Part 3: "The Rhapsody of Things As They Are", Fringe, NC-17, Redverse /Charlie/Olivia/Lincoln
Charlie is still in the hospital for final check ups on the arachnids when Liv arrives at work the next day. She looks about as tired and worn out as Lincoln feels.
It's good to have at least her back, but Lincoln feels Charlie's absence like a lost limb. They work on a new case and it's blissfully distracting, but it doesn't change the strange feeling that something isn't right. He wonders if Charlie felt the same way when Lincoln was in the nanite regeneration chamber. But that was before, right? Before the damn compound, before they found out that they actually, literally, needed each other to survive. Lincoln stares at the report in front of him, unseeing, and wonders if some residual effect of the compound stayed behind.
Farnsworth distracts him and for a few hours, he just doesn't have the time to think about anything but work. When the day slows to an end, he's back to thinking about Charlie and Liv. His thoughts turn in circles, over and over again, and when he catches himself rubbing his hands over his arms and Liv watching him, he decides to hell with it. Liv is at her table, her gaze directed at the screen but he can tell she's not reading any more than he is studying the reports. He steps out of Broyles' office (his office, damn it, his office, though he's sure it'll take months for him to get used to that), takes a deep breath and says, casual as he can manage, "How about movie night at my place after we're done here?"
Liv slants him a look from the corner of her eyes, then looks back at her screen. "Food?"
It's her usual question and he answer in the usual tone. "Sure."
"No, I mean, will you cook?"
That is an unusual question, at least for Liv. Lincoln knows that Charlie appreciates his cooking, but he's never quite sure where Liv is concerned. He knows she eats it, but he's never sure if she really likes it. He takes the preferable option and says, "Sure."
"Great," she says, not looking up from her screen. "I'll pick up Charlie from the hospital and swing by at six-thirty."
Lincoln tries to keep the smile from lighting up his face like a damn Christmas tree and fails. Farnsworth sees it and raises an eyebrow. He finds that he couldn't care less.
***
At a quarter past six p.m., the scent of fried bacon hangs heavy in the kitchen, as it sizzles and pops in the pan.
Cooking calms him. Lincoln's always loved the mundane task of chopping, mixing, stirring, of throwing things together and watching something edible come out in the end.
He'll never be a master chef, Lincoln knows; that's his mother: a regular Julietta Child. He remembers watching her in the kitchen when he was a kid, knives whirling and her dancing between pots and pans, barefoot on dark, glossy kitchen tiles. Always a scientist, she'd explained the chemical and physical backgrounds of every dish and every cooking method. He still thinks that it's the explanation for the cohesion between the layers of lime pie that sealed the deal on him deciding to be a scientist as well.
Mom didn't need to insist he learn to cook before he enlisted, he'd learned enough just by watching her and it has served him well. Not just him, though. Both Liv and Charlie have stopped by his place many times, ostensibly to talk shop, but somehow they never leave before dinner is served. He knows Charlie lives off takeout and on the weekends on one of his loud aunts' cooking, and Liv is pretty hopeless in the kitchen. He likes cooking for them. After they day they had yesterday, they all deserve some damn comfort food.
Lincoln's in the kitchen cracking eggs when the doorbell chimes. He startles at the sound - they're too early, damn it - and breaks the egg on the counter instead of over the bowl. A pool of gloopy liquid spreads over his counter and he curses under his breath. The doorbell chimes again just as he reaches for a paper towel to contain the mess. "It's open," he calls over his shoulder.
It's not like they don't have keys, though he appreciates the courtesy of them ringing the bell.
He concentrates on stopping the broken egg from dripping on the floor while Liv and Charlie let themselves in.
He hears appreciative noises coming closer and hurries to hide the little accident. It's not that he can't take the ribbing, but he likes to keep up the appearance of being competent in the kitchen. Some of the egg white runs down his fingers to his wrist when he transfers the dripping paper towel into the trash. He wipes his hands on the towel resting on his shoulder just as Liv rounds the corner to the kitchen.
In the pan, the chopped bacon sizzles louder and he has no time to acknowledge her.
"That smells to die for," Liv says. Her voice still sounds raspy from yesterday's shouting. She stands close to him and hooks her chin over his shoulder to look at the stove. Her hair falls over his shoulder and teases along his skin where the sleeve of his shirt ends. He has to fight the urge to lean back into her warmth and her scent, all fresh lemon and verbena, so he just nods his head toward the pan. "Everything is better with bacon."
She chuckles and her breath skitters along his skin and raises goosebumps. God, she needs to step away. Luck is not on his side, however, because she bends forward even more and inhales where his neck meets his shirt. "You smell nice, too. New soap?"
