[Fringe] Like Dancing (or How Esther Figglesworth Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Her Job)
Title: Like Dancing (or How Esther Figglesworth Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Her Job)
Author: hibernate
Pairing/character: Olivia/Astrid (noir!Olivia/Esther)
Rating: PG-13 / teen
Wordcount: ~2200 words
Note: Written for sheepfairy @ the girlsgunsfic ficathon. swatkat24 went beyond the call of duty to beta this on New Years Eve, of all days.
Summary: Based on the 2x20 Brown Betty AU - Esther Figglesworth is usually a sensible person, except when it comes to Detective Dunham.
Also archived on AO3.
The call is short.
"Esther?" It's Dunham, who never bothers with trivialities like introducing herself on the phone. Esther has long since learned to recognize her voice.
"I don't work for you anymore," Esther reminds her.
Dunham continues as if she hasn't heard her. "Reiden Lake," she says. "It's important."
"It's always important with you," Esther says.
"I've got to go," Dunham says, and then the call is disconnected before Esther can argue.
Of course she should stay home, eat her dinner and let her cat keep her company on the couch. It's dark outside and it's raining - more importantly, Dunham is not her boss anymore, and they are not friends, exactly.
Esther isn't sure that Dunham is the sort of person who has friends.
The problem is that Esther just can't say no to Dunham. It's odd, because she's usually a very sensible person, but as she leaves her dinner to go cold and her cat to curl up on the couch without her, choosing instead to drive her car to a deserted house in the rainy dark, she suspects this is not the kind of thing that sensible people do.
It is exactly why Esther said, thanks, but no thanks when Dunham acted like it was a done deal that she'd come back, no questions asked, after the case with the glass heart.
"Lieutenant Broyles offered me a job," Esther said, and Dunham put her hands in her pockets and shrugged.
"Are you going to take it?"
"You fired me," Esther said. "And then you call and just expect me to show up. And you still owe me money."
Dunham's face softened slightly, back relaxing in a slope. "You should take the job."
So she did.
* * *
This is how Esther starts working for Dunham:
There is an ad in the paper.
Wanted: assistant. O. Dunham, Private Investigations.
It's short and to the point. Esther likes that in a boss.
She's sitting on a leather chair behind her desk when Esther walks in. "Detective Dunham?"
"Yes?" Dunham doesn't look up from her desk.
"Esther Figglesworth. I'm here about the job." After a pause, during which Dunham looks up but says nothing, Esther adds, "We spoke on the phone. You said to come by any time."
Dunham leans back in her chair, picking up a big magnifying glass from her desk, holding it in both hands. "Do you know what this is?"
Esther raises an eyebrow. "Is that a trick question?"
Dunham leans forward, almost smiling. "It can see through walls," she whispers, as if telling a secret.
"Handy," Esther says, not quite sure if she believes it.
"It's a strange world, Miss Figglesworth. Especially for a private detective. Do you think you can handle that?"
"Of course," Esther says quickly.
"Good." Dunham looks back down at the papers on her desk, reaching for a pen. "You start tomorrow."
Dunham is not what Esther expects - hair perfectly coiffed, bright red lipstick, but with a gun holster strapped over a strict, white shirt and a black fedora on the desk in front of her. The arms of her shirt are rolled up, revealing wrists that are slender and feminine. It is a strange sort of dichotomy, and it makes Esther hesitate. "Don't you want to see my resume?"
"That's all right," Dunham says, and so Esther goes home and tries not to think too much about it.
It is all explained when, on her first day, Esther finds a file named Figglesworth, E in the cabinet. "Why do you have a file on me?" she asks Dunham, who tilts her head, a thoughtful look on her face, as if she's trying to choose her words carefully.
"That's why you didn't want my resume," Esther concludes.
"People lie on their resumes."
Perhaps it is not so surprising that a private detective would do background checks on potential employees, but it still throws her for a moment. "Find anything interesting?" she says, in the end. "You did hire me."
