So I'm not sure whether to leave this here as a one-shot, or end it with some other ideas I have, but it's more likely that I'll leave it, unless it's under demand.
Disclaimer: no inFRINGEment intended.
Hope you enjoy
'Birthday'. I think to myself bitterly as I watch the news on a low definition TV in the sleazy motel where I'm staying. My thoughts trail off to the year before, when Walter, Astrid, and... and Olivia had brought in a cake and sung happy birthday. As embarrassed as I'd been, I'd felt at home.
It's not the same this year. I'm alone, and they're together. The betrayers are probably still working on their pathetic attempt at saving this doomed hole they call their world. I'll survive when their pitiable effort fails, and I guess I'll rejoin my side, my universe. I stifle pain at this last thought; my emotional battle-wounds are still too raw to be churned by thinking.
I grab a shot glass and fill it with whiskey, downing it and repeating my action a few more times until it's not the pain I'm repressing but an alcoholic kickback. The aftertaste makes me grimace, so this time I mix the drink, before sitting back down and go back to flipping through the channels angrily. Nothing can hold my interest any more.
Part of me wants to go back.
Part of me wants to go to the other side.
My indecision leaves me hanging here, torn between my real home and my destined home. Realistically, I know I can't go back to the other side without going back anyway, I'd need to know how to cross there, and be able to use Walter's device, and plus, I've been gone from there for years, no one would know me, no one would care. I'm just a missing child from the past, long since assumed dead. I wouldn't know what to expect, and that scares me. 'But' I reason with myself 'Isn't that what made Fringe Division so interesting?'
No. She was what made Fringe Division so interesting. I know that to be true in the depths of my heart, no matter how much bravado and anger is hiding it. I allow myself to think for a second, to feel. These moments are so rare, moments where I let my heart rule over my head, that they overwhelm me completely. This one is no different. I take my breaths rapidly in line with gasps of anger. Tears threaten to spill from my eyes; betraying me just like everything else I trusted. I stop them. Too far. Too far into the pit of my soul my emotion has dug today.
"Happy Birthday" I sigh, wiping away the salty fluid that had just started to drizzle from my eye. I jump as my cell phone rings. It's been a while since they've bothered trying to call. I check the phone, and sure enough it's a sadly familiar name flashing on the caller ID. My heart, still vulnerable from its escape, yearns for me to answer, to hear her voice.
Against my better judgement, I vow I will not speak, but I will hear her. I push down on the answer button and hold the phone to my ear. She hasn't realised the phone is connected until the dial tone fails to repeat. I hear a sharp intake of breath before the sweet sounds I recognise as her speech.
"Peter?!" she whispers. "Where are you? Peter?"
I say nothing.
"Peter please... please Peter. You don't understand, we need to talk!"
This time I can't help but let the tears spill. Her voice is compelling. I want to keep listening, need to keep listening, to know she still cares. Her anxiety is clear in her tone, but I hold my breath, desperate not to let her know how much each frantic syllable she utters shatters me.
"Peter" she sighs, accepting I won't talk back. "Happy birthday..."
This causes a sob to escape my lips, but anger soon boils after, as much as I miss her, I'm still so angry.
"I know you're hurt" I can almost see the sympathy on her face. "I'm so so sorry... but you don't understand Peter"
"Don't tell me what I don't understand" I spat down the phone, before I threw it against the wall, my alcohol-powered system leading my actions. It shattered, and I instantly regretted it. I wouldn't be able to fuel my selfishness without it. But that was it. No more hearing her, no more thinking about her.
I let out a sob as the phone disconnected. At least I knew he was alive. A tap on the shoulder brought me back to the current; Astrid was grinning. They had a location. All I needed was a plan. My heart started to work again and my mind felt more hopeful now I knew we had something to go on. It'd been weeks since I seen or heard anything from him, and hearing his voice, no matter how angry, was a huge breakthrough. Especially since they'd been able to track it.
Plus, he spoke; he still cares enough that I can get to him.
Perhaps we have a chance.
I pick up my phone and call Broyles, my emotions a mixture of depression and delight. I tell him the news, and we debate the best way to go about picking him up. Broyles suggests sending a few extra FBI, just to stop him if he bolts. I agree, but demand that they remain outside while I talk to him.
