In Your Blue Eyes
Rating: K (usually I pick Teen by default, but…there's no reason to. I'll need to think of some ;)
Pairing: Olivia/Peter
He couldn't even get through a morning cup of coffee without thinking of you. Did you know that?
As he absentmindedly sipped at his mug, his eyes would stray to the window, where the light was dancing through the glass, casting rainbows of reflection glancing back at you. Looking out into the morning enraptured by the pale, lingering light of dawn, exactly the same shade as your penetrating, inescapable eyes. Every morning, you were on Peter Bishop's mind.
Not to say that he could help wondering about you all the time. He did wonder. Everything about you reeled him in closer – your quiet wisdom, the way you listened intently to every word he said, your ribbons of soft blond hair, the precision and importance when you spoke – all of it only made him crave you more. You had that affect on people, you know, leaving them wanting more of you, to delve beneath your immaculate, porcelain skin, your face as perfect as any china doll, and reach into the center of you to pull out some shred of intrigue and explore it.
Though you'd grown to know each other, your mutual…respect for Walter only acting as a catalyst in your unanticipated friendship. He'd always seen you as solely solitary, unapproachable. Perhaps this was true for you now – you didn't really have a need for anyone anymore – but Peter, he'd seen you at all your lows and he knew how easily you could shatter with just one slip.
He was the one to hold you when you thought you were subconsciously murdering innocent people, the one to soothe you when you manically tried to piece yourself together after your dreams tore you apart. You shared a connection far deeper than any other you'd ever been a part of, even including Rachel and Ella, your niece. He saw through your many veils of secrecy and understood the parts of you that you ordinarily didn't show.
Everyone around you didn't think twice about the confident smile you wore so easily, a second skin so familiar it was almost real to you. No one bothered to notice how frayed it seemed sometimes. To them, you were the essence of pure perfection, a beautiful, brilliant, enchanting blonde. Peter knew you well enough to see beneath your reflection, to acknowledge the hurt that welled up inside of you beneath the surface, the pain you always had strove to suppress.
Perhaps this was why you came to him when you were losing any semblance of normal you'd ever had…
She drove fifteen over the limit to reach your apartment, running up the stairs, corn silk hair tossed down her back. You stumble, exhausted, out of the warm comfort of your bed, pulling a tight, white cotton t-shirt over your neck, obscuring your bare chest. You open the door to find Olivia standing slumped against the doorframe.
"I could only think of you." Her soft, lilting words are an apology rather than an explanation.
"It's two in the morning," you tell her, rubbing your eyes. Her face falls a little, and you regret saying anything. But you're genuinely curious as to why she's here. She looked…battered. Defeated. Broken.
"I know," she says gently, tentatively. "I'm sorry. I just – I can't…" You try to meet her eyes and see the tears already running glistening tracks down her alabaster cheeks, as painfully quiet as Olivia herself.
"Hey," you say urgently. She looks so fragile, like she's caving in on herself. She lowers her head, thick lashes camouflaging starry ocean eyes.
You touch a single finger to her chin, lifting it so that her eyes are level with yours. There's a wild desperation beneath glassy tears – a familiar look you've only seen in her twice. Once, at the hospital, when she'd suffered in the aftermath of the bomb, and the other, in New York, after she'd finally broken down over her alleged murders. But nothing, none of it, could compare to this pain that you were seeing now, raw and open, a bleeding wound that no such stitches could close.
"Olivia," you say, her name tripping of your tongue as easily as the finest of wines. "You can tell me. It's okay," you soothe, drawing your finger away from her chin, afraid that if you touch her, she'll break.
She shakes her head, her eyes wide and agonized, taking a step back into the wall. She's fearful of telling you, of saying anything aloud, as if that will make it more of a reality. Fresh tears dance down the slant of her cheekbones. Olivia seems so innocent to you, her wide blue eyes intent upon yours. You hesitantly place a hand against her cheek, brushing her skin like an angel's wings. She doesn't move away this time; instead, she unwinds her arms from around her waist and leans into your open embrace, feeling your arms around her as you hold her to you, pressing your lips to her forehead. She shudders, her skin cool to the touch, raising goose bumps where your skin coincides. You raise your other hand and run it through her long strands of hair.
Olivia trembles. "It's going to be okay," you say, assurance you don't know if you can make faith upon.
She opens her mouth as if to speak, then shakes her head slightly, and takes a step back from your chest.
"I should go," she says. With a pale smile, she looks into your eyes, hers still sparkling with her unshed tears.
"Take care of yourself," you tell her; can she taste the worry seeping into your voice? Olivia nods slightly, her beautiful, flawless features drawn with such palpable pain it nearly tears your heart to pieces.
"Goodnight, Peter," she says simply, her face half cast in shadow as she buttons her dark coat and steps out the door. Looking back, she offers a small smile, a compromise to assure you that she's okay, when, actually, she's spinning out of control so fast she can't see where she began to lose control.
You close the door, the silence of her loneliness hanging in the air, delicate and looming as a sweet, subtle perfume.
"Goodnight, Olivia."
She'd always loved you, from the moment you met. Did you know that?