She didn't answer.
Peter flipped his phone shut in annoyance after the eighth time. Straight to voicemail, it had been over an hour and still he couldn't reach her. Flipping the phone back open Peter hit speed dial again, Holding the phone to his ear he silently counted off the unanswered rings in his head, three….four…
"Hi you've reached Olivia Dunham." Not hardly, Peter thought "Please leave me a message," Beep.
Peter snapped the phone shut grabbing his jacket off the back of the couch. Walter was shuffling out of the back room with some kind of substance in a beaker and a sip straw, Peter hoped it wasn't illegal, Astrid came into view behind him.
"Astrid I'm going out for a while can you…"
"Keep an eye on Walter? Sure thing" Astrid smiled eyes never leaving his father. "We were actually just talking about ice cream weren't we Walter?"
"What? Oh yes, I do love ice cream, we could make some you know, hallucinogenic properties aside I once created the most delightful flavor myself right here in this lab!"
"Right," Peter shook his head snatched the keys off the top of the piano and started heading for the door, "Hallucinogenic Vanilla scoops aside; you sure you'll be alright?"
"Oh don't be silly Peter," Walter chortled "Vanilla! It was Rocky Road!"
Was it ever, As per usual the understatement of the year award goes to…
Astrid reply cut off Peter's musings. "Of course Peter, go check on Olivia we'll be fine." Peter paused at the top of the stairs turning back to her.
"Oh come on, who else would you call that many times in a row?" He could have sworn Astrid just winked at him, but from across the lab it was difficult to be certain. And then she was suddenly preoccupied with stopping his father from sliding down the banister instead of taking the steps.
Right. He wasn't that obvious was he?
Peter shook his head and again turned to the door of the lab shutting it behind him, he hurried down the hall and out to the parking lot. Brain ticking off all the perfectly logical and reasonable explanations for why Olivia wouldn't answer her phone.
Maybe she was sleeping, or in the shower, maybe she turned her cell phone off because she was in the middle of a really good book…maybe she had slipped and hit her head…
Maybe she with another man. The voice Peter usually did his best to ignore when it came to its suggestions about Agent Olivia Dunham piped up unhelpfully, tying Peter's gut in a knot.
Shut up, Peter told himself, but felt his teeth grinding together at the thought.
Agent Dunham is an adult, and is completely free to do whatever, with whom ever she chooses.
So why did Peter suddenly feel like punching the dashboard at the next red light?
It's nothing, he told himself repeatedly, she's probably asleep.
They'd had a rough couple of days with the last case, and living through those murders like she was the one committing them had been hard enough for him to watch. He couldn't imagine what the experience had been like for her.
When Walter had put her under, and she'd been with the killer in the hotel room with that hooker; Peter's hands clutched the steering wheel turning his knuckles white, making his fingers ache at the memory.
Walter may have been momentarily confused by the noises Olivia had made but Peter had recognized them instantly. How could he not when almost every night the past six months he had been able to see nothing in his dreams except for Olivia laid out before him, making those very same noises for him, with his hands and his mouth on her. The phantom taste of her skin and mouth that was always on his tongue when he woke taunting him, his frustration rolling off of him in thick waves.
Peter felt his body twitch in response to just the memory of those soft moans and cries coming from her mouth.
Jesus, Get a Grip.
It had gotten to the point that Peter could no longer take naps in the back room of the lab. Lest he wake up at the wrong moment, or with the wrong company and not only embarrass himself beyond belief but in the lab, where her scent was everywhere…He might do something he would really regret ruining this careful dance they did around each other, the achingly sweet and painful torture of having her so close; and yet so out of reach.
It had almost happened about three months ago.
Peter had been sleeping on the cot in his father's old office. He'd been up most of the night because Walter had taken to reciting aloud square roots, and prime numbers in sequence while standing in the bathtub at all hours of the night.
Crazy it seemed had no regard for bedtime.
He'd been dreaming of Olivia again, in a restless place between asleep and awake, partially conscious of Walter babbling to Astrid and then to Olivia in the Lab. When he'd felt her near him her cool hand against his shoulder he'd thought he was still dreaming, and reached for her his sleep warmed hands cupping her cheek his thumb running over her bottom lip.