A while later, and I'm standing outside the door to his motel room. I draw in a breath sharply, all too aware of who I'm about to approach. The FBI are all outside, covering windows and the multiple motel entrances. One man, an agent I don't know, stands at the other end of the corridor to Peter's room, prepared in bullet-proofed clothing which I had assured Broyles was not necessary.
I pick the lock as quietly as I can, and push the door ajar, sneaking in, terrified. The first thing I notice after the dimly lit room is a strong smell of spirits, and I know all too well how much Peter can drink when he wants to. I see his head from the couch, sat watching a show; perhaps that one with the plane crash onto a strange island. My mind registers is, desperately trying to find something else to focus on to prevent my heart throbbing painfully at the sight of the man who, if I'm honest with myself, holds my heart.
I step forward, a bit more loudly this time, and I see his head stir uneasily. He looks to his sides, and satisfied nothing is there, he turns his head to look behind, eyes widening as he notices me. He remains for a few seconds as we regard each other. I note his drunken, tired eyes, dishevelled hair, and thick stubble. I move closer to him, coming to kneel in front of the couch so we are opposite each other. He looks at me sadly. I can tell by the fact that he is still sitting how much he has drunk, that and the tellingly empty whiskey bottle add to my estimation. I put a hand on his curled up knee, and this distracts him. His gaze moves from me to the hand, and then back.
"Hey" I whisper quietly, aware how close I am to breaking down.
"Liv?" he asks slowly, and I can see traces of tears brewing on the surface of his eyes. I move my hand from his knee to his cheek and lean closer, bowing my head into his shoulder, recognising the scent I associate with him behind the alcohol odour. He wraps an arm around my neck and I smile into him, now clutching him tightly with my spare hand. I have to remind myself that he's drunk, so his reactions aren't the same as how they would be usually, but I can't help but grin as he responds as tightly.
"Come with me?" I ask him, still in the embrace.
"Livia" he groans, and I know to give him some time before I try to breech the topic again. I climb up onto the couch so I'm next to him, and I just let him hold me for a minute, noting the soft kiss he places on my hair. He must be really drunk, I reason. We stay like this for a moment, absorbing each other's presence.
"Why did you come?" he whispers into the silence. I turn to face him.
"Because you need to know the truth Peter, I owe you that much." I sigh. "And because I need you"
"You hurt me so badly" he admits "you have to know that."
I nod, and feel the first of many tears skating my cold cheeks as I move my hand back to his knee. My fear erupts again from the box I bury it in, deep inside, and because of this, his glimmer sparkles, his perfect form flickering, taunting me.
"I wanted to give Walter a chance to tell you, or I swear to God Peter I would have. And he was going to, but you worked it out before he could tell you..." I trail off.
"He still took me"
"He was trying to save you"
"Don't give me that Olivia. I know what he's capable of, and so do you. You can't expect me to believe he was trying to save me."
"I'm telling you the truth."
He sighed, looking away. He stood up and crossed back over to the minibar, beginning a beer. He picked one up and pointed at me, offering. I shook my head before taking it off of him.
"You've had enough" My tone becomes protective, and I almost shock myself with the realisation of how much I cared. It resonates through to him; he comes over again and puts a caring hand on my face.
"You should go, Liv. I'm not coming with you" he says simply, and my heart breaks on the spot. Not because I was going to lose him, but because I was going to have to force him to come.
"Don't make me do this, Peter" I plead.
He looks confused for only a split second before he understands and removes his comforting palm from my cheek.
"Liv... you haven't... you didn't...." he stutters.
"We really need your help. You don't understand, they'll do anything to get you back."
"Olivia" He shouts. His tone exactly how it had been on the phone. He picks up the empty whiskey bottle and throws it at the wall; it falls to the ground next to the destroyed cell phone. I shiver, recalling what he is capable of. I know I have to calm him down, and so I approach him, forgetting all caution as I take his face in my hands and press my lips to his.
"I need you" I state, gazing into his hurt, confused eyes.
He stares at me for a second, then returns my kiss, but with more passion. I clutch him closer as his lips travel along my jawbone. I suddenly recall the FBI agents waiting outside, and push him away.
"Not here" I whisper.
"Where?" he demands eagerly.
