The Changed Man Package
Disclaimer: I wish, but no, I don't own the characters/show.
Spoilers: All of aired Season 2, especially "Fracture"
Author's Note: Apparently I can't get enough of pensive Peter fic lately, so here's my take on the whole "Olivia not confiding in Peter" idea that's recently formed on the show. I realize probably everyone and their mother has/is going to write about this, but here's my two cents worth anyway, enjoy!
He'd be lying if he said it didn't hurt.
But then, he guessed, that's what he got for sticking around as long as he had. Hence the shot glass and the fact that his dear buddy Jack had come over to commiserate.
Between that, jet lag, and the excitement of the last couple days the world had finally slowed down enough around him to make tonight a living hell; and alcohol had looked like a much better option than dealing with the gnomes who were yanking at his optic nerves, and trying to bash his brain into itself with hammers. All of who, he imagined, looked like tunic-wearing Walters, which was not helping matters any.
The problem was, however, that a large quantity of booze in his bloodstream seemed to be of little aide. Even with a pounding headache, his mind would just not let him slide into drunken oblivion.
He had changed; going back to one of his many old stomping grounds, and coming face-to-face with the man he'd been had confirmed that much to him. But even there it'd still been there, that elephant in the corner, staring him down and pointing its trunk at Olivia.
If anything, he stared into his glass, going back had made things even worse. She'd seen what sticking around him long enough could cost her, even though he'd rather cut off his own leg than let any harm come to her.
But that's just it, isn't it? She already has been hurt, and you couldn't do a damn thing about it.
His grip tightened on the glass, clenching his jaw as he tried to banish the voice that'd been popping up more and more recently, telling him things he really didn't want to hear. He'd gone years without one, but apparently part of the "changed-man" package he'd gotten came complete with a conscious as well as a "tough truths" upgrade. It also, ostensibly, refused to shut up once it got started.
So what do you do? You give her the space she thinks she needs. You ignore the shadows underneath and in her eyes, the way her hand shakes when she tries to lift a glass, when she hears things that nobody else can, how she hobbles about on that cane with her jaw clenched in pain that she refuses to show. You call her Dunham, even when she looks like she's about to lose it, when just before she was talking calmly to the widow of a human bomb. You tell yourself that she just needs time to sort it all out, that she doesn't want or need your help despite your constant worrying that'll eventually give you an ulcer. Now who's got the bigger problem here?
Even though it's coming from his own head, he still feels guilty, another added bonus to this "changed man" package. The thing is, whenever said package had been delivered he forgot to ask for instructions to these uncovered feelings.
He'd thought, more like hopefully assumed, that when she still was in the hospital, nothing had changed. She was still Olivia, and he was still Peter, just surviving another near-death experience, everyday stuff. As time passed, however, the more it became obvious that things were different.
They all had their secrets, but hers she'd started to carry around like an invisible Albatross, compounded by the fact that what little she did know herself was probably not even half of what she should remember. And what she did know, she wasn't sharing, which was probably what burned him most. He wanted to help her, so he'd started hunting down new cases and looking for connections, but his hands were tied where she was concerned so as long as she kept close-lipped.
Or so he'd thought.
Now, though, the more he thought about it, the more he realized just how stupid of a genius he really was. Perhaps it was the booze, but even if it was it was the first great idea he'd ever had while drinking, and he wasn't about to past it up.
He'd thought she'd needed space, but did she really want it?
Olivia Dunham was a strong woman, but strong people often have the strongest demons. Could he really be that damn selfish as to assume she would be fine on her own so that he wouldn't have to get too close? He worried about her, he cared about her, yes, but when it came down to climbing those defensive walls of hers and getting to the truth did he balk?
It took him under thirty seconds to call a cab and write a note for Walter before he was out the door.