"Well," Dunham says, pausing. "You were the only applicant. Apparently I have a reputation. Most of my assistants haven't stayed on for very long."
Esther narrows her eyes. "What kind of reputation?"
Dunham's smile widens in a way that is not particularly reassuring. "You know what, I have no idea."
*
Two weeks later, Dunham calls Esther in the middle of the night, and Esther almost has a heart attack as she arrives in Dunham's office to find her covered in a bloody sheet.
"It's just a scratch," she says.
"It's a gun shot," Esther says.
"It barely grazed me."
"You're covered in blood!"
The next day, Esther buys a first-aid kit. Over the year that follows, she gets to use it quite a lot.
*
It's 4 am, and Esther doesn't even have to look at the screen of her phone to know who is calling.
"I was asleep" she says as she walks over to the bar disk, where Dunham is slumped over a glass of something dark and no doubt alcoholic.
"Bartender took my car keys. I think he's planning to get me drunk and murder me in my sleep," Dunham says.
"You could have ordered a cab."
Dunham says nothing, just stares back down on her drink. It makes Esther want to pull her into a hug, but that is not the sort of relationship they have, and Esther doubts Dunham would appreciate it. Instead she pokes her shoulder gently. "Come on. I'm not carrying you."
(The woman is ridiculously tall.)
In her office, Dunham flops down on her chair, and Esther almost squeals in surprise when Dunham drags her with her, until she's awkwardly perched in her lap. When Dunham kisses her, she tastes of alcohol, strong and spicy, and her hands are on Esther's hips, pulling them closer together.
It's intoxicating, and not just because of the whiskey fumes. Dunham slides a hand up Esther's side, grazing the side of her breast - slender fingers that Esther has thought of more than once - and presses her mouth to the skin just below Esther's jaw. But there's a picture on Dunham's desk, of a man whose name Esther doesn't know, and whatever it is that Dunham wants, Esther is pretty sure she isn't it.
"You should go to sleep," she says, pulling back. Dunham's eyes close as her head falls back against the chair. Esther gets to her feet, adjusting her clothes. "See you in the morning."
The only answer is an unladylike snore.
Neither of them mention it again, and Esther wonders if Dunham even remembers.
Three months later, someone puts a laser knife to Dunham's chest, and even though Dunham fired Esther the same morning, Esther does not hesitate. Someone needs to patch Dunham up, and it seems there is no one but her.
"Somewhere in the world" Dunham says, "there's gotta be a guy who will keep me warm when I'm cold, feed me when I'm hungry. Maybe, on occasion, take me dancing."
Esther doesn't say: what about me?
*
Not working for Dunham is, as it turns out, not all that big of a change.
It's no more than a few weeks later that Dunham calls next, and later, when Esther drives her home, she stops the car outside of her house. It's a big, worn-down, badly kept sort of building that Esther has never entered.
Esther fiddles with her gloved fingers on the wheel for a moment, before speaking, "Why don't you ever call Mr. Bishop with these things?"
It takes a while before Dunham answers. "I don't mix business with pleasure."
"Is that what I am? Business? You do remember firing me, don't you?"
"Vividly." After a pause, Dunham says, "You're... Esther." There's a lop-sided smile on Dunham's face, as she looks down, and when she glances up again, there's a look on her face that is guarded and almost a little bit shy.
"And you're hopeless," Esther says, but it's hard not to smile.
* * *
So no, it is not the first time that Dunham has called Esther late at night. And any sensible person would stay home, eat her dinner and let her cat keep her company on the couch.
Esther is starting to suspect she might not be a very sensible person after all.
It takes her awhile to find her way. Dunham is waiting for her when she arrives, sitting on a stone and looking out across the lake, legs wide apart and elbows leaning on her knees. Her gun is in her hands, and the shadow from her hat is obscuring her face.
