pill has loosened his tongue already. “And I can get those myself.”

“You want me to start on your belt?” she asks in a low voice, her smile wicked and real.

“Well, this is enlightening,” Astrid says from the doorway, humor in her tone.

Lincoln looks up and feels his cheeks burn red.

Astrid just smiles at him and walks over to sit on the bed. “I figured something was going on, but I didn’t want to say anything.”

“I told you,” Olivia says, smug as hell, and pulls Lincoln’s shirt off, leaving only his white undershirt. His hands have become pretty useless since being confronted with Astrid.

He looks down at her and feels his brow furrow.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she says sweetly. “I think it’s nice. So don’t look so worried.”

He looks back at Olivia and she smiles, raising her hand to wrap around the back of his neck. His bones and joints feel weirdly pliable, relaxed he supposes, and she pulls his head down easily, pressing her lips to his forehead. “I told you,” she says again.

He leans into her touch and hums some kind of grudging agreement before she carefully removes his glasses and then unceremoniously pushes him down onto the bed.

“It’s kicking in, isn’t it?” Astrid asks, now next to him, though he has to look up to meet her eyes.

Lincoln thinks about it. He’s not sleepy, but he is relaxed, and it’s not a drunken relaxation, it’s more fluid, somehow more natural. “I guess so. Do you think it’s weird I’m sleeping with Olivia? Because I was thinking it might be a little bit weird. But I guess that didn’t really stop me, huh?”

Astrid laughs, and lays back on the bed too. She must have taken off her own coat when she hung up his, he realizes. She’s wearing a deep red sweater with a deep v-neck. He’s trying not to be obvious about enjoying the view. She turns her head to meet his eyes and hers are playful as she answers, “It’s a high stress job, Lincoln. And with her track record, I don’t think it’s weird at all.”

“You make it seem like I’m one in a long line,” he hopes he is not pouting, but his lips seem to be beyond the control of his brain.

Olivia is taking off his shoes and he’s not sure why he no longer feels embarrassed about being undressed in front of Astrid. It’s not like he can’t do it. He hasn’t lost his motor control, he’s pretty sure. It just seems so much more nice having Olivia do it. So, he talks to Astrid and let’s Olivia do what she wants. “There hasn’t been another one she didn’t tell me about, has there?”

Astrid seems to find his question very amusing, maybe it’s the curious tone in his voice. “Well, I wouldn’t know about any other lovers, but there definitely haven’t been any other partners.”

Olivia’s fingers begin to work at Lincoln’s belt, and she leans over him, glancing sidelong at her assistant. “We actually entertained the idea a few years back. As Astrid said, it’s a high stress job. There’s not a lot of people who would understand.”

Lincoln’s eyebrows rise. “But?”

Astrid’s eyes seem big and luminous in the solitary light from Olivia’s bedside lamp. “I decided I didn’t want to be that girl.”

“Which girl?”

“The one who sleeps with her boss,” she answers with a regretful smile. “Partners are a little different.” She twists her body so she’s on her side, now facing him, and she props up her elbow, sliding her hand behind her head and suddenly Lincoln can’t take his eyes off her.

“Would it be weird if I told you I think you’re beautiful?” he says, because she is.

Her lips quirk, and he can tell she’s trying not to laugh at him.

“You are,” he insists and twists on the bed, leaning towards her, catching her lips with his. She’s not expecting it, and he hears Olivia make a funny little sound either of surprise or mirth, as Astrid first stiffens, then accepts his kiss.

He tries to make it slow and nice and he really likes the feel of her mouth, soft and warm against his. He groans when Olivia takes the opportunity to pull off his pants. He hears them fall to the floor and feels her settle on the bed, on his other side.

He pulls away from Astrid and looks up to find Olivia leaning over him, her waist and legs pressed against his side, her hair spilling loose across her shoulders. She’s stripped down to a tank top and just her underwear and he has no idea when that happened.

“You’re getting distracted,” Olivia says. “You’re supposed to be falling asleep.”

Lincoln finds himself smirking wickedly. “How can I do that now?”

Astrid sits up as well and pulls her sweater over her head. She smiles when his eyes get big and she tell him, “If I’m going to stay to see if it works, we might as well all stay in the same place.” She wriggles out of her jeans, kicks them off her feet and onto the floor with his.

Together, Astrid and Olivia pull him further up onto the bed, but when he reaches for Astrid again she catches his hand and shakes her head at him. “Not tonight,” she says, anticipation in her voice.

“Why not?” he frowns, letting her push him back against the pillows.

Olivia raises her eyebrows, but speaks patiently when she answers, “Because tonight is about you sleeping, not about anything else. And, we’re going to wait until that pill wears off, so you can really think about it.” She pulls the covers up around all three of them and Astrid’s arm is across his chest, lightly pressing, keeping him lying back.

Lincoln’s frown deepens. “I am thinking about it.” But they just shake their heads again and smile softly, like he’s the one being unreasonable.

