An Impulse

Olivia's phone buzzes in her pocket as Walter takes the last of his prescribed and legal medication for the night. Checking the call-back number before answering, she frowns in concern.


"Agent Dunham, it's Lin... Agent Lee... Lincoln, from the other side," then she hears muffled muttering. "Hi."

"Agent Lee, is everything alright?"

"Uh. Yeah. I'm at The Bridge. I was just dropping off some files from our recent joint-op and was wooondering..." he trails off. She detects a note of sheepish embarrassment in his tone, but couldn't really be sure. "Actually, I was wondering if you had a spare hour or so."

She looks around and found Walter sitting up, right in the middle of his bed, with blankets folded up to his lap, flicking through the odd-numbered channels on his new television. He barely notes her presence. She checks her watch, "Um, sure. Did you need me to look over the report?"

"The report? No! Liv- She- It's done," he clears his throat. "It's actually a little stupid, and you can definitely say no, but-"

"Agent Lee-"

"Lincoln. And I was wondering if you maybe wanna show me what kinda bars you have on your side."

For a long moment Olivia doesn't know what to say. There are a hundred reasons why she should say no, and they were all there in her head, but she is so startled by the invitation that she is unable to focus on one or two, and come out and say it. "Uh, yeah, I suppose-"

"Turn the light off as you go, dear," Walter sleepily tells her.

"Good night, Walter. See you tomorrow," she tells the old man, then to Lincoln, "I'm at the lab. If you can wait..."

"Sure. I'll wait."

Impulsive Actions Lead To Questionable Decisions

"So, what am I gettin' you?" he asks with a cocky grin that she can't ever relate to the other Agent Lee.

"Double shot of whisky," at the surprise that crosses his face, she raises an eyebrow. "What?"

Half a dozen shots later and a few more bottles of beer, Agent Dunham is a little less guarded, a tad more talkative and all too ready with her smile. Lincoln himself is more than halfway to being drunk, but he notices that she's more like Liv now. The way she cocks her head to the side, and that mischievous glint in her eyes even as she gives back exactly, if not more, than what he throws at her. What started out as an impulsive invitation, a challenge, has actually become fun.

Lincoln almost slips off his stool as he gets up. Olivia makes a grab for him, laughing. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm great. I'm perfect," he ignores her disbelieving smirk and reaches for her hand. "C'mon, let's dance."

"Dance? Here, now?"

"Oh, don't tell me you don't dance," he gives her a disappointed look.

"No, I can dance," she tugs at his hand and points to a small space between the tables and the old juke box. "The question is, can you - drunk as you are?"

"I'm not drunk," Olivia's hand is smaller than he expected, he peers at it as he tucks it against his chest. Liv's hand must also be small. Strange, Lincoln thought to himself with a smile, small hands and big guns. "Really, I'm not drunk."

"So, you go drinking and dancing often after a case?" she repeats it twice before he looks up at her.

"Ah, we used to. Charlie's married now. It's that honeymoon stage, I guess, and Mrs Bug Lady-"

"Bug Lady?" she snorts. "That's mean."

"It's not- and you're laughing, so you're mean too!"

"What about her?" Olivia is still smiling, but he can see an edge has crept into it, even with so much alcohol. "Does she dance too?"

Lincoln smiles ruefully, "She dances with Frank."

"Frank," a small pause, and then she leans back, dangerously close to making him fall. "And how do you feel about that?"

"How do I feel about what?" as she rolls her eyes, he continues. "I don't feel anything about anything. Anyone. Now, let's just dance. I don't wanna talk anymore."

Midway through a third song, she looks up at him. His eyes are closed. The man has ridiculously long lashes, she thinks to herself. Her eyes drift lower and she tilts her head to the side. He has dimples; she'd noticed it from the other Agent Lee when he'd yelled at her.

"You're humming," Lincoln opens his eyes. "And you're staring."

"Am not."

"Are too."

She crinkles her nose up at him, "What are you? Five?"

"No. Which is a very good thing," then he bends his head and kisses her. For the second time that night Olivia is blindsided. She starts to move back in protest, but he holds her in place. "It's just a kiss."

"It's not a good idea."

"Do you have a Frank too?"

"No," she shakes her head. "I don't have anyone."

"Then one more kiss," he grins, perhaps already deeming the battle won.

And for the first time in three years Olivia defiantly ignores the voices in her head. She kisses him back. Slow at first, then deeper and more urgent.

He stops shuffling them along to the music. The alcohol, spurred on by her kisses – yes, plural – has definitely reached his head and is making it difficult for him to feel his feet. Lincoln stumbles backwards and lands on another bar stool at an empty table.

"Enough?" she asks, face flushed.

"We don't have that word in my universe," he whispers in her ear trailing kisses down her neck.

She laughs, eyes bright, happy, "You really think that line's going to work for you?" in answer, he strokes the side of her face, and gently runs his thumb down her lips and kisses her again.


She lifts her head up and turns, "What?"

"What what?"

"Someone called- Did you hear that?" she looks behind her, then around the almost empty bar.

"Olivia," she turns back to him. "I didn't hear anything. But maybe it's time to go?"

For a moment she just looks at him, he can practically hear the gears turning. She cocks her head to the side and bites her lip. And perhaps that reminds her of the kiss, because she smiles and raises an eyebrow. "What time do you have to get back?"

Questionable Decisions Have Consequences

A phone is ringing. No. Her head hurts, and maybe it's her ears that are ringing. She cracks open an eye. The room spins to the left. There's definitely something ringing.

"Peter, where's my phone?"

"Lincoln," comes the muffled reply from under a pillow. "And it's probably under the bed."

But the ringing had stopped, and so in between willing herself to move and not actually moving, Olivia falls back to sleep.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.

"There's someone at the door," Lincoln pushes himself up to an elbow.

"What time is it?" Olivia groans.

"Two," jerking upright, she looks at the windows, and sure enough, a gap in the curtains show a sunny day outside. Lincoln continues, "The sunlight is a different color here."

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

"Damn it," Olivia throws the sheets off her and is about to storm to the door when she realizes she's naked. "Oh."

Lincoln grins. She glares at him.

"Not a word. Not one word," she grabs the nearest shirt on the floor and throws it on. She can hear muffled voices outside, and a key scraping the lock.

The door swings open just as she's about to reach for it.

"Olivia!" Astrid exclaims. "I- We were worried. You weren't answering your-" she cuts herself off as she notices Agent Dunham's unusual state of undress. "Ah."

"We called a dozen times, and naturally when you didn't answer, even Col. Broyles agreed we could use-" her legs are paler than her hands. It's the suits. Agent Lee realizes a second too late what he'd been staring at. He snaps his eyes back up to see her glaring at him. He turns red. Then she's blushing. What's that about.

"Well, this is awkward," a familiar voice behind her says.

"Lincoln," Olivia snaps in warning.



Astrid starts to laugh.