A/N : Takes places somewhere during the second half of the third season.
Thank you Leelee for the insight and Kira for the wonderful patience you've shown with my bad grammar and broken english.
Disclaimer : no copyright infringement intended.
"It's not your fault, you know."
Her voice was soft, words murmured in the still of the night while his hand stroked her hair, soothing her, as one would calm a scared child. Her back was turned to him, body pressed against his, curved into his bigger form, taking comfort in his mere presence as her heartbeat returned to normal.
Olivia had been having another nightmare when Peter woke her up, shaking her shoulders. He had tried calling to her, his hands on her face, thumbs stroking her cheeks, to no avail. When she was too deep in a nightmare, a good nudge was what she needed. He had crushed her trembling form against his, her sobs muffled against his naked chest and he could feel the tears wetting his skin as she cried openly in his arms. She was not even trying to hide how upset she was, unlike the first time it had happened; Olivia had rushed to the bathroom, not letting Peter near her until she had calmed down enough to explain things to him.
As the nightmare had lingered in the back of her mind, all she could see was the glimmer, brighter than ever in the darkness of the room. The same glimmer she had first seen back in Jacksonville, one year earlier. She wished she had told him, then; maybe things wouldn't have been so complicated and full of hurt, maybe she wouldn't have to deal with the recurring nightmares.
The second time she had seen him glimmer, it had been a welcome sight. She had crossed over to bring him back to his world, to her, and the yellow halo had not been such a problem, then, the colour warming the atmosphere. She had been a reminded of her photography teacher from high school showing her how to use filters to create a comfortable, intimate feel to a picture. She remembered feeling safe, there, Peter's arm pulling her closer as they shared their first kiss. It had also been the last time she had liked her ability.
Now, when she thought about it, she saw a dull brownish-yellow that reminded her of mustard. She had always hated the thing, both for the bitterness and the colour. Her step-father used to put a copious amount of it on his steaks, and maybe that was why she had never liked the condiment, because it was associated with him.
She felt Peter sigh against her neck, patiently waiting for her to talk. He never pushed her; he always stayed there, ready to catch her when she needed him. In those moments, even if she could not bring herself to turn around and look at him, she loved him for being there for her, no matter what. Sometimes, she wondered if she deserved such a man in her life.
"Let's get back to sleep," she offered. She knew she would not be able to close her eyes again that night, she never could, and he knew it all too well.
"Olivia." His voice was low, begging her not to shut him out. Minutes passed, his hand still stroking her hair, from her forehead to her neck, endlessly repeating the same gesture; when a stray fell too close to her eyes, he would gently push it back, or lock it behind her ear. She moved to find a more comfortable position, pushing her back against his chest, bringing them impossibly closer.
His hand stopped stroking her hair and glided downward to her waist, wrapping himself around her. He was always trying to have physical contact with her, no matter where they were. He would often hold her hand in public, or place his hand on the small of her back as they walked; he would bring her closer in bed, cuddling, nuzzling her face as they whispered sweet nothings. Even in his sleep, he would wrap an arm around her, keeping her tight against him.
"It was that time when I first crossed over," she began tentatively, holding her breath as she waited for him to say something. When it was clear he would not interrupt her, she gathered her thoughts and continued. "They didn't know, then. Brandon let me use the tank, probably thinking I was willing to help them progress in their research."
Peter might not be an agent, but she had let him read her report, eventually, because even though he had never asked for it, she needed him to know. It had been the first step, and while he never pushed her to talk about her time over there, she felt he wished he knew more. He told her once that he'd rather have her telling him what had happened, than black words printed on a cheap sheet of paper.
"I called Ella, and hearing her voice; she was so cheerful..." Olivia took a deep breath, Peter giving her a gentle squeeze. Her eyes were fixed on the doorknob of the door facing her, the metallic piece glowing as the streetlight reflected on it.
"I knew who I was, then." She felt him nod against her hair, his breath warm against her neck. "Henry helped me - I told you about him, didn't I?" She wasn't sure of what she had told him and what she hadn't any more. Playing the same scene of one's life endlessly tends to do that - one lose their grasp of reality for an instant, not knowing what to hold on to. No more seeing the difference between what's imagined, and what's real.
When Peter asked if he was the taxi driver, Olivia resumed talking. "I was back into the Island shop, trying to get out. And they pulled me back, and I couldn't -" Her throat was suddenly gripped by an invisible force, the back of her eyes was burning, the wetness of her tears not lessening the fire behind her lids. She tried to take a deep breath to calm herself down; her lungs were shaking, releasing shivering puffs of air. Sensing her distress, Peter kissed her neck.
"You don't have to go through it again, it's okay."
She shook her head and closed her eyes, finding comfort in Peter's arms. She had already told him about the experiments - he had asked about the scars left on the crook of her arms, and the one on her back. She had spared him the details, but he was smart enough to fill in the gaps she had left.