Olivia reaches up, runs her long fingers through his hair, slides them soothingly across his scalp, twists the strands gently, and he lets out an involuntary sigh. His muscles have liquefied, his bones are gelatin, but then his mind skips over to things that science can actually do to his muscles and bones and he stiffens.

“Close your eyes, Lincoln,” Olivia says softly. “Stop thinking.” She stretches herself out next to him, down the length of his body, and he feels Astrid do the same on his other side.

“No,” Astrid murmurs into his ear. “What you’re going to do is stop thinking about whatever just snagged you like that. You’re only going to think about being relaxed, about being in a safe place, about being home.”

Olivia presses her lips to his shoulder, skin to skin, her breath comes in short, quiet bursts, even, rhythmic, drifting across him. He settles further, sinks down, into the bed, a place that’s now become quite comfortable, safe even.

He murmurs something, he’s not even sure what, and he feels Olivia’s smile against his arm. He turns his head and breathes in the scent of her hair, loving that she is right there, next to him. Her hand is still carding through his hair, while the fingers of her other hand have slipped through his, lacing together, and her thumb is rubbing slow circles across his fingers and knuckles.

“Yeah, that’s just fine,” Astrid says. “Here is fine, Lincoln.” Her hand is resting, comforting, on his stomach, close to his hip. “Now, go to sleep.”

Lincoln thinks vaguely that maybe he fell a long time ago, that falling asleep wasn’t something he could do when there was nothing there to keep him tethered, nothing to bring him back. But this is different. This feels more like floating up and not away and Olivia’s still holding his hand.

He feels like he’s drifting in the sea.

And the sea isn’t a shroud, black and vast and cold, it’s warm and soft and it slips over him like a blanket.

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Date: 2011-10-31 10:07 pm (UTC)
ceitie: (Default)
From: [personal profile] ceitie
Blog: ceitie (at LJ and DW)
Things I'd like: Fic set during Season 3, as it's my favorite season so far, exploring some aspect of the Other Side and its impact on either/both Fringe teams. I love casefic and teamfic, both our team and the Other Fringe team. I generally prefer happy stories over angsty. If you want to write pairings, I'd love to read some fun Alt'Olivia/Alt'Lincoln/Alt'Charlie. If icons are your thing, my fav characters are the Olivias, the Lincolns and Alt'Charlie.
Things I wouldn't like: I would prefer not to have stories/vids that dwell mainly on Walter and Peter's many, many issues.
What I can do: I'll write any fic you like, any pairing, whatever.
What I can't do: I can't make vids or icons.
Pinch hitter?: No, sorry.

The One Where Olivia is Bored

Date: 2011-12-19 05:12 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Summary: It's a quiet day at Fringe Division.
Spoilers: Early season 3. Takes place Over There between "The Plateau" and "Amber 31422."

During this performance, the part of Red!Olivia Dunham will be played (albeit unsuspectingly) by Blue!Olivia Dunham.


Olivia never knows what to do with herself while Frank's away.

Well. As far as that goes, that's what fingers and toys and detachable variable-pulse showerheads are for. But she can't stay home and play "hello, kitty" all the time.

She also can't hook up with the guys, not that way; it's against the rules. Or at least against The One Rule, like it's a magical artifact from that movie Lincoln likes with the midgets. ("Hobbits!" she can hear him protest in that wounded tone of voice.) The One Rule, never stated but always obeyed, is that she and Charlie and Lincoln only sleep together the night after the conclusion of a Fringe mission.

Frank knows, of course, but he never asks. Olivia does her best not to rub it in his face, showering off their combined sweat before she goes home. She doesn't ask what he gets up to, either, when he's stuck for months in a hot zone. This is their unspoken agreement, and it suits them both perfectly.

Olivia looks at them, her guys: Lincoln sprawling against the desk, Charlie leaning back in his chair with his feet propped up. Across the room, Farnsworth is pouring over her screens and Broyles is in his office and all is right with the world, for the moment.

She can only say "I'm fine" so many times, and it's mainly true. Physically, she's ready to go. Mentally...everything seems to be in place barring the occasional glitch, like the that keeps showing up out of the corner of her eye, some guy she doesn't recognize. Brain injury has unpredictable effects, the docs keep telling her, and she's choosing to believe them, because the alternative is unacceptable.

But Olivia's found that since getting out of the psych ward she wants to spend more time with her guys, and not just in the bedroom.

She keeps getting this odd...thrill whenever she catches sight of Charlie for the first time every day, like seeing him is somehow unexpected and wonderful. That's the last thing she'd ever tell him, of course. It feels kind of like the same weird impulse that has Olivia talking to her mother more often, like every conversation is a gift. She's more aware of Charlie's presence these days, and all she can figure is that nearly losing him to her own malfunctioning brain has made her appreciate him even more.