Of course it is. New deodorant, too. He took a long shower and extra long on personal grooming before they arrived and he'd be lying if he said he didn't hope she would notice. He hasn't factored in that she'd still be as willing to get close to him as she was yesterday, though, and, hell, it's a lot more difficult to take when he's not actively dying of a lack of oxytocin.
"And they start the cuddling without me again," Charlie comments as he walks into the kitchen. Lincoln wants to kiss him for providing a distraction. "A guy can feel left out here, people."
"You can always lean over his other shoulder," Liv says and the smirk is audible, even if Lincoln doesn't see it. "He has two."
"He also needs to be able to move," Lincoln says and uses the chance to take a step away from Liv, "so go sit somewhere. Have a drink."
Charlie pouts. "Dinner still not ready, mom?"
Lincoln flips him off, turns off the heat under the frying pan and starts to grate the parmesan. The ghost of Liv's warmth still lingers on his skin and he's glad Charlie didn't follow her suggestion. He's not sure he could have taken the double-whammy without doing something wildly inappropriate.
He hears them walk around his living room, hears their guns and cuffs clink against the polished wood of his table. Liv flops down on the couch with an oomph noise. He looks up but can't see all of her, just her bare feet hanging over the armrest. She has red nail polish on her toes. Lincoln smiles. Liv is such a no nonsense, combat-boots and cargo-pants type usually that these small idiosyncrasies just add to the mystery of Olivia Dunham. He also knows that she has a thing for fuzzy socks in the winter and is proud to be one of the few people who know about that. Not even Charlie knows about the blue ones with the polka dots.
Lincoln curses under his breath when he abrades part of his index finger and snaps his attention back to the grater he's handling.
Liv suddenly squeaks, "Watch it, worm boy." When Lincoln looks in their direction, her feet have disappeared and Charlie walks away from the couch, looking deceptively casual and innocent.
"I brought beer, you want one?" Charlie asks from the living room.
Lincoln nods toward the open bottle of red wine on the counter. "Not gonna mix."
Charlie walks closer and picks up the bottle to inspect the label. "Fancy."
"If you had any taste buds worth mentioning, you'd see that it goes better with pasta than beer." Lincoln makes a pouring gesture and Charlie takes the cue and re-fills Lincoln's glass.
"Too bad my lowly working class taste buds can't appreciate it."
Lincoln shrugs away the dig at his upbringing. "More for me." And it will be just for him. Liv never was much of a drinker to begin with and he doubts she'll start now. "Water or soda, Liv?" he calls into the living room where he sees her check out the newest additions to his record collection.
"Surprise me," she calls back.
The timer on the stove shrills. "Surprise her, Charlie," Lincoln orders. "I need to drain the pasta."
"Yes, boss."
"TV dinner or table?" Liv asks.
"You choose, just make it quick. Dinner's almost ready." It's not like he doesn't know what she'll choose.
"TV dinner, then."
"Just do me a favor and don't let Charlie choose the movie!" Lincoln calls over to them while he cracks fresh pepper into the egg mixture.
"Not in the mood for spaghetti western"? Liv laughs.
"Not while we're having spaghetti for dinner. I don't think my mind could take it."
"I'm right here, you know?" Charlie says.
"Great. Then you can come over here and help carry the plates."
Charlie heaves an exaggerated sigh. "Work, work, work."
"Should have worked harder for that promotion, then you could boss me around."
"Here I thought we were off duty."
"Ah, see, thing is: Linc likes bossing you around, Charlie. On duty or off."
Charlie shrugs and takes a long pull from the beer bottle he's holding. Lincoln watches his throat work as he swallows. "As Uncle Carlos always says, it ain't punishment if you like it." Charlie winks at him and something warm settles in Lincoln's stomach.
He grins and distracts himself by upending the pasta into a bowl, adding the bacon. Charlie reaches for the pitcher, waits for Lincoln's nod of approval and pours the eggs over the pasta. Lincoln starts to combine the ingredients and sees how Charlie and Liv creep closer to watch. It never ceases to amuse him how impressed they are by the simplest dishes.
"Was Carlos the one with the SM club?" Liv asks after a few seconds in which only the wet sounds of the pasta being swirled through the egg-parmesan mixture fill the kitchen.
"That was aunt Gilda," Charlie deadpans.
"Aunt Gilda who cooks for you on the weekends?"
"Nah," Charlie takes another pull from his beer, "that's aunt Florence."
"Enough with the family stories," Lincoln says. "Get the plates. Dinner's ready."
On the table, one of the cuffs starts to vibrate. They frown in unison. "They can't give us one night off?" Liv groans.
Lincoln knows that it's not his cuff, as his is synched with the in-apartment speaker system so he doesn't have to wear the cuff when he's at home. "Not mine, and they'd have contacted me first if we were needed," Lincoln reasons. "So, hey, Charlie, wanna tell Aunt Florence that you don't need dinner tonight? Liv can handle the plates in the meantime."
