My first attempt at Fringe fic...please go easy on me!
Rated T for s-e-x.
The Darkest Moments Before Dawn
Eyelids heavy, she blinks, concentrates on the streetlight shining beyond the windowpane that is not her own; its light a stark contrast to the ink atmosphere that surrounds it.
She stretches languidly, readjusting as much for comfort as to assure herself that this was not in fact a dream, her movement causing him to shift closer. Burrowing his face into her neck, his hand leaves the comfort of her waist to cover her breast as he pulls her deeper into his warmth.
She feels the heat instantly flush her skin at his intimate touch, and is thankful for the darkness that engulfs them. She feels foolish for reacting in such a way, considering how she got to be where she is now, but the intimacy is still so new.
Her muscles and bones meld into the cocoon of heat they've created. 'So this is what it feels like to relax,' she thinks.
She hasn't felt this weightless in a long time, almost as if him being next to her has transferred some of her burden's to him, if only temporarily. Yet she can't find sleep. The starless sky is a heavy blanket over their world; darkness envelops them, so instead she focuses on the streetlight.
So comfortably he sleeps, she wonders for a fleeting moment if he's been here, like this, before. If she'd ever stared at the streetlight as he slept with her like this, in his bed, but Olivia quickly pushes those thoughts from her head. That was then and this is now, and she chose to take this path on the promise that she'd never look back.
To continue to compare herself to her alternate has only proven to be a lesson in futility. She is different. And to fully be herself with him will prove to him that she is different. It can be that simple if she wants it to be.
The hard planes of his body unconsciously push against her softer counterpart as he slumbers on, a feeling she has already memorized. It's hard to believe that she almost didn't find the courage to take this monumental step.
At the gap between what's been and what will be, she pauses, the whiskey sloshing in the bottle at her abrupt stop. A glimmer of fear ripples through her and she turns to look back, beyond his porch, into the darkness she emerged from. It would be so easy to turn and walk away. But then what would happen tomorrow, and the day after that.
Whether she was ready or not, she started something in New York. And it was up to her to finish it. She wanted to finish it.
Unconsciously smoothing the hair on her head, she knocks.
She follows the familiar path to the kitchen, his footsteps echoing behind her. She places the bottle on the countertop and watches as he retrieves two glasses from the top shelf.
"I have to keep the good glasses up where Walter can't reach them," he comments absently.
She smiles in return, content to watch as he moves effortlessly around the room, looking completely at home amongst Walter's clutter and chaos, despite the glimmer that follows him wherever he goes.
He pours two generous glasses and they toast to a disaster averted. She swallows slowly, unsure of where to go next, but as she looks into his eyes, she knows at once that she's made the right choice. There's nowhere to go but forward and she's wasted enough time already. Her fear abates and the glimmer is gone, She can see his face plain as day and she instantly finds hope that the beauty he spoke of is actually attainable.
She places her glass on the counter top, giving up the ruse that she dropped by merely to share a drink.
"Peter,"
His eyes light up like they do every time she utters his name in just that way. The way that tells him that what she's about to say could ultimately change his fate.
"What you said to Mrs. Merchant…I want what you want."
She doesn't dare break eye contact with him, although the silence is slowly swallowing her whole.
But it's the look in his eyes that keeps her steady.
"What do you think we should do about that," he asks, relieving the tension in the way that only Peter can.
She smiles, and with a small shake of her head, leans towards him, and this time, there is no hesitation.
His lips are impossibly soft, unlike any other part of him. The familiarity of his hard planes calms her as he quickly pulls her against him. The knowledge that she's been here before, even if only for an instant, warms her. Wrapping her arms around his neck she deepens the kiss. The taste of whiskey is tangy against her tongue, but his taste quickly overtakes her.
Her hand slides to feel the breadth of his shoulders, and as he moves to change angles, she pulls away.
His confusion is evident, but she promises herself to make his suffering short.
"Am I glowing?" he wonders.
"No," she responds hoping that she looks as confident on the outside as she feels on the inside.
She walks past him, but turns back when she realizes he's not following. She grabs his hand and smiles up at him, hoping that her eyes convey what she can't yet speak.
Their footsteps creak up the old staircase, and Olivia thinks fleetingly about the comings and goings in the old house. How many others made this same journey over the years, were any of them quite like hers and Peters? That one place could hold so many different memories for so many different people only solidified her decision that nothing can happen without moving forward. So she continues to put one foot in front of the other.