"Are you okay?" Esther asks, hesitating, even though she can tell by the shift in Dunham's shoulders that she's heard her coming.
"They drowned my car," Dunham says flatly, and Esther glances at the still lake.
When Esther looks back at Dunham, she turns her face up and Esther can see streaks of blood across her forehead and cheek. She crouches down, putting her fingers under Dunham's chin to tilt her head up further.
Dunham bats her hand away, and Esther sighs. "This happens to you far too often."
"I'm fine. I need a drink."
What Dunham really needs, in Esther's opinion, is enough common sense to stay away from people who want to bash her head in, but Dunham never listens when she tells her to be careful.
Once back in Dunham's office, Esther steers Dunham towards her desk and takes off her fedora, flinging it down on her chair. It's not the worst injury she's patched up, not by far, but the wound on Dunham's forehead does look painful.
When Esther returns after fetching the first-aid kit, Dunham is already pouring herself a glass of whiskey.
"You shouldn't drink after hitting your head like--" Esther trails off as Dunham takes a large gulp. "Or just go ahead and drink, nevermind head injuries or common sense."
Dunham downs the rest of her drink in one quick sweep, letting her eyes stay closed and her head leaned back. Her hair and make-up is in disarray, and there are still specks of blood across her face.
Esther finds it hard not to stare.
Instead she occupies herself, wetting a piece of cloth and reaching up to clean away blood from the cut on Dunham's forehead. Dunham lets her, without a word, eyes remaining closed even as she leans down to give Esther better access.
When she is done, Esther pulls back and Dunham opens her eyes then, catching Esther's gaze and making her freeze in place. "What?" Esther says. "Do I have something on my face?"
She looks away, but Dunham grasps her hand, fingers soft against her palm, and though Dunham doesn't pull, Esther take a step closer. Then Dunham's lips are on Esther's wrist, lingering there, her hair tickling against Esther's arm.
For a moment, Esther forgets to breathe.
"Dunham," she says, intending to vocalize some kind of protest, because she's always the voice of reason in their relationship.
"It's Olivia. I like it when you call me that." Dunham never speaks like that, and when she looks up, still keeping her fingers wrapped around Esther's hand, there is something in her eyes that Esther doesn't recognize.
It's not even a conscious thing to take one step closer, between Dunham's legs, and Dunham lets one of her hands slide down to Esther's hip, and then further, to the small of her back.
When Dunham is perched on her desk like this, they are almost the same height.
There's unmistakable intent in Dunham's eyes, but when she doesn't act, Esther does it for her, sliding a hand to the back of Dunham's neck and pulling her close enough to let her lips graze Dunham's. It's not until then that she realizes she's been wanting to do that for some time.
Dunham follows when Esther pulls away, so Esther pushes forward again, tasting Dunham's lipstick and whiskey as she deepens the kiss. Her hand connects with the cold metal of Dunham's gun, and Dunham covers her hand with her own for a moment, before pulling the gun out of the holster and leaning down across the desk to put it in one of the drawers.
Sitting back up, Dunham idly undoes a button on Esther's blouse, and then another one, fingers brushing against skin.
"Do you know," Esther leans in to whisper in Dunham's ear, "this is not so unlike dancing."
*
Later, Dunham buttons her pants and shirt, putting her gun back in the holster. "Mind if I borrow your car?"
Esther frowns. "You're still going to pursue the case? Oh, what am I saying, of course you are."
"They put my car in a lake." At Esther's look, Dunham shrugs. "It was a good car."
Esther sighs, because she knows a lost cause when she sees it. She's probably a lost cause herself; it's starting to seem all the more likely that Dunham has ruined her for other jobs for life. "Don't get yourself killed."
Dunham doesn't answer, so Esther puts a hand on her arm, looking at her sternly. "Olivia," she tries, and it sounds odd coming from her own lips. "I'm serious. Be careful."