"Could be hers," Charlie says and ignores the dig.
"You'll know in a second."
Charlie walks over to the table and checks the cuffs. Judging from the fact that he picks it up and attaches it to his ear, it's his after all.
"Francis," Lincoln hears him answer.
"No five hour family talk!" Liv calls over to him and grins at Lincoln.
She holds the first plate out to him and makes an appreciative noise as the steaming Carbonara fills the plate. "You're a genius."
It's really nothing special, but that's not what she wants to hear, so he answers with a casual, "I know." He gestures toward the pepper grinder with his elbow. "You can add some more pepper if you like."
Liv winks at him. "Just in case 'some like it hot'?"
He rolls his eyes, amused. "Minus five points for the bad pun."
"Oh, come on."
She hands him the second plate, then the third and he fills them. Lincoln eyes the amount still left in the bowl and waves over to where Charlie is standing, his hand pressed against the cuff, listening. Lincoln lifts the third plate and gestures if Charlie wants more.
Charlie either ignores him or doesn't see. "Are you sure?" he asks. His voice is strangely flat and Lincoln lets the plate sink. Something about Charlie's body language is all wrong. Beside Lincoln, Liv snaps her attention to Charlie as well. The two plates she already has in her hands clink back against the counter.
"Yeah. Thanks." Charlie takes the cuff off his ear and places it back on the table with a carefulness as if it's made from spun glass. Even though he can only see Charlie's profile, Lincoln see that Charlie's pale, his breathing is shallow.
Lincoln sets the plate down on the counter as well, wipes his hand on the towel. "What's wrong?"
"Charlie?" Liv asks as well when Charlie doesn't answer.
Charlie turns to them then, a shell-shocked look on his face. A cold finger of dread runs down Lincoln's spine.
"Can - " Charlie breaks off, gulps in a huge breath of air, then tries again. "Can you come here?"
Lincoln notices that he and Liv walk in perfect synch and stand at something resembling parade rest to Charlie's left and right, flanking him, protective. Military training never leaves you, after all.
"What's wrong?" Liv asks. Her voice is low and gentle. It's her 'don't spook the traumatized witness' voice. Lincoln knows it well, knows how effective it is, he just never thought he'd ever hear it directed at one of their team.
Charlie shakes his head. He doesn't meet either of their eyes. "Can you do me a favor and pinch me?"
"What?" For a second, Lincoln wonders if Charlie's having him on, if this is some kind of elaborate prank, but Charlie' body language doesn't say prank. It leaves the other, less pleasant option: that Charlie is suffering from some kind of side-effect of yesterday's ordeal and might be having a mental break.
Charlie holds out his arms to Liv and Lincoln. "Pinch me. As hard as you can."
Liv throws Lincoln a look. Yeah, she's thinking the same thing.
"Charlie …"
"Just, please, okay. Don't ask. Just do it."
Lincoln shrugs against the uneasy tension in his shoulders and neck. "Fine. But don't hit me if it hurts."
Lincoln reaches out and sets his fingers against Charlie's biceps. The gentle current of contentment accompanying the touch is still there, just like yesterday and before Lincoln can lose himself in the sensation, he pinches a fold of skin, hard. Next to him, Liv is doing the same and Charlie yelps in pain. Lincoln twitches his hand back and exchanges another look with Liv.
When they look back at Charlie, he's rubbing his hands over the offended bits of skin and a smile breaks out over his face, so wide and so brilliant that it takes Lincoln's breath away.
The next thing Lincoln knows is Charlie rushing forward, setting his hands on Liv's cheeks and placing a long, smacking kiss on her lips, then turning to Lincoln and doing the same. Charlie's lips are warm and soft. He tastes of bitter hops and Liv's peppermint chapstick but before Lincoln can do what he desperately wants to do, which is to chase that taste, Charlie moves again, reels him and Liv in and nearly crushes them in a group hug.
They stand that way for several long blinks of an eye; Lincoln's hip pressed against the side of Liv's, Charlie's arms around both their waists, his hands holding on hard enough to cause bruises. Charlie's chuckling and besides the puffs of breath, Lincoln can feel warm moisture against the outside of his shoulder where Charlie's face is pressed against him.
"Okay," Liv's voice is muffled from where her face must be smooshed against Charlie's shoulder. "Not that I'm averse to a little team hugfest, but what the hell, Charlie?"
Charlie sobers a little and pulls back. He's radiant, despite the tear tracks on his cheeks. "That was Mona Foster."
Lincoln frowns. "Did she propose or something?"
Charlie's grin grows impossibly wider. "Nope."
"Ask you out?" Liv chimes in.
