Olivia Dunham (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
flip_the_lights) wrote2012-11-04 03:41 pm
flip_the_lights) wrote2012-11-04 03:41 pm
[Manhatan, NY]
The trouble Bell describes isn't due to the firefight in Central Park. Not wholly, anyway. The trouble is that over here, Walter Bishop (Walternate, Bell calls him, with a grimly wry smile) is the Secretary of Defense, the head of Fringe Division itself -- and several hours ago, a gutshot man who identified himself as Walter Bishop collapsed in the parking lot of a local hospital.
Bell doesn't know which hospital, only that the report came through his contacts at Homeland Security. It's imperative that they reach their Walter before the Fringe team does. Together, he and Olivia begin a sweep of every hospital in Manhatan (she still wants to blink, like she's trying to clear her vision, every time she sees a road sign with that missing t); all they can hope is that Bell's sources are right when they say Fringe Division hasn't located him yet.
They cut their search far too close for comfort. By the time they find the right hospital, Olivia's doppelganger and the other Charlie are pushing their way to the front of the ER line, briskly herding people aside and speaking in low voices to the desk attendant. Bell manages to distract them long enough for Olivia to slip toward the hospital beds. In a matter of moments, she locates Walter and guides him out the back door.
This universe has incredible medical technology, she has to admit: all Walter has to show for his gunshot wound is a faint scar on the left side of his abdomen. He and Bell bicker the whole way to a Kentucky Grilled Chicken several miles from the hospital, where they settle in with some food to reformulate their plan. Walter's face falls when Olivia tells him she can't find a door to Milliways; like her, he suspects it's a side effect of crossing over, the same kind of ailment that befell James, Nick, and Sally.
"Milliways?" asks Bell.
"Long story," says Olivia, shortly, unwilling to engage that particular topic with him any more than necessary.
They'll have to go back the same way they came over, then: via Olivia herself, amped up with technology that still lingers in Walternate's old lab. Walter and Bell will head north to Boston, find a particle accelerator that will allow them to 'prop open' Olivia's link to her home universe, and return within twelve hours. In the meantime, Olivia will set out on her own to find Peter.
No new leads have popped up since she and Bell rescued Walter. Double-checking the bullets in her gun, Olivia sets back toward the apartment she found eight hours ago.
If Olivia herself had come home, fetched a casserole out of the fridge, and turned around to be greeted by a gun to the face -- especially a gun held by her duplicate -- she would have been far more startled than this world's Olivia. The red-haired woman freezes, but the tiny, curious smile on her face doesn't fade. It's like she's been expecting this, or like it's no more than an interesting puzzle to solve.
"How did you -- "
"We both leave our hide-a-key in the same place," interrupts Olivia as she steps closer. Her shoulders rise and fall on a breath. "I need your help."
Her doppelganger snorts, sounding genuinely amused. "Well, you have a funny way of asking."
She seems so unconcerned. Her movements are looser, freer, as if she isn't pinned down by a weight across her shoulders. Her smile isn't contained in taut lines. Olivia finds herself spinning through the possibilities and alterations that might have closed the gap between them -- turned herself from blonde to red -- and feels, of all things, the tiniest spark of jealousy.
As she explains why she's come, and the other Olivia sets the casserole down on her coffee table, Olivia's eyes catch on a framed photograph. Her mouth goes dry. "Is that Mom?"
The other Olivia glances up. "Yeah."
"She's alive?"
That gets her double's full attention. The persistent quirk of a smile finally vanishes. Olivia hesitates before she goes on, softer than she intends: "What is she like?"
The other Olivia isn't studying her like she's an entertaining little game anymore. She's looking at Olivia like she's a real person, sympathy wrestling with her confusion. Abruptly, Olivia knows she's played this much more to her own advantage than she realized.
"Well, the last few years have been hard for her," says the other Olivia. "My sister died during childbirth." She regards her closer. "You have a sister, too?"
In her mind's eye, she sees the light reflect off her mother's crucifix as Ella kisses her cheek. Olivia can't manage more than a nod at first. "And a niece," she says. "Ella. She's seven."
"Ella," her alternate self whispers. When her smile returns, it's far more wistful. Funny how things work out, says that smile.
And as much as Olivia wants to know everything -- and, to her surprise, wants to tell this Olivia everything, about the sister she lost and the niece she never got to have -- that isn't why she came. She's forged a shaky kind of bond; now, it's time to get back on topic. "I need to speak to Peter Bishop," she repeats, readjusting her grip on her gun. "He's in danger here, and he needs to understand that."
The other Olivia flicks her eyes to the gun, then back up to Olivia. Slowly, the amusement returns. "This isn't just an assignment, is it?" she asks. Olivia's mouth drops open; grinning outright, almost laughing, her doppelganger tips her head: come on, you can tell me, it's just us girls. "Are you two a couple? Is that what this is about?"