She'd just stared at him for a second eyes un-focus, breath catching, he'd watched in fascination as her tongue had darted out to wet her lips.
"Peter?" Her voice had quivered, uncertainty in her eyes, and that's when he'd realized she wasn't a dream she wasn't His Olivia.
His Olivia came to him in the night, in the lab, at home, on cases, never hesitant; she was possessive and hot, and demanding.
Agent Dunham had protocols and procedures to follow. She was bound by her principles and her duties. She never looked at him the way His Olivia did; with desire in her eyes and his name on her lips.
Peter had pulled his hand back, embarrassed at his slip-up. He felt a flush rise in his cheeks and hoped in the dim light of the half closed blinds in the office it was less noticeable then it felt. He rose to a sitting position, grateful for the throw he'd kept on the cot covering the more damning evidence of his dream; that was the last thing he needed.
"Are you okay?" Agent Dunham was hovering by him still, concern knitting her brow.
"Yeah," Peter cleared his throat running a hand through his helplessly mussed hair.
"Just a dream," he muttered before thinking better of it. Shit. Now she'd know he'd been dreaming about her.
A quick glance at her features showed that now it was indeed Olivia's turn to blush, she tucked her chin to her chest, teeth abusing her lower lip.
"Uh," she stood and took a few steps away from him as if distance could help. In the miniscule room Peter could still smell her hair, and his fingers itched with the memory of her skin under his palms.
"Walter was wondering if you knew where that folder was, the one you were reorganizing for him yesterday." She wouldn't meet his gaze, wouldn't look at him.
"Yeah, I'll get it for him in a minute," He really needed Olivia to leave the room. Calming himself down with her scent so close to him was going to be impossible. But she kept standing there waiting for him to move. Peter groaned and let his head fall back into the wall behind the cot with a thud. She did turn to look at him then, eyes wide.
"Peter?" she crossed the room to his side before he could stop her, standing in front of him bent forward at the waist she put a hand to his forehead.
"Are you sick?" Her hand felt impossibly cool against his heated skin, her hair loose around her head like a curtain of silk begging for his fingers to run through it, to pull her head down to his and….
Peter jerked back from her touch catching her wrist in his hand he met her gaze but not before his eyes ran over her body, taking in her perfectly tailored pant suit, her jacket must have been slung over a chair in the lab, the top two buttons on her shirt casually open revealing just the hint of soft skin near her clavicle. He could almost make out the outline of her bra through her shirt in this light with her leaned towards him.
Peter swallowed raising his eyes back to hers, and whatever she saw in them made her grow very still and quiet. Eyes wide she stood there wrist trapped in his fingers as he slowly drew his thumb across the soft skin in a lazy circular pattern.
Did her breath just catch? Peter continued to stare into her eyes, trying to remind his frazzled, sex-stupid brain that he needed to let her go, and get her the hell away from him before he pulled her into his lap and showed her exactly what was wrong with him.
"Peter" she was whispering. What a silly thing for her to do, Peter thought. It made him want to lean in closer to her.
"Hmmm?" his fingers traced up the inside of her forearm to circle the soft skin at her elbow, and now he definitely heard her breath catch, but in the next second her other hand was covering his stilling his motions.
"Peter," and there was that tongue again, darting out to lick those delicious lips of hers, the ones he wanted so badly to taste. Peter sat forward hand griping the back of her neck to pull her closer so he could whisper in her ear.
"Livia, sweetheart, if you don't get out of this room in the next thirty seconds you're going to have to shoot me. A man can only take so much." He'd pulled back slowly to rest against the wall again while she blinked at him, understanding suddenly dawning in her eyes. She'd swallowed hard, flushed harder, turned on her heel, and fled the room shutting the door behind her.
When he'd emerged from hiding a good ten minutes later she'd kept most of the lab between them, not meeting his gaze and beating a hasty retreat minutes later. It had been awkward to say the least, and over the next few weeks Peter had had to work hard to keep up his usually joking, carefree camaraderie, trying to prove to himself and her that nothing had changed. They could forget about it, it was just a single incident, a minute slip up on his part, no biggie. Nothing was happening between them.
Right. Maybe not to her, but Peter knew for him that was hardly the case. He never slept in the lab again.
Peter pulled the car into Olivia's parking lot and quickly found a space, even if it meant he'd have to run to the doors from across the lot.