"Nope. Not anymore. I think I stopped being interesting about half an hour ago."
Lincoln feels his frown go deeper. "Okay, I'll bite: what happened half an hour ago?"
Charlie takes a deep breath, deep enough Lincoln worries his lungs might explode, then bursts out, "They didn't find any more arachnids in my blood." He rocks back and forth on his heels. "They're gone. For good."
Liv is a whirlwind, she acts faster than Lincoln can even process what he just heard. "Oh my God, Charlie!" she squeals and wraps Charlie in a bear hug. Charlie grins, spins her, even picks her up off the floor for a second.
When he sets her down again, Liv's smile is a brilliant as his.
His mind, normally something he prides himself in knowing works faster than most other people's, is lagging behind. "No more worm jokes, huh?" Lincoln asks, knowing it's lame and not enough. He has a hard time coming to terms with what Charlie told them, no matter how much he wants it for Charlie. He's happy for Charlie, he just doesn't get it. Foster searched for a cure ever since Charlie was infected and never found one. The inhibitor was her best shot. So why find a cure now?
"So sorry, boss." Charlie's smile is brilliant and Lincoln knows that the why doesn't matter to Charlie. It shouldn't matter to him, either. This is not the time to doubt. This is the time to be happy with Charlie. And he is. Damn it, he is.
Lincoln rolls his eyes. "C'mere before that grin outshines the sun." This time, he spins Charlie.
Charlie starts complaining that he's getting dizzy, so they start the movie and start on the pasta, which has grown cold. No one cares.
Lincoln can't help but sneak glances at Charlie from the corner of his eyes. He doesn't know when he last looked so damn happy.
***
"Man, that was good," Liv says and swipes her index finger over the remnants of sauce on her plate.
"Want some more?" Linc asks.
"God, no. If I eat one more bite, I'm going to explode all over your living room," Liv declares and lets her plate glide to the floor next to the couch. She bites back a grin when she looks along the floor and sees Charlie's and Linc's plates on the ground as well, a neat line only interrupted by bare feet. Plate, feet, plate, feet. She curls her toes into the edge of the carpet. They're cold, but she's too comfortable here, pressed against Linc on the couch, she's not willing to get up and get socks.
"Mmmh," Linc says. He leans forward to reach for his glass of wine. "Aliens, the Fringe Division version. With flying spaghetti monsters." He takes a sip. "Has potential."
Liv gives his shoulder a gentle shove and he shoots her a scandalized look when the wine sloshes in his glass. "That's the gratitude?" he asks. "Here you have a boss who provides you with food and shelter and offers riveting entertainment, and what does he get?"
"Awwwww. Poor boss man."
Linc has a beautiful pout. Liv only wishes she'd never seen it before, that way, it might still be effective. She takes pity on him though - shares a look with Charlie over Linc's head and together, they bend forward and simultaneously place a smacking kiss on Linc's cheeks.
Linc goes stock-still for a few seconds, then she feels rather than sees his cheeks dimple with the widest smile. "I knew you loved me."
Charlie pulls back with an eye-roll, Liv does as well and swats Linc's belly with the back of his hand. "Only for your cooking."
"You'll all fall for me eventually. It's inevitable," Linc says, the smile still lingering in his eyes. "I can wait."
From the corner of her eyes, Liv sees Charlie wince and wishes she hadn't seen it or could ignore Linc's words.
She remembers when Linc kissed her, two years ago. The kiss back then, when he didn't know Frank was in the picture had been a revelation, something she'd had to compartmentalize to keep working with him. She was grateful that the moment she'd told him, Linc had stepped back immediately and had never made another pass or even a suggestive comment. She knows that he never stopped waiting for her, though. His continued devotion makes her afraid to fall off the pedestal he's put her on.
"Good thing he has no ego to speak of," Charlie comments, dry as dust and provides a welcome distraction. "Wouldn't he be just impossible to be around if he had?"
"See?" Linc says, pointing at Charlie. "Told you. He loves me." He leans back and rests his head against the couch, sprawling enough that he's touching both Charlie and her from shoulder to knee. He still has his wine glass in hand and takes the occasional sip while he watches, engrossed, as Ohio Jones peers into the Well of Souls and mutters "Bugs. Why'd it have to be bugs?"
"I had nightmares about that scene for weeks when I was a kid," Liv confesses. She turns away from the screen so she's sitting at a ninety degree angle to Linc and pulls her knees up to her chin.
Linc grins against the rim of his glass. "Me, too."
"Doesn't seem to faze you anymore."
He shrugs. "The fictional bugs aren't as scary as the real ones. And, hey, you know what they're not?" Charlie asks. He doesn't wait for either Linc or her to answer, just blurts out, "Spiders!" His grin lights up the room and Liv can't help but grin with him. Of course he's not over it yet. Why the hell should he? He lived with the damn spiders for over a year, so he can show his happiness about their disappearance for at least as long where she's concerned. She high-fives him over Linc's head.