It's even weirder with Lincoln. She knows him, trusts his judgment, relies on his expertise in the field. He's got the specific technical training that she and Charlie lack and frankly, they couldn't function as a team without his lightness to counterbalance them both. Olivia is as comfortable with him as she's ever been, except for a handful of odd moments, like two days ago when they were racing down I-95 toward the latest event and she looked over and--just for a second--had no clue who the hot guy in the passenger seat was. That particular glitch seems to be fading by the hour, though, and she'll be glad to see the end of it entirely.

In other contexts Lincoln also feels like a newly discovered toy, but Liv knows better than to play with him too roughly. Most of the time that's fine.

Other times she wants to bring him home and tie him to the bed and keep him there. Maybe even until Frank gets home so they can share. He's a doctor, he knows what a prostate can do. ...and that's definitely fantasy fodder to save for her next long shower, but no more than that. That part of their arrangement ends at the apartment door and neither of them wants it any other way.

The point is, it's about more than the sex with Lincoln and Charlie. When it's a rare slow stretch at division and Frank's not home, the three of them always end up having the same conversation about what to do after work, that weekend, on their days off.

"We can go back to Coney Island this weekend. Charlie can throw up on you this time."

Lincoln scrunches his nose. "Pass."

Olivia thinks about suggesting they wander around the mall, but that always winds up the same: watching Lincoln geek out at The Sharper Picture and not-listening to Charlie bitch about "the old days" as if he was thirty years older than her, when he's not even ten.

"There's a new show at the planetarium," Lincoln says, and Charlie and Liv immediately exchange identical how did we get saddled with this nerd expressions. Lincoln frowns at them. "C'mon, guys, it's science! This is relevant to your interests."

"SCIENCE!" Liv and Charlie both exclaim in their best Dolby voices, and that's the end of that suggestion. It's a little unfair; Olivia does, actually, spend a lot of her down time reviewing the latest journals and articles and reports from other Fringe teams. She's not gonna let herself or anyone else get eaten by a Fringe event if she can help it. She's even started rereading ZFT, slowly and carefully trying to parse the truth behind Director Bishop's clever veneer of lies. The science is very relevant to her interest in survival.

But Lincoln's pouty expression is too precious to relent.

"Anything new at the movies?" she asks, but a quick check determines they've seen everything recent of any interest, and all the old shows multiple times. New film production has slowed to a crawl as more and more people have become afraid to leave their houses. As if a vortex didn't have an equal chance to spontaneously materialize in a theater or a kitchen.

"Bar," Charlie says, and Liv shakes her head.

"Don't love sitting around watching you two get plastered while the bartender glares at me for drinking club soda all night."

Lincoln shrugs off his disappointment to put in his bid. "But you get to kick our asses at darts."

"That'd be more fun if you wimps would put some money on it," she throws back.

"Not a chance. Already lose too much at the Thursday poker game." Charlie pauses. " guys ever wonder if maybe we spend too much time together?"

They all three look at each other solemnly, and then break up laughing. If not them, who?

Olivia could always call up some girlfriends, sure, head over to the strip club to watch the pretty gay boys (and the ones who are only faking it for tips) grind against each other. She sometimes thinks it'd be fun to take Lincoln along but A) she's not sure he could resist launching himself up on stage and B) she's not sure she'd try to stop him.

The truth is Olivia's finding it harder and harder to relate to anyone who doesn't work for the division, or who at least (like Frank) knows what's really going on in the world. She can't really blame ordinary people for not wanting to recognize the full horror of their situation, but at the same time, their lack of knowledge combined with her impatience with trivial mundane crap limits potential topics of conversation.

"Maybe we need a new hobby," she muses, and both Lincoln and Charlie look at her with something approaching horror. They're wishing for a nice little class 2 vortex right about now, she bets. So is she, because that would at least count toward satisfying Rule One.

And it's not like they don't already have hobbies. She and Lincoln are feared combatants in the division soccer team; Charlie had opted out, claiming it interfered with his Little League coaching. A blatant lie, since he shows up at all of their matches. Lincoln and Olivia return the favor for his team's games, sitting in the stands and heckling Charlie (but not the kids) for every call. He's awesome with the rugrats, and Liv and Lincoln are in absolute agreement that he'd make a kick-ass dad. Sure, the usual way doesn't seem likely considering the bugs in his blood, but Fringe Division collects all kinds of genetic material from its agents. They've got her eggs frozen and squirreled away somewhere, so odds are they're got Charlie's pre-infection swimmers too. He can grumble all he wants, but the option's there if he wants to take it.

(She's never told Frank this, and she's especially never told Lincoln and his motor-mouth, but if Charlie ever starts talking about wanting to be a father and he hasn't found the right person to do it with, Olivia's going to offer her eggs for insemination. She probably can't carry a baby, considering the way VPE spreads through families, but her base genetic material should test clean.)

"Last time you said that, you suggested skydiving lessons." Charlie leans forward, face intent. "Let me reiterate my previous response: Hell. No."

"I'm with him on this one, Liv," Lincoln drawls, which is just revenge for them ganging up on him about the planetarium. This is how it always goes with them, two against one, with constantly shifting alliances. But in the end they all wind up in the same place and God, she loves them both.