Olivia shakes her head, once, twice, and again, driving the image of Peter from her mind, the flames in his eyes, the agony on his face. "Please," she says, hoarser now. "I need to speak to him. You've gotta trust me." A small, helpless shrug, and just as helpless a smile. "I'm you."
As it turns out, her double has to do no such thing.
And there's one more difference between herself and this world's Olivia: her double keeps her spare gun in her jacket.
The fight is swift and brutal. Both lose their guns early on; within seconds, they're grappling in hand-to-hand, pictures falling, furniture breaking. The other Olivia moves like a well-trained soldier, and Olivia finds she can only anticipate about half of her moves, despite recognizing every strike and every kick.
Sprawled on the floor, her double grabs Olivia in a headlock, forearm jammed against her windpipe. Gasping, Olivia struggles, inching her fingers toward the broken remains of the coffee table. Spots burst in her eyes. For a horrified moment, she's not sure she'll make it before she passes out.
The instant her fingers close around the table leg, she whips it back into the other Olivia's face. Her grip slackens. Another hit, and she's unconscious; shakily, Olivia clambers back to her feet to survey the damage.
She doesn't have much time. Luckily, she thinks as her eyes land on the red hair fanning beneath her alternate self's head, she has a much better idea of what to do next.
Olivia finds a box of red hair dye underneath the bathroom sink. The scissors turn out to be a pair of kitchen shears she nicks from the silverware drawer. After tying the other Olivia to a chair and stripping her out of her clothes, she vanishes into the bathroom, scrubbing down her hair, brushing in the dye, chopping off enough to leave a set of bangs that nearly touch her eyelashes. Red, she thinks as she peers, shivering, into the bathroom mirror, isn't really her color.
As if she had a choice right now.
Charlie catches her in the hallway right as she's locking up the apartment. It takes a few long beats before she can force herself into her doppelganger's casual stance, like draping herself in a too-big jacket. It's even worse when Charlie talks to her exactly like he did back home, settling into the easy rhythm of partnership she hasn't heard in almost a year. It's like talking to a ghost.
She convinces him that Secretary Bishop put in a call to transfer Peter. He drives to the safe house, reminiscing about work the whole way. I gotta tell you, Livvy, this job isn't what it was ten years ago. You’ve got alternate universes. I mean, it just...just wasn't part of my training, you know? I mean, how are we supposed to fight these people?
Charlie said almost the exact same thing to her on their very first Fringe case.
Truth is, Livvy, this makes me feel obsolete, you know?
Olivia stares out the window, eyes dry and burning, and doesn't answer.
Bell doesn't know which hospital, only that the report came through his contacts at Homeland Security. It's imperative that they reach their Walter before the Fringe team does. Together, he and Olivia begin a sweep of every hospital in Manhatan (she still wants to blink, like she's trying to clear her vision, every time she sees a road sign with that missing t); all they can hope is that Bell's sources are right when they say Fringe Division hasn't located him yet.
They cut their search far too close for comfort. By the time they find the right hospital, Olivia's doppelganger and the other Charlie are pushing their way to the front of the ER line, briskly herding people aside and speaking in low voices to the desk attendant. Bell manages to distract them long enough for Olivia to slip toward the hospital beds. In a matter of moments, she locates Walter and guides him out the back door.
This universe has incredible medical technology, she has to admit: all Walter has to show for his gunshot wound is a faint scar on the left side of his abdomen. He and Bell bicker the whole way to a Kentucky Grilled Chicken several miles from the hospital, where they settle in with some food to reformulate their plan. Walter's face falls when Olivia tells him she can't find a door to Milliways; like her, he suspects it's a side effect of crossing over, the same kind of ailment that befell James, Nick, and Sally.
"Milliways?" asks Bell.
"Long story," says Olivia, shortly, unwilling to engage that particular topic with him any more than necessary.
They'll have to go back the same way they came over, then: via Olivia herself, amped up with technology that still lingers in Walternate's old lab. Walter and Bell will head north to Boston, find a particle accelerator that will allow them to 'prop open' Olivia's link to her home universe, and return within twelve hours. In the meantime, Olivia will set out on her own to find Peter.
No new leads have popped up since she and Bell rescued Walter. Double-checking the bullets in her gun, Olivia sets back toward the apartment she found eight hours ago.
If Olivia herself had come home, fetched a casserole out of the fridge, and turned around to be greeted by a gun to the face -- especially a gun held by her duplicate -- she would have been far more startled than this world's Olivia. The red-haired woman freezes, but the tiny, curious smile on her face doesn't fade. It's like she's been expecting this, or like it's no more than an interesting puzzle to solve.
