Title: Token Author: Anonymous Recipient: Monanotlisa Warnings: No warnings apply.
She went to see Lincoln in the hospital two days later. He’d protested the 48-hour observation, but Broyles had insisted. Olivia knew exactly how Lincoln felt, though she secretly agreed with the boss. After the encounter with “Gus” Lincoln had looked pale, drained of vitality.
By this time, Massachusetts General knew to assign Fringe agents a private room. Olivia had recuperated here on more occasions than she cared to remember, and Astrid had required a stay after an unpleasant event or two.
It remained to be seen if their new agent was still interested in pursuing the answers he’d come looking for, given his second case had landed him here.
Lincoln was sitting up in bed when she came in, flipping idly through a newspaper. He tossed it aside the moment he saw her. “Hey!”
“Hey. You look better.”
“Turns out even a sentient fungus can’t stand up to a heavy dose of IV antifungals and rehydration therapy,” he said, glancing at a bandage on his wrist. He paused, looking at her with a wry expression. “I suppose ‘sentient fungus’ is just another day on the job for you.”
“Well,” Olivia said, pulling a chair up to the side of the bed, “that’s one of the exciting perks of our work. No two cases the same.”
“Thrilling,” Lincoln muttered.
“I brought what you asked for,” she said, holding out a small wooden box. Lincoln had asked her to stop by the small rental apartment the agency had found for him. Most of his things were still in cardboard boxes—not that there were many of those, she noted—but this box had been sitting on the bedside table, without even a pretense of a lock. She’d heroically resisted the impulse to pry.
“Thanks.” He opened the box and Olivia caught a glimpse of what looked like a silver cufflink and an old ticket stub before Lincoln pulled out a small medallion on a dark cord. “Robert gave me this. It’s a Native American symbol.”
Olivia leaned in closer to get a better look. “Looks like a maze.”
He looked pleased. “That’s exactly it. The maze represents the journey of life. As you travel, life presents obstacles. You move forward and sometimes backtrack, until the right choices lead you to the center.” Lincoln stared pensively down at the pendant.
She wasn’t much for philosophy, but this was clearly important to him. “And in the center?”
“Home,” Lincoln said, his voice full of longing. “Robert and his family gave me a place to belong. Before that I always moved around a lot, never had a place that really felt like home or a reason to stay.” He looked at her, eyes clear and blue, and dropped the pendant into her hand. “I want you to have it. As a thank you for saving my life and keeping me on the path.”
“I can’t take this,” she started. It would have been like giving someone John’s medal—
Exactly like. The parallels, Olivia thought, were thick in the air. “You loved him.”
Lincoln didn’t blush, or look away. “Yeah.”
“I...know how it can be, with partners,” she said awkwardly. “But this obviously means a lot to you, I can’t—”
“I want you to have it,” Lincoln said again, his voice brooking no argument. “What you do— what we do, it’s so far beyond anything I could have imagined. An entirely new life. And maybe I’ll never stop resenting the fact that Robert died to bring me into it, but at the same time...he would have loved this. All the possibilities. If for no other reason, I need to learn how to deal with these things. So he won’t have died in vain.”
She wanted to protest again but Lincoln shook his head. “What I’m trying to say is, these...experiences...are part of the journey I’m on. And whether it’s a right turn or a wrong one, it’s obviously where I’m supposed to be right now.” He glanced away, his jaw working as he said quietly, “Maybe not home, not yet. But a step in the right direction.”
“A place to belong,” Olivia echoed, and her hand tightened around the talisman. “I...I hope you find it.”
Lincoln looked back at her, smiling faintly. “At the moment, I’ll settle for getting out of here and unpacking my stuff.”
Olivia smiled and stood, feeling unexpectedly relieved. “I’ll talk to the doctor, see about getting you released. And I can help with the unpacking, if you want. Astrid, too,” she added. “She’s much better at organizing things than I am. And if you’re lucky, she’ll bake cookies in your new oven.”
“A kinder, gentler Fringe Division welcome. I’ll take it, with thanks.”
She was about to head out, then paused. “I know it’s been a rough introduction. Maybe there’s no good way to get involved with what we do. And not everyone makes it.” She swallowed hard, thinking about the other agents who’d been part of Fringe Division, even briefly: Charlie Francis, murdered by a shapeshifter from the other side. Amy Jessup, who hadn’t been able to reconcile her personal beliefs with what she saw as perversions of God’s plan. “I wanted to tell you, you’re doing just fine.”
“Tell me that again in six months,” Lincoln said, with a look of mingled trepidation and resignation.
Olivia laughed. “Keep that sense of optimism. You’ll need it.”
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Gift for: Monanotlisa.
