Author's note: So... I first wrote this for a FringeVerse challenge in which we were asked to write a fanfic that happened one year after the events of Marionette. Well, this didn't quite fit the challenge so I had to put this one aside and write another. But jagwriter78 and I, we kept on working on it (she's my beta for this one, thank you so so so much!) but then shit happened and we never got around to actually finish it. Now I needed it for the squares 'cause I literally have no time to think about what to do with "Your Choice" so here it is. It is betaed but if you find something that doesn't make sense or any mistakes, they are all mine, jagwriter78 probably told me to change them but I'm just that stubborn
Understanding may come later, in fragments
Trust is something to be gained with time.
Between them it had come too fast, had been too rushed.
She had trusted him from the go, and really, she didn't have a reason to.
She had a file full of reasons why she shouldn't trust him. Besides all the illegal things he had done - which should have been more than enough not to trust him - he was a nomad, a misfit, a con man, he was sarcastic and sly, nothing that screamed he was trust worthy, and yet, all those reasons didn't stop her from trusting him completely. In the end, they didn't stop her from falling in love with him.
Now that trust is broken, and she wonders if she will ever trust him again completely.
.
.
.
She knows why he did it. She, too, had failed to see through the deception when they had killed Charlie and replaced him with a shape shifter, and he had been her best friend. God, how wrong it had felt to kill him even though she had known it wasn't the real him, even though it was down to kill or be killed.
She gets it, really, she does. She told him when they were waiting in the hospital. While she had been 'over there' she thought she had been her, she hadn't been acting, she had really believed she was their Olivia. She went out with Lincoln and Charlie. She had lunch with her mum and if Frank hadn't been out of town, she's sure she would have slept with him. She still did all those things with them even when she started to recover her memory. And she enjoyed it. They never guessed the truth, they never saw the deception, so why should he?
She gets it. Deep down, she does. But still.
But still.
.
.
.
It hurts like hell.
Knowing she got to go on their first date, got to experience their first morning after, their first... everything.
Knowing that she got to know him like that.
It hurts like hell.
.
.
.
She's mad – and in part, she knows that reasonably so, - because she crossed universes looking for him, to bring him back, she said; "You belong with me," and in return, she got a 6 by 8 feet cell, and her life stolen.
She held on to him and wishes he would have done the same.
She can't stop herself from wishing he had seen past the surface.
.
.
.
She knows she's not being fair to him, she knows that if he had suspected anything was wrong, he would have come for her. About that, she's a 100% sure. Because once you have trusted someone the way she trusted him, there is always that tiny little bit of trust that gets left behind.
And that amount, as tiny as it might be, will have to serve as the new foundation of their relationship.
They have to make their way back to each other. And this time it would have to be slow. Slow but steady.
There's something that hasn't change though. Even if she hasn't realized it, she holds all the aces in her hands. She always has. She would set the pace, and he would follow.
.
.
.
She does laundry. She cleans everything. Twice. And then throws it all away. She buys new clothes – she thinks no one will notice because everything looks the same – new sheets, new pillows and a new comforter to cover her at night. The next thing on her list is her apartment. She rearranges the furniture, leaves nothing where it used to be. Cleans it spotless. When that's done and there's nothing left that could remind her of her or them, she moves out. If anyone dared to ask, she would have a perfectly reasonable explanation ready to give away.
No one ever does.
She stops calling him in the middle of the night or after a case to ask if he wants to go out and get some drinks. It is hard putting the phone down, the urge still there, but thinking about him thinking about her is agonizing. Seeing him only reminds her of all things lost, so she forces herself not to call. She stops talking to him about Rachel and Ella, about how all this is affecting them, too.
Actually, she makes a point of only talking to him if it is case related. It isn't that she's trying to punish him, at least not entirely, it's just that it hurt.
It is that simple; talking to him just hurt.
.
.
.
She thinks it is going to be harder because he is always there; always in the same room. Never too close, never touching, never making the first move, but he is always there. And that should have made it harder because it's him she's trying to slowly fit back into her life. She thought she would need space to think about how, but she doesn't, they are slowly getting their groove back. She knows it will never be the same. They both have been burnt too badly for that to happen.
.
.
.
At night, it's the other him, the one that only she can see, who keeps her company.
He whispers, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" and " I thought it was you, I thought it was you, I thought it was you" over and over again. And she understands.
She really understands.
But still.
.
.
.
It is when talking about cases becomes simple again, when she can look at him without seeing them, that she actually engages in other kind of conversations with him.
It is slow.
("I'm going for a coffee, you want one?")
("Rachel called."
"Yeah?"
"She said maybe they'll come next month.")
But it is happening.
.
.
.
Somewhere along the way, they find themselves at a bar and she finds that she enjoys it more than it hurts.
That's when the meetings for drinks come back.
.
.
.
He won't touch her anymore, she knows it's her fault. She had flinched when he did and now he's just giving her space, but she wishes he would at least try.
She's afraid that he doesn't because he doesn't want her anymore. Astrid keeps trying to convince her that she's wrong. She tells her that everything that happened was because of what he felt for her and not the other Olivia. Peter told her he came back for her, for them, but she's still afraid that while it was her he had started out liking, he still had fallen in love for the happier version of herself.
So she's the one to start the touches with a tap on the shoulder to give him his coffee and he follows; his fingers brush lightly against her wrist to get her attention, a quick grab to her arm to get her to move, a hand on the small of her back so she can lead the way.
.
.
.
She stops seeing the other him but at times, he's voice still echoes through the rooms of her new place.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry;" and "I thought it was you, I thought it was you, I thought it was you."
And she understands.
But still.
.
.
.
Slowly, but surely, they move towards being friends again.
Going out for drinks is no longer weird, there are no awkward silences anymore. Everything is like it used to be: the card tricks, the jokes, the witty comebacks, the laughs, even the flirting. It's subtle, and insecure on both parts, but it's there.
At times, she wonders if after everything they have gone through, this is it.
If this is all they are ever going to be, friends.
She can't help wondering what it would have been like between them if they were something more than just friends, but she finds that the thought of never finding out, in favor of having him around, is not that unacceptable.
She can be just his friend.
Anything is better than not having him around.
.
.
.
When she's at home alone now, she's truly alone, she can't see or hear him anymore.
And she understands.
.
.
.
It finally happens, because it was always going to happen, she knows that now, almost a year after she comes back. He leans in to kiss her and all those fears she thought would consume her at the feel of his lips over hers aren't there, because he whispers; "I'm sorry. I thought…" and she understands.
She understands.
.
- Fin
Reviews? I would be laying if I said I didn't like them as much as chocolate, but they are completely not necessary. It's totally up to you.