"What about," she starts, and then all the wall screens flash with amber light and data starts scrolling across their pads at a rapid clip. Colonel Broyles comes charging out of his office like he's been shot by a catapult.

"Wake up, people! We've got a possible class 4 incursion in Bangor."

Class 4, definitely enough to get the heart pounding. A class 4 event had nearly killed Lincoln, Liv's first month on the job, before she knew better than to dive in and yank him out. Olivia got chewed out for such a rookie move but she secretly swore that she'd never know better, if it meant she could save one of her partners.

And it's-- it's definitely wrong to have a different kind of Pavlovian response to a world-destroying eruption of chaos, especially when there's gonna be property damage and people are probably gonna die, but Olivia just can't help it. Stupid sexy partners and their stupid sexy everything.

But now it's time to get her game face on. The room's exploded into activity, Broyles shouting orders and Farnsworth calling back details as fast as she can wrangle them. The three of them look at each other, too many emotions flashing between them to name, before their faces all settle into appropriate expressions of resolve. They'll go and they'll save as many people as they can and they'll fight to keep what remains whole and stable and sane. The world isn't going to end today, not on their watch.

Give the chaos its due: Liv's definitely not bored any more.

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Date: 2011-10-31 11:24 pm (UTC)
norgbelulah: (Default)
From: [personal profile] norgbelulah
Blog: norgbelulah on LJ, DW, and AO3
E-mail: norgbelulah at gmail
Things I'd like: I'm thinking mainly fic for what I'd like to get. I'm currently in the midst of a torrid love affair with blue!/amber!Lincoln and so pretty much pairing him with anyone is good for me. I think I'd prefer blue! or amber!Olivia, but red!Olivia or Astrid or Peter or even Charlie Francis would be just fine as well. Threesomes are amazing (I just had a craving for some permutation of Olivia/Lincoln/Peter, actually), so there's that. Genre-wise I kind of like anything, but especially hurt/comfort and sort of angsty stuff. I also really like domestic fic and sneaking around scenarios. I can stray into dark!fic if it's done well. I like canonical AUs, like re-imaginings of how characters meet or if one thing was changed just a bit. I think that's why I'm such a fan of the show! I am always searching for good icons, too.
Things I wouldn't like: I'm not really a vid fan, unless the are profusely recc'd to me. And while I love seeing Walter in fic, I'm not so into seeing him in my pairings.
What I can do: I'm about even at writing gen, het, and slash, though all of the Fringe writing I've done thus far has been het or gen. I have no go to Fringe slash pairing, but if I get a little encouragement from the show, I could see Peter/Lincoln happening for me in the future. I'm good at characterization and dialogue heavy stuff and I LOVE hurt/comfort with a fiery passion (reading and writing). I'm not a vidder, but I can make icons, though that would not be my choice as the sole gift.
Pinch hitter?: I would be very willing.
From: (Anonymous)
Spoilers: S4, up to and including Wallflower
A/N: Picks up at the end of Novation and goes AU from there.
I blame this on marathoning entirely too much Farscape (is there even such a thing?)

One moment Olivia’s standing next to her desk in the FBI building, watching Lincoln’s back as he slouches his way to the elevators and trying to ignore the flicker of a shadow in the holding room’s door window, and the next she’s in Lincoln’s bed.

Or more accurately, in her bed. With Lincoln.

It’s definitely her bed with the rumpled white sheets and the comforter spilling onto the floor. The sounds filtering through the half-open window are so familiar it’s hard to pick them apart - the muted hum of early morning traffic from three stories down, the sharp bark of the Schnauzer in 2A protesting its owner’s geriatric pace on their morning stroll, the low wheeze of a bus’ brakes as it gears down to the bus stop at the end of the street - all too routine to be out of place. And the man below her, beneath her, between her knees and under the palms she has splayed across his chest, staring back up at her half-lidded and with just a touch of confusion wrinkling his brow, is definitely one Lincoln Lee.

She pushes back sharply and feels every point of contact with his skin; the crests of his hips where they dig into the backs of her thighs and the brush of his legs against the instep of her foot. The tug of him inside her when she moves is so unexpected it sends shivers up her back and makes her breath catch.

This is all too vivid to be her imagination.

He slips his hand from her waist and runs it down her thigh. His fingers dig into her muscle, slightly; enough to bring her attention back down to him. “Olivia? Are you alri—“

Olivia blinks and she’s back at the office again, sheaf of reports still in her hand. There’s a soft ding as the elevator doors slide open down the hall.

She leans back against the desk, closes her eyes, and rubs the bridge of her nose. When she opens them again, she’s still in the office with the quiet hum of the building’s air circulation system in her ears. She looks around, but there’s nobody close enough to notice the heat she feels on her cheeks.

She writes it off to fatigue, an intermittent state of being these last couple of years, because she will not allow herself to be added to the ever growing list of Fringe events. She grabs her keys and her coat, and takes the stairs so she doesn’t pass by the holding room on the way out.


It’s been weeks since Olivia’s dreamed of him.