"Hey, speaking of which," Linc asks and turns to Charlie, "How did they get rid of them in the end?"
Liv digs her toes into the couch. Linc can't shut off his brain. It something she usually loves about him, but right now, she wishes he'd just shut up and accept that Charlie's okay.
"Why don't you make a date with Foster and ask her all about it?" Charlie answers, unperturbed.
"You're not curious why they never managed before and suddenly they do?"
Liv curls her fingers around her ankles and forces a curious look on her face. "Yeah, Charlie. Don't you want to know?" She doesn't want to know the answer, but she knows she needs to play along lest she compromise herself.
Charlie shrugs. "As long as they stay gone, I don't give a rat's ass, to be honest."
Liv realizes, amused, that this is Charlie to a T. Some things in his life were beyond his power to change. He never moped about the spiders (okay, not much, and not for long), just accepted them as part of his life and moved on, no questions asked. Questions don't help Charlie. He sees no sense on beating himself up. He accepts the good things in his life with the same pragmatism. Well, and with a lot of bouncing and that brilliant, contagious smile.
The couch moves a little when Charlie shifts. "We've seen some weird shit already. You ever wonder what else is going to come?"
Linc lets himself be side-tracked. It's a conscious decision on his part; she knows that they never would have got Linc thrown off the scent under normal circumstances. "I try not to," he answers, but sounds distracted. From the corner of her eyes, she sees that Linc's hand is on Charlie's thigh, a simple touch that stops Charlie's leg from bouncing. For about five seconds. Linc breaks into a grin. "You're going to bounce off the couch."
"I'm spider-free and happy," Charlie states and grins impossibly wider. "Sue me."
"Wouldn't dream of it, Charlotte," Linc says.
Charlie rolls his eyes. "If I never hear that joke again, it'll be too soon. Or any rendition of 'Itsy Bitsy Spider'."
Liv grins as she reflects. "We gave you a lot of shit over it, huh?"
"Wouldn't have had it any other way," Charlie says. "Trying to deflect the jokes kept me sane."
"You know what's nice about the whole thing?"
"You mean besides me having my life back?"
"Yes, Mr. Happy, besides that." Liv shakes her head over how adorably happy Charlie is. "I actually meant that it's a pretty good feeling to know that we'll always find a way to kick the ass of any weird thing that tries to find trouble here."
"As long as it has an ass."
"We'll find something to kick. Together."
"Awwwwww," Linc and Charlie chorus.
Liv rolls her eyes and shoves her cold toes under Linc's thigh in retribution.
"God, woman," he yelps, "do you have ice in your veins?"
She gives him an insolent smirk and wriggles her toes further under his thigh. He squirms but doesn't push her away.
"Let's just go back to the movie. And, Charlie?" She pushes up a little to look at him. Linc's hand, she realizes, is still on Charlie's leg. "I'm still taking bets on when Linc is going to fall asleep."
"Hey," Linc says, "I'm awake. Especially with these ice-blocks under my ass."
"Ten bucks says before the Ark opens."
Linc sits up and sets his now empty glass on the table next to their guns and cuffs. "That's my favorite part, I'm not going to sleep through that."
She ignores him. "Twenty bucks says before the kiss on the tramp steamer."
"Hah." Linc drops back between them, crosses his arms over his chest, mulish, and settles into place. Her feet are now truly under his ass and they're warming up quick. She fights the devilish urge to find out what would happen if she'd wriggle her toes now. "I'm going to collect from both of you."
"Uh-huh."
She takes pity on him and changes position so she can watch the screen again. There's room to the side of the couch and she could put some space between them, but she looks over to where Charlie leans into Linc and decides to hell with it. She cozies up to Linc's side and settles in to watch the rest of the movie with not an inch between them. A quick look to the side shows her that Linc's hand is back on Charlie's thigh. Charlie's hand is resting next to it. There's maybe a hair's breadth of space between them.
***
Linc has drifted off by the time Ohio reaches Cairo with the Ark; his head on her shoulder is a heavy but pleasant weight. Liv exchanges a look with Charlie and makes a pay up gesture. They share a grin. With wine or without, Linc always is the first to fall asleep during their movie nights and he usually ends up on either Charlie's or her couch because he is just too out of it to go back to his place. Even Frank had accepted the extra toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet. She thinks that she might as well take it out of the cabinet now, put it where Frank's had been. She has a feeling that Linc will be staying over more often if the baby is born. Charlie, too. Maybe she should invest in a fold-out couch.