Images of Olivia injured or worse, cycled through his mind, his own mini rolodex of torture.
She's fine. She's fine. He kept repeating to himself as he stabbed at the button for the elevator and impatiently rocked back and forth from heel to toe, cursing the inanimate object for its slowness. One of Olivia's neighbors entered the car with him and he had to suffer stopping at another floor before finally the doors opened and her hallway was presented to him.
Peter stopped at Olivia's door without having to look at the number, having come here too many times to count he didn't even need to look, just knock. His genius mind had probably kept some kind of record subconsciously for exactly how many steps it took to get from the elevator to her doorway.
Twenty-seven steps, his brain supplied. Peter knocked again, and waited. Nothing.
Her car was out there, he'd passed it on his way in.
Maybe they took his car…maybe he's in there with her right now. SHUT UP.He viciously informed his brain to get bent and knocked again. This time calling her name, before pulling out the tools he kept in his pockets for just such an occasion.
Olivia was cold.
Flashes of the girl's faces kept filling her vision even with her eyes open.
The half bottle of wine, and then two glasses of gin she'd only kept in the house for John when he was alive, had done nothing to stop them.
If anything it was worse now, a never ending barrage of visual horrors. More horrible, more maddening and more real by the phantom memories of what it had felt like to fuck them and kill them. Their panicked eyes on hers as their expressions froze and their vision went glassy and sightless. The memory of mutilating their still warm bodies while her own body was still slick with sweat and other things crawled along her skin.
Jesus, make it stop.
Olivia's head slipped back against the wet tile, freezing cold water pelting her now upturned face.
When had the water gotten so cold? She wondered absently whole body shivers wracked her tiny frame proof that she'd failed to notice the absence of hot water for a while.
Olivia lifted her head again letting it fall back into the tiled wall of the shower once more, the resounding thud echoing off the tiny room's surface; momentarily making her ears ring.
That had hurt, and with that flash of pain followed a kind of clarity; a focus she'd been missing for the last few hours.
Olivia lifted her head again this time pushing her head back into the shower wall with more force then she really intended.
Crack.
Oww.
Stars flashed in her vision and everything got fuzzy for a moment. If she passed out here Olivia briefly wondered if she would drown and never wake up. She wondered if Walter would insist on doing her autopsy to look for hallucinogens and bio-chemical agents. She wondered if Peter would stick around for her funeral, or if he'd bolt the second she was gone.
She blinked hazily at the red blood now swirling down with the water beside her outstretched leg to circle the drain and disappear.
She wished Peter were here…someone should probably look at that. She mused.
A distant racket briefly pulled her attention from the color swirling down the drain, it sounded like someone was calling for her.
Olivia's head dipped back against shower tiles once more, feeling the now uneven surface pressing into the back of her abused skull and let her eyes slip shut. She just wanted it to go away, to be oblivious to the world for a night.
Peter swung the door to Olivia's apartment open with a nudge of his hand, sticking the small tools back inside his pocket he stepped forward into the darkened interior of the entryway cautiously.
It was one of those times Peter wished he carried a gun on a more regular basis instead of leaving it at home. Even if his packing heat made Agent Dunham frown. The severe frown, the one that made her forehead wrinkle up and her mouth pucker into a perfect little heart, while even her eyes turned harsh and disapproving.
It would be just his luck to show up unarmed if her attackers were still here.
What attackers? He chastised himself; someone has to be attacking her for her to not answer you?
Or fucking her. His mind supplied having spotted the open bottle of wine and gin next to the kitchen sink.
The light was on in here, and he quickly studied the cabinet containing Olivia's glasses knowing how many should be in there having put them away several times absentmindedly while talking to her sister Rachel.
God Rachel. He so did not want to go there. What had he been thinking? She was sweet, if a bit insecure, and pretty, more curvy then Olivia and slightly shorter. But the real problem was that she wasn't Olivia.
Part of him was hoping if he was seeing someone, anyone it might end his obsession with his FBI partner.
Another part of him had wanted to get her attention; make her jealous. Make her notice him as something other than the mental codex and dictionary required to understand Walter's babblings.
Her own sister, Jesus, and people thought he was a genius; he was an idiot.
