Jacksonville missing scene drabble. Original prompt: the depressing plane right back from Jacksonville; Peter's viewpoint. All feedback welcomed.
Peter can't stop staring.
Wait, that's not entirely accurate. He could stop if he wanted. He just doesn't want to. There's a fundamental shift in the base of his spine, an inert pull and he's not quite sure what it is.
More secretly, he knows exactly the difference even if he doesn't want to admit it. And maybe it really has little to do with him, and entirely everything to do with her. And the concept doesn't sit well with Peter at all. He doesn't want the nagging feeling because it's something he's fought hard against.
The flickering inside of the cabin feels like a candle close to burning out; the air dense and heavy on his tongue when he breathes in, for once he doesn't taste the recycled exhales of strangers. Being flown in a private, government issued jet must have its benefits because flying always drove him crazy before. Maybe he just doesn't care anymore.
Olivia's sitting across from him, changed back in her men's style pantsuit and crisp white shirt but she's forgotten her hair, letting it flutter across her shoulders and down her back, obviously too exhausted to noose it. Walter's further back, snoozing effortlessly a few rows behind them even though their mission is on a short fuse that could explode into the Other Side at any moment. Peter's irritated because he feels like he hasn't slept for days and every muscle in his back groans from being stationary on a plane twice now in less than 24 hours.
Not that he should complain, Olivia's the one that looks like hell. Has since they left Jacksonville. Probably a long time before then too. Dark circles line her features and Peter wonders if she ever looked…young.
She's pouring over the notes of the case files but Peter knows she's already memorized them all; eyes flickering mindlessly under her glasses. It's a reflex, he knows: a punishment for what she sees as her failure. She let Walter strap her in that chair, play Donkey Kong with her synapses, rip apart her subconscious and put her through hell and she's the one who thinks she's a failure. Peter thinks back to the moment that Walter first suggested Jacksonville, the irrational emotion raw and as biting as a slit wrist. He was angry at Walter for suggesting they try experimenting on her; he was livid when Olivia went along with it without a moment's hesitation or a goddamned rational thought about what she was risking.
Peter tilts his head when Olivia straightens her back, the files sliding dangerously close to the edge of her lap as she tries to work through the same fatigue he feels, and the low filter of the light above them changes her. She's different, but Peter can't put his finger on exactly how. He feels the flush of heat in his face because it's irritating that nothing's physically different about her.
"You okay?" she asks over the mask that the light plays on her glasses, and Peter works hard to look at her in a way that's disarming because he knows he's been staring.
"Just absorbing," He says and it's not really a lie. Olivia gives him an understanding look like she gets it before pushing the frames higher on the bridge of her nose and goes back to reading another file she doesn't have to. And Peter goes back to staring again, crossing his calf high against his knee and trying to pinpoint what's changed about her without Olivia noticing.
It began not so subtly the moment that Walter strapped her to the chair, slicing through her vein to pour open the Cortexiphan and it was the first time Peter wanted to drag her out of it, but it wasn't his call and it wouldn't have stopped her anyway. And he watched her break, defensive wall after wall crumbling when she ventured further into the crazy unknown and he was forced to the sidelines, pacing like a madman and feeling the sweat slick his hands so much that he had to tuck them into his jeans before Walter noticed.
And when the drugs kicked in and she slipped away Peter watched her break loose of the metal armor she hid so very well behind and he finally saw her. Saw it again when she crouched like a broken doll against a blackened wall she at one time torched, and admitted that she wasn't alright.
How was this different? He'd seen her do a million crazy, self-destructive and downright dangerous things since he first laid eyes on her. But he trusted her even if he didn't agree with her. And the trust ran so absolute that he'd watch her in her madness because it's just who she is. And he knows that he'd follow her in that madness, no matter how far it takes them both.
He feels the sweat in his palms again, the flush to his face even though it's not warm inside the cabin. Olivia looks at him over the file and this time he doesn't look away. He holds her eyes and surprisingly, she doesn't flinch like he wants her to. Almost hopes she does. She flexes an eyebrow, raising the arch like she's daring him over the black tortoiseshell of her glasses and Peter feels the drop in the pit of his stomach like they're descending too quickly. Peter opens his mouth but Walter chooses that moment to let out a deafening snore before grumbling back to sleep and the moment's lost. Olivia's smile is tired, rolling her eyes and going back to the files. Peter drops his chin to his chest and sneaks one last look at her under the dim lighting. She's still the same Olivia, but she's not. She's different. And he knows why.
And just like that, everything changes.