Linc's head lolls from her shoulder to her chest and she rests her cheek against the top of his head. She breathes his scent. The cool, almost aquatic scent of his soap has blended with his skin and it's more rounded and warmly masculine now. His hair is free of product for once and because of that, soft as a baby's. She thinks that the softness must be attributed to the re-growth after the burns healed. Liv hates that, contrary to what she promised him when he lay on that bridge, charred to a cinder, she wasn't there when he was recuperating.
She remembers the night in the hospital after the incident, the awful hours of waiting, fearing the worst whenever the door to the ER opened and a nurse or a doctor darted through at a run. It had taken nearly five hours before the doctors had finally announced that Linc would make it through. These hours rank among the top five worst memories in her entire life. It had also been Frank's last night and she hadn't left Linc's side, hadn't even called, just sent a quick text. Maybe that had been a sign. Frank hadn't replied to the text.
Liv pushes the memories of Frank aside and rubs her cheek slowly against Linc's head. She smiles into the warmth of his hair. She's glad he's here, alive and whole. She might even forgive him if he starts to drool on her. Maybe.
"Hey," Charlie murmurs. His voice is warm and at the cadence that always gives her goosebumps. She looks up and finds him with his head resting against the couch, watching Linc and her from under half-lowered lids with a smile that's not a smirk yet. Bedroom eyes, she thinks and feels warmth pool in her stomach. She's glad when Charlie says, "Think cuddle bear here will growl if you squeeze his belly?"
Liv fights against a surprised snort of laughter.
"Nah, he'll puke on you," Linc mumbles, apparently not as fast asleep as she thought. The warm puff of air accompanying the P goes through Liv's shirt and bra and raises goosebumps along her skin.
"Gross," she says and pushes his head away from her chest.
He leans against her hand and doesn't move a muscle to stay upright on his own. The look he slants her is pure mischief and he looks so young that she wonders how this imp ever became her boss. "Admit it, you love it."
"The grossness?" she asks. "Hell, no."
"What then?"
Liv looks toward the ceiling and pretends to think hard.
"Don't feed his ego," Charlie warns.
"After the day we had yesterday, I think all our egos can do with a little feeding," Linc says. He leans back against the couch and slants a look at Charlie. "Here, I'll even go first: I like your stupid voice, Charles Francis. Even more when you've had a whisky or five."
Hell, Liv's willing to sign that. She's not going to admit it out loud, ever, but in some of the times Frank had been out on saving-the-population trips, she's had some rather vivid dreams featuring Charlie and that voice.
Charlie looks like he's halfway to a good-natured insult but, atypically, he stays silent and ducks his head.
The grin feels as if it's going to split her face. "Awwwww, look at that. Is that a blush, Charlie?"
"Nah. Just wondering what was in that Carbonara."
"We all ate the same, so if it's a compliment-your-partners-serum, I guess you'll just have to say something nice as well."
Charlie rolls his shoulders and stretches his legs. "I'm gonna need a drink if you want to play that game." He eyes Linc's drinks cabinet.
"Afraid to show your softer side, big guy?"
"Who says I have one?"
Liv shares a quick look with Linc, then they move in unison - jumping Charlie and tickling him. It's a secret Liv and Linc will take to their grave, but Charlie Francis? Is possibly the most ticklish person on the planet. He squirms beautifully and squeaks even better, breathless and broken off.
Charlie is more ruthless than Linc in his fighting style though, and neither Linc nor her are trying too hard, so he has them immobilized on the couch within minutes without breaking too much of a sweat.
Linc and Liv are lying at an awkward angle both with their heads on Charlie's lap, sprawled to his left and right. Charlie's hands are keeping them in place, heavy and warm.
"Next movie," Charlie declares, "since you're obviously awake enough for one. And I'm choosing."
Liv and Linc groan in unison. That usually means spaghetti westerns they've seen a hundred times and Charlie offering badly timed voice-overs.
"Should have thought before you decided to tickle-attack me."
Linc cranes his head so he can look at her and mouths, "Tickle-attack."
Liv dissolves into helpless laughter and her head slips off Charlie's lap and to the couch with a thump.
"You okay?" Linc asks, his tone concerned.
"Fine," she says, "Fine." And she is.
Charlie rests his hands back on their heads once he's put on the next movie. They're a pleasant, warm weight. He glides his fingertips through Liv's hair, presses against her scalp in small, contained motions that are almost a massage and she melts into the couch. Judging from the contented sounds coming from Linc, Charlie's doing the same to him.
Liv feels warm and comfortable in a way she hasn't since before she went over to the other side. She belongs here; she can see herself growing old and wrinkly with Charlie and Linc and still bickering and teasing. It's a good, comfortable knowledge.