At the top of the staircase he takes the lead, knowing that she's never seen this part of the house. He leads her to his room and over the threshold closing the door behind them. She reaches for the buttons on her coat but he stops her.
"No," he says, bringing her hands back to her sides, "let me."
Hands on her shoulders he gently leads her backward, in the almost darkness she feels momentarily disoriented until her back connects with the solid wood of the door. His hands frame her face and he leans in, placing the softest kiss on her lips. If her eyes hadn't still been open, she wouldn't be able to say for sure whether it had actually happened.
His hands leave the warmth of her cheeks and start working on the buttons of her coat. One by one they come away and with each button undone, he presses another kiss to her lips; each fleeting and leaving her wanting more. Finally the offensive article is pushed off her shoulders and he hovers inches from her, waiting.
"Peter," she finally whispers, and it's the closest Olivia Dunham has ever come to an actual whimper, but right now, she doesn't care.
His name on her lips is all the invitation he needs. Peter grips the scarf that's still hanging around her neck and pulls her against him, covering her mouth with his own.
They dance what she can only compare to a waltz as he guides her with her scarf, turning her around and backing her toward his bed. The back of her knees hit the mattress as he pulls her in for one more languid kiss.
Normally the take-charge type, she's content to let him set the pace. She meets him kiss for kiss, touch for touch, when he sheds his shirt, she removes hers.
Her skin is bathed in the soft glow of the street lamp below, he traces her outline with is palms, his touch bringing goose bumps to her skin.
Slowly each barrier is removed until it is just her and him.
He pushes her down onto the bed and she is instantly surrounded by his scent. She turns her head, burying it in the depth of his pillow, and she hears his low chuckle as he remains standing, watching.
"You smell good," she laughs, and he moves to join her.
The smile quickly leaves her face as skin meets skin. He is impossibly hot, and hard in all the right places. As he covers her fully, his heat seeps into her skin.
The exploration starts.
His fingertips sear her skin, his touches making her shiver. Her anticipation grows, as does his urgency. She knows this will be the first of many and doesn't object to his speed.
Suddenly they are face to face, and with one swift movement he is inside her, and for a moment the world stands still.
He releases the breath he didn't know he was holding as he whispers her name.
Then he moves and it's all she can do to hold on.
The pace quickens and her mind becomes a collage of all of the moments that have led to this one. She sees him again for the first time in Iraq, his struggle to cope with his new life in Boston, late nights in the lab, insights into his world, his glimmering face in the foyer, telling Walter that he was gone, crossing universes to find him only to lose him, coming home to a world upside down, and finally, the realization that it has all come down to this.
That knowledge carries her higher than she's ever been before. She arches into him, ready to complete this journey to start another, and he senses she's close. He pushes harder, faster and she closes her eyes to the brightness before her. Then, she freezes as the light explodes behind her eyes and he is right there with her. Her breath leaves her body and all she can feel is him as he slows his pace, unwilling to let go of that feeling any sooner than he has to.
Eventually he stops, brushes her hair back from her face and places a feather light kiss on her lips. Then he wraps her up tight and buries his head in her neck, content to breathe in her scent.
They lay there for what seems like forever, his weight atop her a welcoming comfort. She hums her contentment while idly stroking her fingers across his back.
Then he shifts onto his elbows so that he can see her face.
She knows he's staring at her but she can't seem to open her eyes. For once she doesn't feel the scrutiny of the stare, instead, welcomes his investigation.
"Olivia,"
Although only a whisper, his voice thunders through the silence. She lifts her eyes to his, and lifts her hand to lightly brush her thumb over his bottom lip; her smile quickly works to match his own.
"You are so beautiful."
Her smile grows even wider, and to keep him from seeing the color that spreads across her cheeks, she pulls him down and seals his lips with her own.
Peter shifts behind her, pulling her back to the present.
So much has changed yet so much will stay the same. She smiles thinking about what will happen if Walter makes his way home before she leaves in the morning. And for an instant, she imagines actually staying this time for the pancake breakfast.
Her eyes finally drift shut as the darkness recedes and the first rays of light drift over the horizon. Proof enough that, even if only for tonight, out of the deepest darkness will always come the light.
The heavy weight of his arm around her is nothing compared to the weight of what lies ahead of them. But she feels better knowing that whatever they face, they'll face it together.