Walking down the white-walled corridor to the elevator, Olivia shoves her hands into her coat pockets. She still feels them shaking, but this way at least no one can see. Meeting Nina again has actually let the tremors subside just a little: Nina's face, almost as familiar as her own again (if not from early mornings and late-late nights then a tv screen or the bright-blue Dynamic videochat window on the monitor). Nina's eyes gradually softening with a forgiveness that had made Olivia's own water. Olivia doesn't cry. Usually she doesn't.
Olivia blinks twice, enters the code, and presses the button. When the lift doors whoosh open to the proper floor where Walter is hopefully not being too improper, Lincoln greets her as if he's been waiting for her. "I was just about to -- well, not come and get you." He smiles at her helplessly yet happens to be all the partner help she ever wanted. "I figured you and Nina needed some space."
Space, and time -- the latter will heal them both, she thinks. If she can keep this up. This last hour made worthwhile what she's been wondering about ever since the memories started coming back. It's true she doesn't have any migraines or physical side-effects this time around, as she's been telling Peter and Lincoln thrice-daily. But what she hasn't been telling them in great detail is the twin-set of memories rendering her mind such unsteady ground with trip-wires everywhere.
Olivia did have tears in her eyes that she didn't even wipe away two years ago and didn't need to because Rachel was grinning from ear to ear and doing it for her, using a checkered kitchen towel because that's where Olivia held Eddie in her arms for the first time; Olivia on that same day off rode a rollercoaster with Ella, and what she remembers is not her own utter terror at the dip of the wagon going down but Ella's high-pitched, joyful shriek and her small, warm hand in Olivia's. She rode Bloom to rousing, applause-filled victory, her first one, in nineteen-ninety-two; that same summer she added only the last in a long number of track-and-field medals to the collection hidden, on nails hammered perfectly straight, in the back of her wardrobe: where no one could smash it or, worse, take it away. She'd taken her stepfather's Golden Boy .22 out of the unlocked case (not that it would have mattered) and a shot that hit the mark; the very same shot had only served to make his anger burn less hot but much more steadily.
"Olivia," and then there's Lincoln's hand at her elbow, not hesitant at all. "Please don't give me another I'm fine, okay?" His eyes are wide and earnest, their blues and greys shaded with worry. "Because you and I know that I know you're not." He frowns. "That was unnecessarily complicated, wasn't it?"
She huffs out what she hopes is closer to a laugh than a sob, and the world swims into focus again. "A little." She lets herself lean in into his firm touch, turns toward him. Lincoln's strong underneath his prim suits. Up close, she can see the fine lines around Lincoln's eyes, how the the gentle curve of his mouth has tightened over the last few months. She wants to kiss it, feel it soften under her lips. Because her life really needs more complications such as this one. "Lincoln."
"Yep," he says, and she can feel his words; they're standing so close as to be breathing the same air. She knows there are people around, and a Massive Dynamic hallway really isn't the fitting place for this topic, but she doesn't want to pull away -- doesn't want to do anything at all to change the way Lincoln Lee looks at her right now. "When we're done here and Walter and Peter have instructed the team regarding the injection gun design, let's talk, you and me. About everything." She looks away from his mouth that's shifting into a tiny smile, up into his eyes, bright and keen. "Everything including all of us."
Lincoln's lashes are impossibly long and dark. "I...I'd like that."
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timeasmymeasure
The Thoughts Your Actions Entertain (Lincoln/Olivia/Peter, post-4x16) Part 6
Date: 2012-04-09 10:16 am (UTC)Olivia blinks twice, enters the code, and presses the button. When the lift doors whoosh open to the proper floor where Walter is hopefully not being too improper, Lincoln greets her as if he's been waiting for her. "I was just about to -- well, not come and get you." He smiles at her helplessly yet happens to be all the partner help she ever wanted. "I figured you and Nina needed some space."
Space, and time -- the latter will heal them both, she thinks. If she can keep this up. This last hour made worthwhile what she's been wondering about ever since the memories started coming back. It's true she doesn't have any migraines or physical side-effects this time around, as she's been telling Peter and Lincoln thrice-daily. But what she hasn't been telling them in great detail is the twin-set of memories rendering her mind such unsteady ground with trip-wires everywhere.
Olivia did have tears in her eyes that she didn't even wipe away two years ago and didn't need to because Rachel was grinning from ear to ear and doing it for her, using a checkered kitchen towel because that's where Olivia held Eddie in her arms for the first time; Olivia on that same day off rode a rollercoaster with Ella, and what she remembers is not her own utter terror at the dip of the wagon going down but Ella's high-pitched, joyful shriek and her small, warm hand in Olivia's. She rode Bloom to rousing, applause-filled victory, her first one, in nineteen-ninety-two; that same summer she added only the last in a long number of track-and-field medals to the collection hidden, on nails hammered perfectly straight, in the back of her wardrobe: where no one could smash it or, worse, take it away. She'd taken her stepfather's Golden Boy .22 out of the unlocked case (not that it would have mattered) and a shot that hit the mark; the very same shot had only served to make his anger burn less hot but much more steadily.
"Olivia," and then there's Lincoln's hand at her elbow, not hesitant at all. "Please don't give me another I'm fine, okay?" His eyes are wide and earnest, their blues and greys shaded with worry. "Because you and I know that I know you're not." He frowns. "That was unnecessarily complicated, wasn't it?"
She huffs out what she hopes is closer to a laugh than a sob, and the world swims into focus again. "A little." She lets herself lean in into his firm touch, turns toward him. Lincoln's strong underneath his prim suits. Up close, she can see the fine lines around Lincoln's eyes, how the the gentle curve of his mouth has tightened over the last few months. She wants to kiss it, feel it soften under her lips. Because her life really needs more complications such as this one. "Lincoln."
"Yep," he says, and she can feel his words; they're standing so close as to be breathing the same air. She knows there are people around, and a Massive Dynamic hallway really isn't the fitting place for this topic, but she doesn't want to pull away -- doesn't want to do anything at all to change the way Lincoln Lee looks at her right now. "When we're done here and Walter and Peter have instructed the team regarding the injection gun design, let's talk, you and me. About everything." She looks away from his mouth that's shifting into a tiny smile, up into his eyes, bright and keen. "Everything including all of us."
Lincoln's lashes are impossibly long and dark. "I...I'd like that."