Linc's left hand has dropped to the floor by Charlie's feet. Liv shifts a little and reaches out to take it and lace her fingers with his. His touch is grounding, warm. Linc strokes his index finger over the back of her hand. Liv doesn't move again for the remainder of the movie, cocooned in Charlie's and Linc's touch.
***
The credits roll at last and Charlie looks down at Linc, who still hasn't moved his head from Charlie's leg or his hand, still laced with Liv's, from where it's dangling in front of Charlie's shin. Charlie's leg is numb, his ass has fallen asleep, and nature is calling.
He doesn't move, though, because they're a sight, Liv and Linc. Liv's loose red hair is a stark contrast to the tan couch. Where the top of her head touches Charlie's leg, there's a warm point of contact between them. It looks uncomfortable but he guesses it's not, or her hand wouldn't still be laced with Linc's. They both have their eyes closed and Charlie can take his time looking at them. Linc's ridiculously long eyelashes - and oh, yes, Charlie has teased him about that countless times - fan his cheeks, the long past three-day scruff is on its best way to becoming soft instead of scratchy. He looks at Linc's slightly parted lips and feels his face heat when he thinks about his impromptu kiss earlier and about what Liv said the day before. He'd answered glibly enough to mask what he was really feeling, but he wasn't bullshitting. He has thought about it. God knows both Liv and Linc are attractive as hell, and he has wondered sometimes how he got landed with two such damn good-looking partners, if the universe is trying to tell him something. But what it boils down to is not the obvious attraction, it's the trust. He knew exactly what Liv meant when she said that she would rather be with them than a stranger.
To Charlie, sex used to be relaxing. A quick fuck here and there, no strings attached, hell, he was with Fringe Division, right, they're bona fide heroes, so there are always enough admirers. Male, female, it didn't matter much to him as long as they had brains to go with the looks. It changed when he met Sonia: he stopped flirting, even stopped looking. He thought he'd found his place, with her, with Fringe, with his team.
Then his life changed from 'before arachnids' to 'after arachnids' and his private life went the way of the Dodo. He doesn't blame Sonia for leaving him. In fact, he has banned Sonia from his mind and is still ashamed that he ever told Liv and Linc about the whole clusterfuck with the kid he never have the chance to know. There's the thing about Liv and Linc, though: they didn't pity him. They didn't say anything at all, just stayed with him, through the drunken sobbing and the inevitable puking afterward. They were there in the morning to make fun of his hangover. They never talked about it again, never referenced it. Charlie has never been so grateful to and never felt as safe with anyone else in his life.
So, yeah, when Liv said she wouldn't have had a problem with them going through the fallout from the administered oxytocin, Charlie agreed. They already trust each other on a level where throwing sex in the mix would - at least for him - not be a big deal. He'd welcome it, if only to live out a couple of fantasies he's entertained during long sleepless nights. He wants to know if Linc's ass feels as good as it looks and if Liv is as flexible as she appears. He got a taste of them both today and he wants more.
He's always cut down thoughts like this with a reminder that the spiders had forever killed his sex life. He promised himself that he'd never put a partner at risk. He came out on the other side of careful and went straight to paranoid, cutting out every physical contact apart from touch.
That no longer holds, though, does it? He's free of the spiders, which means that he's free of his self-imposed restrictions. And he does remember only too well how Liv's and Linc's lips had felt against his when he'd kissed them earlier. In the most joyous moment of his life, he'd just acted, hadn't thought; he'd probably have kissed Secretary Bishop had he been there. It could have been an innocent, spur of the moment thing that no one would ever speak of again. However, he'd seen the way Liv's eyes had closed, had heard the muted noise she'd made. That hadn't been disgust. It had sounded damn well like a whimper. He'd felt the way Linc had tried to move with him when he'd stopped the kiss, like he'd wanted to recapture Charlie's lips. These small signs tell him that neither of them would push him away if he reached out, and hell if that doesn't get his blood pumping. He just wants more. He's a stupid idiot who always wants more.
He shakes his head. Liv was being facetious yesterday, most likely. Better not to dwell on things he can't have. The likelihood of all three of them tumbling into bed together and making it work is somewhere in the region that Farnsworth's statistical impossibilities.
Liv and Linc, though (good distraction, keep going, Francis) … he can see them having a shot at something good. Hell, after Liv's break up, if Linc plays his cards right and doesn't push, Liv might see that Linc would be good for her and she for him. Better than good. He wants that for Linc. Poor kid has been pining for Liv for the past two years and it's growing more and more difficult to just watch from the sidelines and keep his mouth shut. Charlie has sworn to himself never to meddle with the personal lives of his team, though, so he won't play yenta.
Linc's hand drops to the floor and he turns his head on Charlie's knee so that his breath now goes directly through the jeans to Charlie's skin. Charlie rolls his eyes at his body's reaction - a weird mixture of numbness, pins and needles, arousal and, man, I gotta take a leak.