"Don't hate me" I sigh "but you have to come with me, and not just for that reason"
"Liv!" he exhales, exasperated. "You don't understand... I can't just... come back... it's not that simple. I can't live with Walter, I don't know if I could even work with him after this."
"You don't have to, Peter" I plead. "You can live with me for a while, Astrid's been staying with Walter"
"It's not that simple" he repeats and I swallow back yet more tears. "But...Hell, I don't know Liv. What do you do to me?"
I watch with hope as a hint of a smile stretches the corners of his lips, and I'm back on them, kissing him with so much love. Love I didn't even know I had.
'What the hell am I letting myself in for' I wonder, now distinctly more sober, as I lean back into the passenger seat. Olivia seems to sense my apprehension, she places a hand on mine and flicks a smile across at me, absorbing my worry.
"You hanging in there?" she asks me.
"Liv, I'm scared" I admit to her. She's my best friend, despite her betrayal, and I know she can read me even if I don't tell her.
"Don't be" she smiles. We continue the journey in silence until we approach the familiar house I recognise to be hers. I wait in the car as she dismisses Broyles and the squad, getting out when she beckons me toward the house.
Once upstairs, she throws her arms around my neck and pulls me into a tight embrace, running a hand through my hair in a way that reminds me of what we started earlier. She needs me; and I need her. I kiss the side of her cheek and she digs her hands under my shirt, my skin flinching at her cold, sensual touch. I wait in anticipation as she pulls the cotton away from me, over my head, and leaving my bare chest exposed to her. She doesn't want to wait.
It's my turn, I realise, so I start by removing the band that ties her hair back, a simple yet personal move that sets her feeling less professional. I then move my fingers down her throat and to the top of her chest, while I slowly begin unbuttoning the fastenings on her blouse, feeling her heartbeat quicken with each one. With both hands, I sweep across her shoulders, letting the shirt fall to the floor. We don't break eye contact until she leans up and kisses me again. This time I can't help myself. I push her backward onto her bed and kiss her with force, in disbelief of just who is in front of me. All of my anger has subsided now, and has reduced to pure passion. We can both feel my arousal, and the way she arches her back with each kiss I stroke along her neck makes me sure that the feelings are mutual.
I feel her hands fumbling desperately with the button on my jeans, and at this point I know I'd be unable to stop if she asked. My heart struggles, pumping blood angrily around my body for the woman who broke it and is fixing it. I gasp as she succeeds and brushes past my erection as she removes my pants and boxers. She lets out an aroused giggle at this, and pushes our lips together again, before removing her bra and trousers, knowing I'd probably just rip them off. I remove her final garment, continuing to kiss her, before I enter her slowly, and feel a rush of euphoria that I hadn't before felt during sex. She seems to echo this feeling as she pants hungrily. I thrust slowly at first, and she moves with me, grabbing my shoulders as my anger directs itself into my movements.
Our breathing eventually quickens, and an enormous sense of captivity fills us until she pulls me in so tight that our release is inevitable. She moans urgently, and I can't help but let out a gasp in echo, feeling the pressure in my lower half disappear, leaving a pleasantly numb throb. We lie stationary for a minute or so, catching our breath. The air, I notice, is thick with the heat off of our bodies, and the window is partially steamed up. This makes me chuckle, and she follows my gaze, returning my laugh with a chuckle of her own. I slowly roll off of her and she nestles her head down into my shoulder, the heat that radiates off of us both prevents her from holding me closer, but I know that otherwise we would be inseparable. I never want to lose her again.
As I lie there, head on the man I've cried for so long over, my heart feels like it is slowly healing. My mind thinks that perhaps it was a little rash to jump straight into this situation, but my heart reiterates that it is what we both needed. I love him now more than ever, and as he lies there, heart pounding, I pray that he won't leave.
"Peter" I begin, smiling calmly up at him.
"Livia" he acknowledges.
"You'll stay?" I ask him, my nerves surfacing slightly.
He nods and sighs. "Definitely, if this is the way things are going to be" he winks.
I smile, and nod too. "Yeah, if it's what you want... but Peter"
"Yeah?"
"Maybe we should take it a little slower?" I suggest, chuckling.
"Sure, but first, we both need to sleep". He grins, switches off the light, and kisses me on the head.
"Happy birthday..." I whisper into the dark.
Hope you enjoyed it! Reviews = Love.