"How did you -- "
"We both leave our hide-a-key in the same place," interrupts Olivia as she steps closer. Her shoulders rise and fall on a breath. "I need your help."
Her doppelganger snorts, sounding genuinely amused. "Well, you have a funny way of asking."
She seems so unconcerned. Her movements are looser, freer, as if she isn't pinned down by a weight across her shoulders. Her smile isn't contained in taut lines. Olivia finds herself spinning through the possibilities and alterations that might have closed the gap between them -- turned herself from blonde to red -- and feels, of all things, the tiniest spark of jealousy.
As she explains why she's come, and the other Olivia sets the casserole down on her coffee table, Olivia's eyes catch on a framed photograph. Her mouth goes dry. "Is that Mom?"
The other Olivia glances up. "Yeah."
"She's alive?"
That gets her double's full attention. The persistent quirk of a smile finally vanishes. Olivia hesitates before she goes on, softer than she intends: "What is she like?"
The other Olivia isn't studying her like she's an entertaining little game anymore. She's looking at Olivia like she's a real person, sympathy wrestling with her confusion. Abruptly, Olivia knows she's played this much more to her own advantage than she realized.
"Well, the last few years have been hard for her," says the other Olivia. "My sister died during childbirth." She regards her closer. "You have a sister, too?"
In her mind's eye, she sees the light reflect off her mother's crucifix as Ella kisses her cheek. Olivia can't manage more than a nod at first. "And a niece," she says. "Ella. She's seven."
"Ella," her alternate self whispers. When her smile returns, it's far more wistful. Funny how things work out, says that smile.
And as much as Olivia wants to know everything -- and, to her surprise, wants to tell this Olivia everything, about the sister she lost and the niece she never got to have -- that isn't why she came. She's forged a shaky kind of bond; now, it's time to get back on topic. "I need to speak to Peter Bishop," she repeats, readjusting her grip on her gun. "He's in danger here, and he needs to understand that."
The other Olivia flicks her eyes to the gun, then back up to Olivia. Slowly, the amusement returns. "This isn't just an assignment, is it?" she asks. Olivia's mouth drops open; grinning outright, almost laughing, her doppelganger tips her head: come on, you can tell me, it's just us girls. "Are you two a couple? Is that what this is about?"
Olivia shakes her head, once, twice, and again, driving the image of Peter from her mind, the flames in his eyes, the agony on his face. "Please," she says, hoarser now. "I need to speak to him. You've gotta trust me." A small, helpless shrug, and just as helpless a smile. "I'm you."
As it turns out, her double has to do no such thing.
And there's one more difference between herself and this world's Olivia: her double keeps her spare gun in her jacket.
The fight is swift and brutal. Both lose their guns early on; within seconds, they're grappling in hand-to-hand, pictures falling, furniture breaking. The other Olivia moves like a well-trained soldier, and Olivia finds she can only anticipate about half of her moves, despite recognizing every strike and every kick.
Sprawled on the floor, her double grabs Olivia in a headlock, forearm jammed against her windpipe. Gasping, Olivia struggles, inching her fingers toward the broken remains of the coffee table. Spots burst in her eyes. For a horrified moment, she's not sure she'll make it before she passes out.
The instant her fingers close around the table leg, she whips it back into the other Olivia's face. Her grip slackens. Another hit, and she's unconscious; shakily, Olivia clambers back to her feet to survey the damage.
She doesn't have much time. Luckily, she thinks as her eyes land on the red hair fanning beneath her alternate self's head, she has a much better idea of what to do next.
Olivia finds a box of red hair dye underneath the bathroom sink. The scissors turn out to be a pair of kitchen shears she nicks from the silverware drawer. After tying the other Olivia to a chair and stripping her out of her clothes, she vanishes into the bathroom, scrubbing down her hair, brushing in the dye, chopping off enough to leave a set of bangs that nearly touch her eyelashes. Red, she thinks as she peers, shivering, into the bathroom mirror, isn't really her color.
As if she had a choice right now.
Charlie catches her in the hallway right as she's locking up the apartment. It takes a few long beats before she can force herself into her doppelganger's casual stance, like draping herself in a too-big jacket. It's even worse when Charlie talks to her exactly like he did back home, settling into the easy rhythm of partnership she hasn't heard in almost a year. It's like talking to a ghost.
She convinces him that Secretary Bishop put in a call to transfer Peter. He drives to the safe house, reminiscing about work the whole way. I gotta tell you, Livvy, this job isn't what it was ten years ago. You’ve got alternate universes. I mean, it just...just wasn't part of my training, you know? I mean, how are we supposed to fight these people?
Charlie said almost the exact same thing to her on their very first Fringe case.
Truth is, Livvy, this makes me feel obsolete, you know?
Olivia stares out the window, eyes dry and burning, and doesn't answer.