He'd ended it as quickly as he could, realizing his mistake instantly…the look of hurt that had crossed her face when he'd come to see Rachel and not her was like a knife to his gut; one that twisted and turned and festered each time he saw her.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Peter shook his head, only one glass missing from the cabinet.
Drinking alone? An image of Olivia passed out somewhere in the apartment filled his head and he almost grinned, now that would be funny to rib her about.
Peter called out to her again and began searching the other rooms for her presence, the spare bedroom Rachel and her daughter had used turned up empty.
Thank god, Peter was eternally grateful when Rachel had moved out again.
He had to avoid visiting Olivia at home for the awkward phase he'd had to call things off with her sister and distance himself from her. Thereby distancing him from a part of Olivia's life as well, part of her he'd missed desperately.
Olivia's bedroom was empty as well, aside from the empty cup on her nightstand, and the book discarded on the sleep rumpled sheets.
Peter entered the room lifting the cup to his nose.
Straight gin? What the hell was she thinking? Obviously Olivia was planning to completely obliterate herself tonight.
The sound of water running in the bathroom caught his attention, and Peter approached the door rapping softly and calling out her name. When there was still no response he knocked louder. He'd been trying to reach her for over an hour, she couldn't have been in the shower for that long could she?
What if she had passed out, or hit her head. Peter debated with himself a split second longer before turning the knob pushing the door open, cautiously calling her name into the opening. Mentally crossing his fingers and hoping she didn't shoot him for this Peter opened the door and stepped through.
His brain froze in terror the moment he was in the room.
Olivia was indeed in the shower, her crumpled form against the back wall, looking like she'd slid down it. The tiles were cracked and there was blood dripping from her hair and running in diluted rivulets down her chest.
Peter swore grabbed a towel from the rack and turning off the water with a vicious twist reached for her, covering her body with the towel. Jesus, her skin felt like ice, the water dripping from her hair and body was unbearably cold, Peter couldn't imaging laying under that spray unless you were unconscious.
Which he confirmed Olivia was after shaking her and calling her name, he had to get her out of the shower and get her warmed up, she was shivering, Goosebumps covering every part of her body, her nipples hard peaks even beneath the towel.
Stop it. Peter bent to scoop her from the shower, her wet body fitting easily into his arms, making him suck in a breath where the cold came into contact with his skin even through his t-shirt.
Peter entered the bedroom and deposited her on the bed returning to the bathroom for two more towels he began drying the freezing water from her legs arms and body, all the time talking to her, asking her to wake up, Peter was just reaching for his cell phone when she called his name. Relief flooded through him, he'd known she wasn't dead…and the cut on the back of her head was not as bad as it had originally looked, being a head wound, it was more dramatic than it actually was serious. It had stopped bleeding almost immediately after he'd removed her from the running water and applied some pressure; blotting it dry had shown it was a minor cut and probably would not require stitches or a head CT if she would just wake up.
Peter wrapped a towel around her head partially to keep the little bit of blood that was there from ruining her bedspread, as well as attempt to warm her body. He kept up a steady stream of words, not really paying attention to what he was saying simply hoping to call her back from where ever she'd gone, while briskly drawing the towels across her now dry limbs trying to get the circulation back to her pale cold fingers and toes.
"Peter?"
"Hey, welcome back stranger," Peter moved up the bed to sit beside her. "What the hell happened?"
Olivia swallowed, and a shiver racked her body. Peter retrieved the throw from the end of the bed, having to lean across her body to reach it and pulled it across her body. She surprised him by rolling towards him hands clutching in his now wet shirt. "God It's freezing."
"Yeah I hear the Polar Bear club has that issue too, considering how cold that water was I think I'm gonna have to ask to see your membership card."
"I hit my head,"
"Yes, I can see that. Do you happen to know how long you were in there?" Olivia was busy pulling him towards her and burrowing herself into his chest; towel, blanket and all.
"I don't know, it was six I think when I went in."
Peter glanced at the numerics on the bedside clock it was 7:45 now.
"So what was the plan for tonight, get drunk and drowned in the shower?" He was going for light teasing though her face immediately blanched, like a sour taste had filled her mouth.
"I couldn't get them out of my head, all those girls. I kept seeing it in my head, it wouldn't stop Peter."
