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.
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timeasmymeasure
I'm so sorry this is late! I left before I could leave you a message to say that it would be delayed
Date: 2011-12-25 11:31 pm (UTC)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.