There's a pause, and then Dunham smiles, the way she does so rarely that Esther forgets every time how it makes her look entirely different. "I think you know me better than that."
Author: hibernate
Pairing/character: Olivia/Astrid (noir!Olivia/Esther)
Rating: PG-13 / teen
Wordcount: ~2200 words
Note: Written for sheepfairy @ the girlsgunsfic ficathon. swatkat24 went beyond the call of duty to beta this on New Years Eve, of all days.
Summary: Based on the 2x20 Brown Betty AU - Esther Figglesworth is usually a sensible person, except when it comes to Detective Dunham.
Also archived on AO3.
The call is short.
"Esther?" It's Dunham, who never bothers with trivialities like introducing herself on the phone. Esther has long since learned to recognize her voice.
"I don't work for you anymore," Esther reminds her.
Dunham continues as if she hasn't heard her. "Reiden Lake," she says. "It's important."
"It's always important with you," Esther says.
"I've got to go," Dunham says, and then the call is disconnected before Esther can argue.
Of course she should stay home, eat her dinner and let her cat keep her company on the couch. It's dark outside and it's raining - more importantly, Dunham is not her boss anymore, and they are not friends, exactly.
Esther isn't sure that Dunham is the sort of person who has friends.
The problem is that Esther just can't say no to Dunham. It's odd, because she's usually a very sensible person, but as she leaves her dinner to go cold and her cat to curl up on the couch without her, choosing instead to drive her car to a deserted house in the rainy dark, she suspects this is not the kind of thing that sensible people do.
It is exactly why Esther said, thanks, but no thanks when Dunham acted like it was a done deal that she'd come back, no questions asked, after the case with the glass heart.
"Lieutenant Broyles offered me a job," Esther said, and Dunham put her hands in her pockets and shrugged.
"Are you going to take it?"
"You fired me," Esther said. "And then you call and just expect me to show up. And you still owe me money."
Dunham's face softened slightly, back relaxing in a slope. "You should take the job."
So she did.
* * *
This is how Esther starts working for Dunham:
There is an ad in the paper.
Wanted: assistant. O. Dunham, Private Investigations.
It's short and to the point. Esther likes that in a boss.
She's sitting on a leather chair behind her desk when Esther walks in. "Detective Dunham?"
"Yes?" Dunham doesn't look up from her desk.
"Esther Figglesworth. I'm here about the job." After a pause, during which Dunham looks up but says nothing, Esther adds, "We spoke on the phone. You said to come by any time."
Dunham leans back in her chair, picking up a big magnifying glass from her desk, holding it in both hands. "Do you know what this is?"
Esther raises an eyebrow. "Is that a trick question?"
Dunham leans forward, almost smiling. "It can see through walls," she whispers, as if telling a secret.
"Handy," Esther says, not quite sure if she believes it.
"It's a strange world, Miss Figglesworth. Especially for a private detective. Do you think you can handle that?"
"Of course," Esther says quickly.
"Good." Dunham looks back down at the papers on her desk, reaching for a pen. "You start tomorrow."
Dunham is not what Esther expects - hair perfectly coiffed, bright red lipstick, but with a gun holster strapped over a strict, white shirt and a black fedora on the desk in front of her. The arms of her shirt are rolled up, revealing wrists that are slender and feminine. It is a strange sort of dichotomy, and it makes Esther hesitate. "Don't you want to see my resume?"
"That's all right," Dunham says, and so Esther goes home and tries not to think too much about it.
It is all explained when, on her first day, Esther finds a file named Figglesworth, E in the cabinet. "Why do you have a file on me?" she asks Dunham, who tilts her head, a thoughtful look on her face, as if she's trying to choose her words carefully.
"That's why you didn't want my resume," Esther concludes.
"People lie on their resumes."
Perhaps it is not so surprising that a private detective would do background checks on potential employees, but it still throws her for a moment. "Find anything interesting?" she says, in the end. "You did hire me."