Of Peter.

Not since before her trip to New York and his supposed Reiden Lake renaissance, that is. She was relieved that Walter was too wrapped up in his own existential crises to ask what exactly she’d been dreaming about at the time because she’s not sure how she could have self-edited enough to be relevant to the case. How could she explain that some nights she’d dreamt of coffee with this stranger on easy sunny mornings, and others she’d startle awake to find herself breathless, her heart pounding, with her sheets fisted between her thighs, woken by the rush of endorphins from her crest and her fall? She doesn’t have the clinical vocabulary for the ghost of his lips and the heat of his breath on her throat. And what did any of that have to do Walter’s visions, anyhow?

No, since Peter’s appearance she’s slept evenly, if not exactly peacefully. They maintain a comfortably professional distance; she checks her words, bites her tongue when she can see he’s feeling lost and her comments will sting him, and he doesn’t push her to be the woman he remembers. That’s why it’s a shock when she dreams of him like that again. In broad daylight.

Like before, at the office - one moment she’s here at the crime scene, crouched over a mess of human remains. Astrid’s arguing with Walter by proxy in one ear. Lincoln and Peter are tossing theories back and forth in her other. Police radio traffic fills the spaces in between.

And the next she’s in a vintage station wagon with the back seat folded flat and the drumming ting-ting-ting of rain on the metal roof. Peter’s hands are under her shirt, her leg’s wrapped around his thigh, and they’re making out like a pair of randy teenagers trying to beat curfew ‘round the infield to home base. She rolls her head to the side because Peter’s doing something with his mouth on her nipple that’s making her nerves hum somewhere in the high end of the FM radio frequency range, and she registers, very briefly, that it’s dark outside. The car windows are fogged completely up--

--and then she’s back, pulse pounding, blinking stupidly at Lincoln and his question that she didn’t hear. Beside him, Peter’s watching her with that eerily penetrating stare.

Olivia brushes the grit off the knee of her pants and makes some excuse that sounds feeble even to her about questioning the security guard again, just so she can grab a moment to collect herself. She can feel them both watching her as she picks her way around the crime scene tape and heads to the car where they’re holding the witness.

She does not fantasize about co-workers. She doesn’t. Not like this.

Sure, she’d had an impure thought or twelve when she was seeing John, especially back in the beginning when illicit was part of the thrill, but those late-night bubble-bath fabrications have nothing on this… this, whatever this is. She can still smell the metal tang of rusting old car and musty seat fabric in her hair and on the collar of her coat. She can feel the burn of Peter’s fingers along her ribs.

Olivia’s always had a good imagination, but even she knows that fantasies don’t smell.

And they don’t linger.


Maybe it’s Astrid’s less-than-subtle hints that she should think about speaking to somebody about the stuff they see on their cases that finally brings it to the fore. Or maybe it’s that she’s still getting snapshots of them together. Nothing so intense as the first two; flash-bulb quick images - of Peter backing her into the corner of her shower grinning like she’s just challenged him to a dare - in the middle of presenting a search warrant to building security. Or finding herself sitting on her kitchen counter, blouse unbuttoned and falling from her shoulders while Lincoln stands between her knees, tenderly kissing his way across the curve of her collarbone as he pins her hands to her thighs and keeps himself just out of her reach, when she should be sorting through decades old archives in the back room of the lab. Either way, Olivia finally admits that she needs to speak to somebody about this. These flashes are distracting enough that she worries she’ll compromise the safety of her team.

So she goes to see the best person she can think of.

“Walter, do you think it’s possible that we could still be experiencing time slips?” Olivia steeples her hands in front of her and chews on her bottom lip. Walter doesn’t answer, so she elaborates, “Even with Kate Green’s time chamber shut down?”

By some fluke or scheduling coincidence (and a bit of careful planning), they’re alone in the lab. Even Agent Tim’s on lunch break, shoved out the door by Olivia’s promise that she wouldn’t leave until he got back.

Walter’s up to his elbows in Louise’s tank, rearranging rocks and plastic sea-ferns into some pre-dictated pattern while the octopus hangs suctioned to the wall, way around the far side and well out of her intruder’s reach. “I suppose it’s possible,” he finally answers as he pushes up his lab coat sleeves. It’s a futile act though; his sleeves are already soaked, the water having been wicked up by his cardigan and dripped down from his bent elbows into a slowly spreading puddle on the concrete floor. Olivia checks, but there are no live extension cords trailing anywhere nearby, at least not this time.

“How so?” she asks.


Olivia rests her elbows on the side of the tank. “How can we prove the time slips are still happening?”

“Are they?” He glances up at her briefly then moves a couple of large shells into the arrangement. Louise moves along the tank wall towards them with what Olivia imagines to be curiosity.

The thing is, Olivia isn’t entirely sure the time slips are latent fallout from the Green’s experiment. She’s cross-referenced police reports and 911 call logs, expanded her search parameters to include an extrapolated geographical area that would fit with Lincoln and Peter’s map of time distortion events, and still she’s can’t come up with anything to support her theory. Not even a single reported case of déjà-vu.