Peter's eyes closed for a moment; guilt and self loathing jocking for top emotion. He should have known she would be more affected by this last case then she would let on. Why hadn't he been here? Why had he left her alone to deal with this?
"We've got to get you warm. I should probably get you some hot tea and some dry clothes, some more blankets" Peter started to move from the bed but Olivia's hands fisted in his wet shirt stopped him.
"You're warm,"
"Yes I am." Getting warmer by the second.
"Don't leave me, please." It was barely a whisper.
"Whatever m'lady wants." Peter dropped to his elbow pulling her body against his feeling the shudders wracking through her. What the hell, he had body heat to spare. He'd just try to ignore the fact that under that blanket and towel she was completely naked, and the fact that Olivia Dunham was more than just a little intoxicated right now. When would he ever get an opportunity like this again, to lay with her like this, smell her hair under his chin, to feel her tucked safely against his body breathing in and out in a steady rhythm. And with an invitation; under normal circumstances, if Peter found himself in this position he would have expected to find himself quickly acquainted with the business end of her Glock.
Peter felt Olivia's freezing hands under the hem of his shirt, his stomach muscles jumped when her cold fingers touched him. "This is wet, take it off."
Peter blinked down at her, was she serious? "Was that a drunken pass or are you just happy to see me?"
Olivia's only response was a quirk of her lips and when she continued to tug at his shirt he figured she was probably just as single minded and determined intoxicated as she was sober. Though he had to admit he was finding her intoxicated requests much more fun than her normal sober ones. With any Olivia request it was simply easier to give in then to ask questions, she was going to get what she wanted one way or another. Rolling onto his back Peter lifted the wet article over his head and tossed it aside to land on the floor. Olivia's hands started tracing up and down his chest, causing Peter's breath to hiss out for reasons other than just the chill in her touch.
Peter swallowed, his throat suddenly felt overly dry; he needed to be very, very careful here.
This was his partner, and while she might want him here now, in the morning when she was sober and warm she would most certainly be embarrassed by all of this.
"Livia, I think I should get you more blankets." He had to get up, get away from his sexy, wet, naked partner before he devoured her whole like a starving man.
"I don't need more blankets," she moved to get closer to him, the blanket Peter had draped over her form falling away, so he had to reach out and grab it to keep it over her, unfortunately when she threw her leg over his and practically climbed onto his chest causing his heart rate to jump he realized he had to put it over both of them to keep her covered.
Great so here he was half naked, with a fully naked Olivia, in her bedroom all alone, and there was alcohol and a possible head injury involved. This had restraining order and bullet wounds written all over it.
Olivia sighed against his chest; the cold strains of her hair that had escaped the towel around her head were cold against his bare skin. Peter found his hand absently rubbing up and down the muscles of her upper back trying to warm them, but also enjoying the feel of having her under his fingers, of being able to touch her like this.
A few moments later Olivia seemed to have fallen asleep against him, leaving Peter in the very uncomfortable position of being awake and very aroused with his untouchable but oh so close and tantalizing partner draped across his body.
A stronger man would have kept his hands to himself, Peter reminded himself as he continued to trace his way up and down her back; his other hand joined the expedition tracing patterns and massaging the arm that was draped across him.
Just warming her up, yeah right, God how long had he wanted to touch her like this? He'd ached for months to casually run his fingers over her skin, to see if it really was as soft as it looked. Just like the soft skin of her wrist and inner elbow, the skin on her back was like silk under his hands, soft flesh and hard muscle that was both capable and feminine, and completely Olivia. Even the small light scattering of freckles visible on her shoulder fascinated him. She was a work of art, a sculpture and painters dream.
Peter reached behind him pulling one of Olivia's pillows towards them and allowing his head to flop back and stare at the ceiling, hands still drawing their absentminded patterns across his new favorite canvas. He sighed and tried to close his eyes, he was exhausted, he should try to sleep, wouldn't that be better than to lay here awake torturing himself, with Olivia's body so close to his own?
Peter kept his eyes closed still allowing his hands to wonder the small patches of skin he deemed 'friendly touching' nothing to intimate. He tried to regulate his breathing to a steady in and out, a restful relaxed rhythm he didn't quite feel yet but Peter kept at it until finally his motion's stilled and he fell asleep.