"Well," Dunham says, pausing. "You were the only applicant. Apparently I have a reputation. Most of my assistants haven't stayed on for very long."
Esther narrows her eyes. "What kind of reputation?"
Dunham's smile widens in a way that is not particularly reassuring. "You know what, I have no idea."
*
Two weeks later, Dunham calls Esther in the middle of the night, and Esther almost has a heart attack as she arrives in Dunham's office to find her covered in a bloody sheet.
"It's just a scratch," she says.
"It's a gun shot," Esther says.
"It barely grazed me."
"You're covered in blood!"
The next day, Esther buys a first-aid kit. Over the year that follows, she gets to use it quite a lot.
*
It's 4 am, and Esther doesn't even have to look at the screen of her phone to know who is calling.
"I was asleep" she says as she walks over to the bar disk, where Dunham is slumped over a glass of something dark and no doubt alcoholic.
"Bartender took my car keys. I think he's planning to get me drunk and murder me in my sleep," Dunham says.
"You could have ordered a cab."
Dunham says nothing, just stares back down on her drink. It makes Esther want to pull her into a hug, but that is not the sort of relationship they have, and Esther doubts Dunham would appreciate it. Instead she pokes her shoulder gently. "Come on. I'm not carrying you."
(The woman is ridiculously tall.)
In her office, Dunham flops down on her chair, and Esther almost squeals in surprise when Dunham drags her with her, until she's awkwardly perched in her lap. When Dunham kisses her, she tastes of alcohol, strong and spicy, and her hands are on Esther's hips, pulling them closer together.
It's intoxicating, and not just because of the whiskey fumes. Dunham slides a hand up Esther's side, grazing the side of her breast - slender fingers that Esther has thought of more than once - and presses her mouth to the skin just below Esther's jaw. But there's a picture on Dunham's desk, of a man whose name Esther doesn't know, and whatever it is that Dunham wants, Esther is pretty sure she isn't it.
"You should go to sleep," she says, pulling back. Dunham's eyes close as her head falls back against the chair. Esther gets to her feet, adjusting her clothes. "See you in the morning."
The only answer is an unladylike snore.
Neither of them mention it again, and Esther wonders if Dunham even remembers.
Three months later, someone puts a laser knife to Dunham's chest, and even though Dunham fired Esther the same morning, Esther does not hesitate. Someone needs to patch Dunham up, and it seems there is no one but her.
"Somewhere in the world" Dunham says, "there's gotta be a guy who will keep me warm when I'm cold, feed me when I'm hungry. Maybe, on occasion, take me dancing."
Esther doesn't say: what about me?
*
Not working for Dunham is, as it turns out, not all that big of a change.
It's no more than a few weeks later that Dunham calls next, and later, when Esther drives her home, she stops the car outside of her house. It's a big, worn-down, badly kept sort of building that Esther has never entered.
Esther fiddles with her gloved fingers on the wheel for a moment, before speaking, "Why don't you ever call Mr. Bishop with these things?"
It takes a while before Dunham answers. "I don't mix business with pleasure."
"Is that what I am? Business? You do remember firing me, don't you?"
"Vividly." After a pause, Dunham says, "You're... Esther." There's a lop-sided smile on Dunham's face, as she looks down, and when she glances up again, there's a look on her face that is guarded and almost a little bit shy.
"And you're hopeless," Esther says, but it's hard not to smile.
* * *
So no, it is not the first time that Dunham has called Esther late at night. And any sensible person would stay home, eat her dinner and let her cat keep her company on the couch.
Esther is starting to suspect she might not be a very sensible person after all.
It takes her awhile to find her way. Dunham is waiting for her when she arrives, sitting on a stone and looking out across the lake, legs wide apart and elbows leaning on her knees. Her gun is in her hands, and the shadow from her hat is obscuring her face.
"Are you okay?" Esther asks, hesitating, even though she can tell by the shift in Dunham's shoulders that she's heard her coming.