She doesn’t want to admit that she isn’t sure that aren’t happening at all; the headaches she’s been experiencing lately are bad enough without the implication that she’s lessened her grip on the rest of her faculties. She shrugs. “Theoretically, then.”

“Theoretically?” Walter shakes the water off his hands and stops to look at her. Olivia gets the feeling that he’s really finally noticing her here in the lab Not just considering her question, but studying her nuances and body language. He’s doing what he does best when handed a problem to solve – he observes and assesses, catalogs and classifies signs and symptoms like the tightness she feels in her shoulders, or the way she’s got her fingers pressed into the glass wall of the tank to keep them steady. She tries not to flinch or look away.

He clears his throat. “Theoretically,” he says again in the authoritative voice he probably once used to lecture his students “one would need to collect enough sample data so that a proper analysis could be done to either prove or disprove the theory.” He goes back to fiddling with the rocks. His right sleeve slips into the water again, but Walter doesn’t seem to notice.

“What if there isn’t enough data?”

He glances back up at her. “Then one would have to design an experiment. Replicate the conditions under which the events occurred. Repeatedly, if possible.”

Walter looks down back down into the tank. “Oh look at that,” he points into the water, full of delight. “She likes you.”

Olivia follows where he’s pointing. Louise has edged her way back around the tank and has pressed herself against Olivia’s palm, tentacles splayed exactly along her fingers, only the thick pane of glass between the two of them. It isn’t the strangest thing she’s experienced in this lab, not by far, but Olivia no longer doubts Walter’s claim to the creature’s intelligence. She wonders what he’d say if she asked about its sense of empathy.


Olivia’s no stranger to the experimental processes, neither since joining Fringe Division, nor prior. Forensic and investigative procedures are but variations of the scientific method, after all.

The first thing she discovers is that she can’t force the flashes to happen, no matter how hard she tries, because as unsettling as this whole thing is, her interest has been piqued.

She waits until she’s alone with Lincoln, watching him perched on a stool at one of the lab benches, head bent over a pile of file folders. She wonders if the lean lines of his neck muscles would feel as smooth as she remembers. She wonders if Peter’s stare would burn quite so much if she were to lie beside him in the early morning light.

She concentrates and tries to imagine what it would be like to run her fingers down Lincoln’s spine, to feel each ripple and flex of his shoulders as she digs in the heels of her hands, but nothing happens. She tries to picture herself lying in bed next to Peter, watching him sleep. Tries to see herself running a thumb along the frown line that doesn’t quite soften, even when he’s relaxed.

All that happens is that her phone rings. She hardly has to will that.

Waiting has never been her strong suite. When a week passes with nothing, not even a flickering change of the light, she starts to consider Walter’s offer of chemical assistance.

And then one morning, the pieces fall together.

Olivia’s going over reports with Astrid when she hears them. Not hears them, as in she’s right there in the room having a conversation with them, but hears them. She looks up suddenly, but aside from Gene, who doesn’t have much to add to the case they’re presently working, she and Astrid are alone in the lab. Lincoln’s out chasing down a paper trail at City Hall, and Peter… well, she isn’t sure where Peter is; that’s up to his escort to keep track of him.

Re: A Slip in Time Saves Nine - 2/2 - (Olivia/Lincoln/Peter, Amber!verse)

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-12-21 07:21 pm (UTC) - Expand

Re: A Slip in Time Saves Nine - 2/2 - (Olivia/Lincoln/Peter, Amber!verse)

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-12-21 08:47 pm (UTC) - Expand

Re: A Slip in Time Saves Nine - 2/2 - (Olivia/Lincoln/Peter, Amber!verse)

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-12-21 10:00 pm (UTC) - Expand

Re: A Slip in Time Saves Nine - 2/2 - (Olivia/Lincoln/Peter, Amber!verse)

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-12-22 12:41 am (UTC) - Expand

Re: A Slip in Time Saves Nine - 2/2 - (Olivia/Lincoln/Peter, Amber!verse)

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-12-22 03:41 am (UTC) - Expand

Re: A Slip in Time Saves Nine - 2/2 - (Olivia/Lincoln/Peter, Amber!verse)

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-12-23 01:42 am (UTC) - Expand

Re: A Slip in Time Saves Nine - 2/2 - (Olivia/Lincoln/Peter, Amber!verse)

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-12-23 02:32 am (UTC) - Expand

Date: 2011-11-01 05:32 am (UTC)
pukajen: (Fringe_OliviaPukajen)
From: [personal profile] pukajen
Blog: lj [personal profile] pukajen, DW [personal profile] pukajen, and, shockingly, pukajen over at AO3.
E-mail: idea que sti ons at h ot mai l do tcom

Things I'd like: First and foremost, anything Olivia/Peter or FauxLiva and Lincoln. Astrid rocks, and so does Charlie.