"You know, I always thought death would be cold and quiet." Her voice was surprisingly soft and controlled, her body relaxing against him. She was opening a new door, walking past the facts and giving him her bare self. "They were going to kill me with a circular saw."
She shuddered as the memories came back to her, how her heart pounded and tried to jump out of her chest when she couldn't see anything but the white, tiled floor. How she was paralysed by both fear and the drugs they had injected her. All she could do was move her eyes, trying to understand what was going on based on what she could hear, the clanking of surgery instruments hitting the metallic tray, muffled words, spoken behind sterilised masks. She had always wondered why those who were going to kill someone bothered protecting the victim's body from infection. It seemed rather pointless.
"I thought I would end up on the wrong side of a gun, or be caught in a car crash during a chase, not..." Not cut alive into pieces, an electrical saw the butcher's weapon of predilection. Maybe she would die doing her job, but the possibility of going due to the usual circumstances was lowering as each new case was opened.
"I couldn't feel anything." Peter resumed stroking her hair, her eyes closing under the soothing motion. "Yet I could feel the heat as the blade grazed the skin on my back. Right before it shred it." He involuntarily shivered at the picture of Olivia being cut apart alive, at her pale, soft skin eaten by the teeth of the circular saw. "And then, I was back here, where nothing glowed any more." Except Peter, she thought. But she would not bother him with that; after all, the halo was only making its presence known at night.
"Was everything glowing, there?" he asked.
She nodded against him.
"From the day I remembered who I was, everything had a yellow blur. When I see you glimmer, I can look to the side. Over there, it made me sick. It was nauseating. Even if I closed my eyes, the brightness wouldn't go away." It had not helped her to keep down the little food they gave her during her captivity, nor had it been easy to sleep with a harsh light constantly directed at her eyes.
"I'm sorry." They were the only words he could offer; how could he comfort her when he felt miserable himself? She shook her head, her body tensing again.
"Don't. You have nothing to be sorry for." He sighed, then, and the gentle hand on her hair stilled, fingers resting near her temple. She knew he blamed himself for what had happened to her; he told her once that he was twice responsible – once for being the reason she had crossed over, and twice, for not seeing the superchery. It had been their first disagreement as a couple – she had insisted she was a grown woman capable of taking responsibility for the consequences of her choices, while he had argued her free will had been stolen from her by Walter since she was a kid. They had made up ten minutes later on her couch.
"Do you think it will always be there?" Peter asked after a few silent minutes.
"The glimmer?"
He hummed his answer and buried his face in her hair, relishing in the softness of it.
"I don't know. I think so." Truth be told, she was scared it would never go away, a constant reminder of who he was, of where he was from, and what had happened there. She knew the pain would lessen with time, but memories would forever be engraved in her mind.
They fell into a comfortable silence, Olivia's eyes drawn back to the reflecting doorknob as Peter's hand resumed its stroking. Neither of them knew how to handle her ability, or what to expect. Olivia was slowly learning to accept it as a part of her she could not just ignore, and even though she had tried to fight it, she knew she had no choice but to embrace it.
"You know, you could always try to control it," Peter suggested, long after she thought he'd fallen back asleep. She was drowsy herself, but nowhere near succumbing to slumber.
"How?" She felt him shrug, his shoulder moving against her back, her shirt the only barrier between their skin.
"We'll think of something. You're getting better with the telekinesis."
She had been reluctant, but both Bishops had pushed her to exercise regularly, and she had finally given in. She could move light objects with her mind, now, a pen, or a coin. She still failed, the tip of her drawing pen breaking as it hit the ground when she gave it a go at random times. She had to focus hard, emptying her mind and putting all her will into moving the small object. And each time she managed to do it, Walter would cheer, his hands clapping, and Peter would give her a hug, pride on his face.
She turned around in his arms, his grip never lessening around her middle.
"You'll have to help." she tentatively said, gauging his reaction. Naturally, she could use objects from the other side, both of them were aware of that. But she would feel more confident if Peter was there, by her side, to catch her when she fell.
"Of course."
She smiled, her eyes travelling to his face, savouring the absence of the glimmer. It would always go away, eventually; he had the power to make it disappear faster with a simple touch of his hands, or a lingering kiss on her forehead. Her hand reached to cup his face, the rough stubble tickling the inside of her palm. A silent conversation played through their eyes, no words needed to convey their feelings. He would always be there for her, no matter what, her anchor to reality, keeping her feet on the ground as her mind wandered through the possibilities offered to her on a daily basis. He would be there to catch her when she failed, and he would put her back on her feet so she could try again. And again, until she succeeded. She would love him unconditionally, and it was enough for them.
Sighing, she brought her face to his chest, inhaling his scent, his hand resuming its previous place in her hair. And for the first time, she let slumber take over her, as the first tendrils of the day bathed the room in a comfortable yellow glow.