"They drowned my car," Dunham says flatly, and Esther glances at the still lake.
When Esther looks back at Dunham, she turns her face up and Esther can see streaks of blood across her forehead and cheek. She crouches down, putting her fingers under Dunham's chin to tilt her head up further.
Dunham bats her hand away, and Esther sighs. "This happens to you far too often."
"I'm fine. I need a drink."
What Dunham really needs, in Esther's opinion, is enough common sense to stay away from people who want to bash her head in, but Dunham never listens when she tells her to be careful.
Once back in Dunham's office, Esther steers Dunham towards her desk and takes off her fedora, flinging it down on her chair. It's not the worst injury she's patched up, not by far, but the wound on Dunham's forehead does look painful.
When Esther returns after fetching the first-aid kit, Dunham is already pouring herself a glass of whiskey.
"You shouldn't drink after hitting your head like--" Esther trails off as Dunham takes a large gulp. "Or just go ahead and drink, nevermind head injuries or common sense."
Dunham downs the rest of her drink in one quick sweep, letting her eyes stay closed and her head leaned back. Her hair and make-up is in disarray, and there are still specks of blood across her face.
Esther finds it hard not to stare.
Instead she occupies herself, wetting a piece of cloth and reaching up to clean away blood from the cut on Dunham's forehead. Dunham lets her, without a word, eyes remaining closed even as she leans down to give Esther better access.
When she is done, Esther pulls back and Dunham opens her eyes then, catching Esther's gaze and making her freeze in place. "What?" Esther says. "Do I have something on my face?"
She looks away, but Dunham grasps her hand, fingers soft against her palm, and though Dunham doesn't pull, Esther take a step closer. Then Dunham's lips are on Esther's wrist, lingering there, her hair tickling against Esther's arm.
For a moment, Esther forgets to breathe.
"Dunham," she says, intending to vocalize some kind of protest, because she's always the voice of reason in their relationship.
"It's Olivia. I like it when you call me that." Dunham never speaks like that, and when she looks up, still keeping her fingers wrapped around Esther's hand, there is something in her eyes that Esther doesn't recognize.
It's not even a conscious thing to take one step closer, between Dunham's legs, and Dunham lets one of her hands slide down to Esther's hip, and then further, to the small of her back.
When Dunham is perched on her desk like this, they are almost the same height.
There's unmistakable intent in Dunham's eyes, but when she doesn't act, Esther does it for her, sliding a hand to the back of Dunham's neck and pulling her close enough to let her lips graze Dunham's. It's not until then that she realizes she's been wanting to do that for some time.
Dunham follows when Esther pulls away, so Esther pushes forward again, tasting Dunham's lipstick and whiskey as she deepens the kiss. Her hand connects with the cold metal of Dunham's gun, and Dunham covers her hand with her own for a moment, before pulling the gun out of the holster and leaning down across the desk to put it in one of the drawers.
Sitting back up, Dunham idly undoes a button on Esther's blouse, and then another one, fingers brushing against skin.
"Do you know," Esther leans in to whisper in Dunham's ear, "this is not so unlike dancing."
*
Later, Dunham buttons her pants and shirt, putting her gun back in the holster. "Mind if I borrow your car?"
Esther frowns. "You're still going to pursue the case? Oh, what am I saying, of course you are."
"They put my car in a lake." At Esther's look, Dunham shrugs. "It was a good car."
Esther sighs, because she knows a lost cause when she sees it. She's probably a lost cause herself; it's starting to seem all the more likely that Dunham has ruined her for other jobs for life. "Don't get yourself killed."
Dunham doesn't answer, so Esther puts a hand on her arm, looking at her sternly. "Olivia," she tries, and it sounds odd coming from her own lips. "I'm serious. Be careful."
There's a pause, and then Dunham smiles, the way she does so rarely that Esther forgets every time how it makes her look entirely different. "I think you know me better than that."