Date: 2014-12-02 09:44 pm (UTC)Author: Anonymous
Recipient: Monanotlisa
Warnings: No warnings apply.
She went to see Lincoln in the hospital two days later. He’d protested the 48-hour observation, but Broyles had insisted. Olivia knew exactly how Lincoln felt, though she secretly agreed with the boss. After the encounter with “Gus” Lincoln had looked pale, drained of vitality.
By this time, Massachusetts General knew to assign Fringe agents a private room. Olivia had recuperated here on more occasions than she cared to remember, and Astrid had required a stay after an unpleasant event or two.
It remained to be seen if their new agent was still interested in pursuing the answers he’d come looking for, given his second case had landed him here.
Lincoln was sitting up in bed when she came in, flipping idly through a newspaper. He tossed it aside the moment he saw her. “Hey!”
“Hey. You look better.”
“Turns out even a sentient fungus can’t stand up to a heavy dose of IV antifungals and rehydration therapy,” he said, glancing at a bandage on his wrist. He paused, looking at her with a wry expression. “I suppose ‘sentient fungus’ is just another day on the job for you.”
“Well,” Olivia said, pulling a chair up to the side of the bed, “that’s one of the exciting perks of our work. No two cases the same.”
“Thrilling,” Lincoln muttered.
“I brought what you asked for,” she said, holding out a small wooden box. Lincoln had asked her to stop by the small rental apartment the agency had found for him. Most of his things were still in cardboard boxes—not that there were many of those, she noted—but this box had been sitting on the bedside table, without even a pretense of a lock. She’d heroically resisted the impulse to pry.
“Thanks.” He opened the box and Olivia caught a glimpse of what looked like a silver cufflink and an old ticket stub before Lincoln pulled out a small medallion on a dark cord. “Robert gave me this. It’s a Native American symbol.”
Olivia leaned in closer to get a better look. “Looks like a maze.”
He looked pleased. “That’s exactly it. The maze represents the journey of life. As you travel, life presents obstacles. You move forward and sometimes backtrack, until the right choices lead you to the center.” Lincoln stared pensively down at the pendant.
She wasn’t much for philosophy, but this was clearly important to him. “And in the center?”
“Home,” Lincoln said, his voice full of longing. “Robert and his family gave me a place to belong. Before that I always moved around a lot, never had a place that really felt like home or a reason to stay.” He looked at her, eyes clear and blue, and dropped the pendant into her hand. “I want you to have it. As a thank you for saving my life and keeping me on the path.”
“I can’t take this,” she started. It would have been like giving someone John’s medal—
Exactly like. The parallels, Olivia thought, were thick in the air. “You loved him.”
Lincoln didn’t blush, or look away. “Yeah.”
“I...know how it can be, with partners,” she said awkwardly. “But this obviously means a lot to you, I can’t—”
“I want you to have it,” Lincoln said again, his voice brooking no argument. “What you do— what we do, it’s so far beyond anything I could have imagined. An entirely new life. And maybe I’ll never stop resenting the fact that Robert died to bring me into it, but at the same time...he would have loved this. All the possibilities. If for no other reason, I need to learn how to deal with these things. So he won’t have died in vain.”
She wanted to protest again but Lincoln shook his head. “What I’m trying to say is, these...experiences...are part of the journey I’m on. And whether it’s a right turn or a wrong one, it’s obviously where I’m supposed to be right now.” He glanced away, his jaw working as he said quietly, “Maybe not home, not yet. But a step in the right direction.”
“A place to belong,” Olivia echoed, and her hand tightened around the talisman. “I...I hope you find it.”
Lincoln looked back at her, smiling faintly. “At the moment, I’ll settle for getting out of here and unpacking my stuff.”
Olivia smiled and stood, feeling unexpectedly relieved. “I’ll talk to the doctor, see about getting you released. And I can help with the unpacking, if you want. Astrid, too,” she added. “She’s much better at organizing things than I am. And if you’re lucky, she’ll bake cookies in your new oven.”
“A kinder, gentler Fringe Division welcome. I’ll take it, with thanks.”
She was about to head out, then paused. “I know it’s been a rough introduction. Maybe there’s no good way to get involved with what we do. And not everyone makes it.” She swallowed hard, thinking about the other agents who’d been part of Fringe Division, even briefly: Charlie Francis, murdered by a shapeshifter from the other side. Amy Jessup, who hadn’t been able to reconcile her personal beliefs with what she saw as perversions of God’s plan. “I wanted to tell you, you’re doing just fine.”
“Tell me that again in six months,” Lincoln said, with a look of mingled trepidation and resignation.
Olivia laughed. “Keep that sense of optimism. You’ll need it.”