I would love some fic or icons. Fic is an instant rush and fantastic. Icons are the gift that keeps on giving.
For the fic, any rating is fine, though some level of touching would be nice so if it can be above PG-13, that would be great. If anyone has read my fic, I have no problem with graphic sex.
For icons, I like little quotes, textures, though no bright colours or flashy cuts. A quote here or there would be good - it doesn't have to be from the show, just something that fits the image.

Things I wouldn't like: Absolutely no character death. No permanent splitting of my OTPs.

What I can do: Fic, pretty much a one-trick pony these days, though I can write anywhere from gen to NC-17 with het pairings. I would prefer to write for Olivia/Peter as I've written them before, but would also happily try FauxLivia/Lincoln. Or a character study/gen fic of any of the other characters.

What I can't do: Everything else. I guess I could dust off my photoshop skilz, but it's been a while and they could be that my PS muscles have completely atrophied.

Pinch hitter?: Let me know, I could be available, but I'll be running [community profile] xf_santa, so outlook poor.

Turn My Heresy into Gospel

Date: 2011-12-21 07:26 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Set way back at the end of Jacksonville because my love for that episode is all encompassing. I do hope that's okay!

written with invisible ink (

Re: Turn My Heresy into Gospel

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-12-21 10:58 pm (UTC) - Expand

Re: Turn My Heresy into Gospel

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-12-23 09:13 am (UTC) - Expand

Date: 2011-11-01 10:02 pm (UTC)
wendelah1: (Alt!Olivia)
From: [personal profile] wendelah1
Blog: [personal profile] wendelah1, here there and everywhere.
E-mail: my user name at gmail dot com.
Things I'd like: (1.) I'd love some Walter & Nina & William Bell back-story. What was it like being them and being young back in the sixties? Sex, drugs and rock and roll? Or not so much? Or anything you'd like to write about them, past or present. Gen fic would be great. (2.) Alt!Livia had a baby which apparently no longer exists in the Amberverse? Does she have any inkling of what she's lost? (3.) Related to number two, the only pairing I love is Alt!Livia and her Lincoln, which seemed doomed from the get-go in the Redverse, and really doomed in the Amberverse, as I'm assuming she's still with Frank. What is that like for him? For her? For Frank? For Charlie? No need to have them end up together. Messy and unhappy and doomed works fine for me, although if you want to get these two crazy kids together and can make it work, knock yourself out. (4.) Cross-overs! I love cross-overs! If you can somehow cross-over Sherlock BBC with Fringe I will love you forever. Or Stargate SG-1. Olivia heads a gateteam! Walter gets recruited to work for Stargate Command! Or, hey, what about The X-Files! (5.) Astrid and Walter friendship fic. Alt!Olivia and her Lincoln and Charlie friendship fic. Anyone and Anyone friendship fic. (6.) Amberverse: our Olivia and our Lincoln. They seem almost as doomed as their counterparts in the old Redverse, but still I can see him falling for her pretty easily. (7.) I love vids but I'm really picky about music and have very old-fashioned taste. For example, I love Joni Mitchell and jazz from the thirties and forties and Chopin. That being said, an Alt!Olivia/ Her Lincoln vid would be watched and re-watched even if I had to mute it to do so. (7.) Icons! Of any of the female characters especially! Or any version of Olivia with any version of Lincoln. Ooh! I know! How about some cross-over icons?! (8.) Casefiles! Plotty, genfic casefiles!
Things I wouldn't like: Long, overly detailed sex scenes. Kissing is good. I love kissing.
What I can do: I can write fic, pretty much to reader specifications, including pairings I don't ship (see Yuletide, see [ profile] xf_santa). However, I've never written Fringe, outside of my cross-over universe. Of my stories, my personal favorites are not at all mainstream, but I can do mainstream! I can also make mediocre icons. Okay, I can make bad icons.
What I can't do: Make vids. Make good icons.
Pinch hitter?: Sadly, no.

"A Very Empty Room"

Date: 2011-12-23 10:44 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
combining your #2 prompt with a dash of your #3 --

There’s a room in the back of her apartment that Olivia has never used.

Well, not used for much – she keeps a card table and folding chairs back there, plus a couple of odds and ends. The Christmas wreath, a large stockpot that doesn’t fit into her kitchen cabinets, even a picnic basket she and Frank bought in a moment of uncharacteristic romanticism and used exactly once. That kind of thing.

It’s too small for any use besides storage, really. It was probably built as a “sun room,” which might have made more sense if direct sunlight ever reached those windows. Olivia never tried to do anything else with it. For long periods of time, she sometimes forgets it’s back there.

Today, though, it nags at her.

Why today? She’s got enough to think about today. The other universe is now bridged with theirs – that other Olivia, the stiff unsmiling one, stood across from her just a few hours ago. The Secretary has them all on high alert. Both the security issues and scientific questions seem likely to keep her busy for the next, oh, rest of her life.

So there’s no real reason for her to be standing in the doorway of her spare room, wondering why she doesn’t use it more often.

