Find A Way
You know I'm going to find a way to let you have your way with me. In the moments where Peter thinks he's dying, all he wants is one thing.
The end was near. He could feel it. Time had stopped for him; he no longer counted how long he had been there for, he no longer cared. He could feel his blood going sluggish in his veins, the result of alternate Walter's testing. He could hear his pulse, heavy in his ears, the wet sound of his thumping heart and the feel of the large dry ball that hung in his throat. He had no energy to move anymore, so he lay still on the gurney, his eyes half closed in defeat. The great Peter Bishop had nothing left now.
He idly wondered if she was anywhere near him now. He had left her in the most vuneruable time. He idly wondered if she was out there right now, right outside his door looking for him. Would she forgive him for leaving? Would she even remember fighting for him? Would she make it to him? She was all he wanted now, she was all he cared for. Nothing else in the entire universe could bother him when he was with her. Would he ever have the chance to say 'I'm sorry?'
His mind began to play tricks on him. He was not in this cell, but he was on a bridge, then in a building, then on the street, then in the hospital standing over Olivia's body, torn from the car crash. It was the memory he feared the most. He had sworn he would have protected her from anything, if he'd let her. She was so strong. He had done nothing to save her then and he thought she was gone for good. But she wasn't. She came back and he liked to think it was for him. She was perfection in the form of a person, the only one to make him stay when he should have left long ago.
He would never get the chance to tell her how he felt. He was going to die there, alone and cold, just like he had pictured it. Pictured but never wanted. He didn't want to end this way. He wanted to see Olivia, he wanted to tell her how much she means. He wanted everything about her. He needed her to see him for what he was, he had to tell her she was everything now. He only stayed for her. He only breathed for her. He only chased her. And where was she now? A perfect recluse in his memory, a fly frozen in time in his head, forever preserved to say only what he wanted to hear.
He closed his eyes and imagined her then. He imagined her hair; the soft blonde locks, so straight and sleek, falling into her face, her pointed and glowing face. Green eyes stared at him from under her curtain of hair and golden eyelashes, so intense that it nearly took his breath away. Her stance was simply, friendly and open. Her pink lips were drawn into a small line, a simple smile on her mouth. Her skin glowed in his memory, like the day she stood out in the sun on the road or the way the hotel room light had lit it in Seattle. She stood dressed in her work attire, nothing special. His memory captured her only for what she was and what he wanted. He wanted nothing special, just simple pure Olivia Dunham.
Her hand outstretched to him and she took his fingers in her own, playing with them with a delicate touch. He would have laughed at his mind for picking this if he hadn't been dying. His memory was letting him finally imagine what he wanted so badly from his life, something he'd never have. Her fingers brought his to his own face, her face so close to his, her green eyes staring, searching, trying to find his emotions. His hands were shaking; he was scared. But he was scared for only a moment.
It was gentle at first, like the lightest of all fabrics. Her lips brushed his in a sweet, gentle and caring motion, like the first taste of a sweet wine that meant so much to him. She pressed harder and he drank from her mouth, everything he ever wanted from her. He was so scared, but she was there keeping him safe, holding him in her warm gaze, warm embrace and warm lips.
Her fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt and his moved to her hair. Her hair smelled like Olivia Dunham, her tendrils so soft to the touch. As she worked his buttons away, each brush of her fingers pads on his chest made him tremble. She was silent in her work, Peter could only hear a steady even sound of her heart beat and the frightened sound of his own. He pressed one hand to her back and pulled her in as she touched his bare chest for the first time.
It was an expolsion unlike any other. Her fingers were like lighters, the touch searing into his mind as he breathed in her scent. She was gentle, pushing him backwards only the white ground of his mind. He knelt in front of her and she joined him there, her lips touching so gently his throat before kissing him again. She gently brushed the cotton of his shoulders and he let it slide down his arms before she pulled away from his lips to examine his chest.
He'd never felt so exposed before. Her eyes looked at every line of his torso, every dip, curve, scar, and scratch she took in. She traced his chest with her fingers so lightly he wasn't sure she was touching him. She was gentle and careful with him, he let her traced all of his body as he watched with his eyes directed on her face so easily. She was entranced by him, and he was entranced by her. It was an intricate web they had woven, so close and yet still far apart. She brought her lips back to his face, kissing each eye before pulling back and kissing him.
Her shirt had disappeared when he came back to open his eyes, and he looked at her. Her skin was flawless and beautiful, her neck so elegant, her collarbone so delicate, her curve so perfect and her stomach so welcoming. He watched as she unclasped her bra and let it go. She was, so incredibly flawless. Her beauty should be illegal and Peter could have died there. The most beautiful woman in the world wanted him. He could find no other happiness.
She crawled close to him, pressing her lips again to his before wrapping herself around his skin. Her body was warm and held him so tightly. He splayed his hands across her back, so careful to savor the memory, to savor her for all she was worth. Too perfect; too beautiful. He moved his hand up her back, pressing her tighter, the warm coming closer, the darkness of his closed lids becoming blissfully white. She was his own angel changing right in front of his eyes there. She was perfection.
Her hands found his pants and undid them so gently. Her fingers pushed everything away from him so that he was bare for her, completely exposed to her, mind, body and soul. He couldn't get enough of this angel of his mind, so perfect for him. She could whatever she wanted; he couldn't care anymore. Death was coming soon and he never dreamt of this, never dreamt of this out of respect, but she was not coming for him now and even if she'd never know it, he was going to show her, to tell her, just how much he loved her, just how special this angel, his angel, was.
He was scared, although he didn't know why. Her body was a flawless plane of perfection, her pale skin so perfect to her halo of blonde hair. He watched her as she undressed completely, so both of them were nothing more than the simple humans they had been created as; two figures, no shame, no embarrassment, just simple feeling, complex emotion and the deep desire for each other's company. This was his last chance to prove to her she was in his memory always. She'd be the one always.
He had found a way to let her have her way with him. She had stayed with him, kept him in her memory too, or so he believed. If he were gone she'd know to hold on because he would be there. If she came for him soon, he would beg for her to let him go, she would be his heaven. He would die happy because of her. He had let her take everything from him then, all his emotions and feelings, his problems and worries-gone with her.
As he came from his memory, he rolled his head to the side. A dove sat high up in the slit of the wind, staring down at him. He smiled so gently at it as it watched him. It was near. He would be gone soon. He wouldn't cry though, he wouldn't be scared. He'd die a strong man for Olivia and Olivia only. Just as he felt his world going under he heard the door open, the clatter of guns and the soft flame-like touch of this angel with a halo of blonde hair. She smiled at him. He saw her only through hazy eyes.
"Olivia?" he whispered aloud. She nodded at him.
"Peter."
"Olivia."