Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe.
Summary: Repercussions of the truth. Set after the end of 3x08 Entrada. Peter centric, as it should be.
A/N: This is written as a tired response to countless fics and discussions I've read this season that either choose to forget Peter completely or add him in and victim blame. Peter is not responsible for this whole thing, and I'm sick of reading about how he needs to beg Perfect Olivia for forgiveness. He's hurting too and needs a bit of love.
Not beta'd! All mistakes are mine and there may be a few.
Possible spoilers, but since I don't know where this arc is heading it's more added speculation.
Choke
Peter tells her the truth, and it's the best and worst thing that he could have ever done.
There's this feeling he can't seem to get rid of, a nervous, twitchy thrumming inside his very bones, as though his body is silently shaking itself apart.
It is most ironic that after eight weeks of being oblivious, of being unobservant, of pushing Olivia's new quirks aside, into the back of his mind – she's changing – they are now the only thing Peter sees.
On her first real day back at work, Olivia's hair is tied back. The ponytail is simple, plain, blonde. But there is no fringe atop her forehead, and it's the only thing Peter can think about all day. There is no eye contact between them, and Olivia does not speak except about the case, but it doesn't seem to matter. She pinned back the fringe. She pinned back the fringe.
Peter almost costs them the case that day. He's a nervous ball of instability, an invisible shaking mess. And while his body remains steady, calm and collected – as he stands over the writhing body of their latest victim – the logistics, the orders being shouted at him left and right, none of it makes any sense. He cannot breathe, and though Broyles pushes past him to tend to the girl, Peter stays stuck and frozen at his side. Olivia pins back her fringe. How did he not know this?
In the week after her return, Olivia takes her first steps back into the new, Walter-owned Massive Dynamic. It is not the hair that does it in this instance, nor the constant haunted look in her eyes – but the way that she walks. For a moment, just a brief moment, Peter's minds reels backwards so quickly he worries he may fall. His fingers twitch involuntarily this time, and he stumbles a slight step, but no one turns in time to see. Up ahead, his Olivia, their Olivia ... she does not even walk the same.
He watches her from behind, as each step is taken with a purpose, with certain intent, as her flat shoes click along Massive Dynamic's endless stretch of cold, impersonal, white tiles. For a fleeting second Peter feels threatened, imposed upon from all sides by the tall, harsh, angular walls that surround them, his mind a disarray of swirling emotions, memories and thoughts but, as always, they inevitably come back to her.
There is no bounce – not a trace – not a smidgen of happiness in that walk, and how did he not know?
She had said the other side changed her, given her a new perspective. Peter had thought that maybe, just maybe, it had a little something to do with him. But Olivia never bounced when she walked. She never bounced when she walked. She certainly was not bouncing right now and dammit, he should have known this. Why would she have started just because of him?
He watches, miserable and sick, as Olivia continues to lead them further into the surrounding, encompassing shell of Massive Dynamic. Her eyes flicker around the room as though taking every detail in; but while she looks everywhere, she does not look at him. He wonders, silently, as he follows in her sure, strong footsteps, whether she will ever be able to look at him again, and whether she'll see anything but a fool.
His coping mechanism is gone. He can't run – not from this. Not even if she hates him. There is no escape, and yet Peter feels, deep in his bones, that he can no longer stay.
But he doesn't know what to do. He has lost her. He's lost her, and it's entirely his own fault. All those differences, all those little quirks, and he never saw. And though Olivia's disappointment and anger is like a sharp blade cutting into his stomach, again and again, it is his own disappointment which hurts more.
Over time, the days become a blur of dizzying thoughts and restless sleeps. Peter cannot concentrate on anything, anything, not even the all important machine. Tensions are thick between the team, and even Broyles acts with more reserve, as they continue to work against the impending war, ignoring the gaping distances in between.
The gentle shaking that had begun deep inside now radiates throughout Peter's body for all to see.
The fifth week in, after Olivia's return, Peter Bishop collapses on the floor of the Harvard laboratory and finds that, this time, he cannot get back up.
His body trembles almost uncontrollably, and he cannot do anything but sit on all fours and bow his tense, swirling head towards the ground. The nausea he has been fighting for weeks hits him at full force, spreading outwards from his stomach until it throbs through his very veins with a sickening, aching heat. In the back of his mind he is scared, scared that maybe Olivia is killing him, while in the forefront of his mind he hates himself. He doesn't deserve, he shouldn't be allowed, to act this weak. Not in front of her; not in front of them. Not while she remains so strong.
And when Walter finally tells him, through horrified tears, that his son, his son is sick again, Peter wonders if maybe he is getting what he deserves.
End.
A/N: The POV in this fic is Peter's, NOT my own. I do not believe Peter is at fault in any way at all. He is a human being who is prone to mistakes, and I think a lot of people like to forget that. To be honest, I feel sorry for him the most.