It’s as if – as if Olivia can see other possibilities for it now. That wood paneling left over from the 1970s: If she painted it white, it would be bright, even cheery. There would be room for a little rag rug, maybe. And it’s just big enough for – something. A little desk, maybe. An extra chest of drawers.

A crib, something in her mind whispers.

Which is all it takes for her to walk out again, snap off the light and shut the door. Olivia doesn’t listen to that voice any longer.


She does, however, tell Lincoln about it.

“Yeah, it would fit,” he says, like it’s no big deal, any other thing she might choose to measure the room by. God, he gets her sometimes. He slouches in the passenger seat, keeps his eyes on the rainswept road before them. “We’re all trying to think about something besides – the others, you know? So don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“I’m not beating myself up about it.”

“You have the look. The one that wrinkles your forehead.”

“Shut it.” Thought Olivia can’t help but smile, she isn’t going to let Lincoln joke this away for her. He’s pretty good at that, most of the time; it’s one of the countless things he gives her. But today she needs something else. “I haven’t thought about it in a while, you know?”

“Your back room?”

She takes a deep breath. “No – Rachel. What, ah, happened to her. What it means for me.”

They’ve never actually talked about this, but one thing about all Fringe agents – they’re all terrible snoops. Olivia knows full well that Lincoln has read her whole personnel file, just as she has read his. Neither of them would deny it, nor apologize for it. “Privacy” is a relative concept once you’re in Fringe Division; Olivia’s just glad she doesn’t have to explain this to him now.

Besides, every time she tries to talk in-depth about Rachel, she gets … not like herself.

Lincoln takes that in for a little while as they drive on. Olivia lets him.

It’s weird, how clear the skies are now. How the horizon never shimmers, how GPS never starts recalculating even though you haven’t taken a turn. Their reality has become more stable, Astrid says, and everyone acts like that’s a good thing. Olivia tends to agree. And yet an odd feeling has begun to creep over her, a sense that the world is solidifying around her into a shape she doesn’t recognize or like. The sensation makes her wonder what it’s like to be sealed in Amber, something she has tried very hard not to wonder about.

Finally Lincoln says, “Have you checked into the medical options? Lately, I mean.”

A weird flash passes through her mind of what that might be like: Labs and tests and terror, the idea that it’s all going way too fast. “Nope.”

“You could.” He shrugs. “Just so you’d know.”

“I’m not planning on having a baby. How would I make that work? With my life? Forget it.”

He has been looking at her for a while now, but there’s something between them that makes her head turn just at the moment when this look comes into his eyes – this look that reminds her of the time he got drunk and kissed her before he knew about Frank, the one she tries very hard to defend against but occasionally can’t. This is one of those times where it pierces her to the core. Or maybe it’s just that he says, very softly, “I’d help you.”

“Lincoln.” She wants to crack a joke about how helpless he’d be with a baby, but her voice might shake.

“People make it work. You know?”

“I know. I just – it’s not an option for me.”

“Find out. Make sure.”

“Why would I find out about having a baby if I’m not going to have one?”

He shrugs. “Call it peace of mind.”

“You still believe in that?”

“Peace of mind, Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny." This time, when Lincoln grins, she returns it.

They continue wisecracking in this vein for the rest of the drive. Olivia imagines that she is speeding away from that conversation and all the feelings it dredged up – the weird vision of her pregnant self – so she presses down on the accelerator, hard.


But when she gets home late that night, head heavy and feet aching, she doesn’t immediately walk into her bedroom to strip down and collapse. Instead Olivia walks to the back room.

She flips on the light and studies it again. It smells slightly musty. The picnic basket lies on one side, lid open, like it’s hungry for sandwiches and champagne and romance, all the things she and Frank thought they were buying. She ought to use the things in here more often. Use the room more often. It seems like it could be so much more.

The room is, indeed, just big enough for a crib. Olivia can almost see it there.

And for a moment, she sees Lincoln standing beside it, a grin on his face, reaching down for a baby – a baby boy so real to her that suddenly she feels as if she knows the weight of him in her arms, the soft scent of his head, the little sounds he makes as he settles down to sleep –

Quickly she turns off the light and shuts the door.

Re: "A Very Empty Room"

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-12-24 01:41 am (UTC) - Expand

Re: "A Very Empty Room"

From: [personal profile] yahtzee - Date: 2012-01-05 05:11 am (UTC) - Expand

Re: "A Very Empty Room"

From: [personal profile] wendelah1 - Date: 2011-12-24 03:48 pm (UTC) - Expand

Re: "A Very Empty Room"

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Re: "A Very Empty Room"

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Re: "A Very Empty Room"

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Re: "A Very Empty Room"

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2011-12-25 01:39 am (UTC) - Expand

Re: "A Very Empty Room"

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Re: "A Very Empty Room"

From: [personal profile] rivkat - Date: 2011-12-31 06:12 am (UTC) - Expand

Re: "A Very Empty Room"

From: [personal profile] yahtzee - Date: 2012-01-05 05:16 am (UTC) - Expand


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