"Come on, cuddle bear, off to bed with you," Charlie says and nudges Linc's shoulder.
Linc doesn't move. Of course he doesn't. Charlie knows this part, it's well-rehearsed.
"Liv?"
"Do we have to play sandman again?" Liv's voice sounds low and rough, looks like she's been sleeping too. Heretics, Charlie thinks. One does not sleep through Once Upon A Time In The West. Sophia Loren is a revelation every time, and Clint Eastwood is a God as Flute.
"Looks like it. Unless we want to leave him here."
She pushes herself up into a sitting position and swipes hair from her face. Her gaze goes to Linc's head still resting on Charlie's knee and a grin brightens her face. "He's been there the entire time?"
"Yep," Charlie says. "My ass might never wake up again."
"You could have just pushed him off. It's not as if he'd break." She doesn't mention that she never let go of Linc's hand either.
Charlie shrugs. "Nah. Even mighty boss man needs a break every now and then."
"You like it, don't you?" Liv's grin grows wider. "You old softie, you."
He shrugs again and sets his hand on Linc's head. Soft strands of hair glide through his fingers when he traces Linc's skull. It's true. He likes it. Aside from the earlier thoughts of potential sex, he likes having both of them close and already feels the lack of contact between Liv and him like phantom pain.
"Hey, Charlie?"
"Hm?"
Liv takes his free hand and presses a kiss against his knuckles. "Thanks."
Charlie feels a blush creep up his neck. Her lips are warm. For an idle second, he wants to re-learn how they'd felt against his own. "For what?"
"For putting up with us." She takes a deep breath. "For not judging me."
Ah. There's the real deal. "Not my place," he says, and realizes that it sounds harsher than he means it. "I don't have a reason to. You're still you. With a hitchhiker or without." He flashes her a grin. "And, remember, I'm the expert on surprise hitchhikers." Not anymore, he reminds himself, the smile growing real, but the statement still holds true.
"It scares me, Charlie." Liv averts her gaze and looks down at Linc. She lifts her hand and sets it against the crown of Linc's head, strokes absent-minded. "It scares the hell out of me."
Charlie doesn't reply. It's not that he can't but he knows she doesn't need it.
"I have no idea how a kid is going to change my life, or if I can even have it. Look at what happened this week: First crazy bug guy, then the cuddle hormone incident. Stuff like that can happen every day. I could get pulled into a vortex tomorrow and never come out. But it's not just me that'll be injured or even dead. It'll be the kid, too."
Her fingers touch his on Linc's head and he presses his fingertips against hers to still them.
She shakes her head and laughs, ducks her head. "You know what the most idiotic thing that keeps going through my mind is?"
"What?"
"I, ah …" She exhales on a forced laugh. "The last time I had sex was the day Frank proposed. In my future there are swollen feet and a huge belly and then diapers and baby food and …" she trails off and laughs again, embarrassed. "On top of everything that's fucked up about the situation is the thought that no one's going to want to touch me again. That I'm automatically a mom. A neuter."
Charlie grins, despite the seriousness of her words. "The day you'll stop being sexy is the day you're dead." He means it, too.
"Charlie … "
"Seriously, Liv. You're gorgeous. Always will be." He lets a smirk grow wide on his face. "And, hey, we can always put in booty calls if no one else comes knocking."
"My savior," she says with an eyeroll, but he doesn't miss the way her gaze flickers over his face, open and … interested.
Charlie swallows. He meant it as a joke, but if he's honest with himself, maybe it was only half of one. He can consider her now. Hell, he could lick her open and make her scream in pleasure; they could fuck all night and he wouldn't even have to worry about getting her pregnant. He wets his suddenly dry lips and sees Liv's gaze follow his tongue. Holy shit, this is weird. He can't decide yet if it's the good or bad kind of weird. All the times he's thought about it … He's never thought he'd ever have the chance. He's never thought she'd be interested. And he's never fantasized about it without Linc in the equation.
The universe must have a sick sense of humor, because Linc chooses that moment to move in his sleep and his head brushes against Charlie's dick, and, yeah, okay, someone is definitely having a giant laugh on his behalf up there.
He's not sure if he's even reading Liv's reaction right. Maybe she's just tired. And he really, really needs to take a piss. Now, if he ever does make it to the toilet, he's going to have a bitch of a time pissing with a hard-on.
No rules in love and war, Charlie thinks and pokes Linc's side where he knows Linc is the most ticklish. Right on cue, Linc sits up like a pocket knife snapping open, bleary-eyed. "The hell?"
"Gotta take a leak," Charlie says and flees from the couch.
Behind him, Linc groans. The couch squeaks when he drops back against it.
***
on to part 4