Since I haven't posted anything in ages, didn't write anything for Christmas, and in the spirit of the new year...I offer a little end of the year fluff =)
I think I'd like to continue this into another few chapters...anywho, crit is love!
Auld Lang Syne
"Take the night off. Tomorrow too. If anything comes up, I have a few rookie agents waiting to earn their stripes." Broyles eyes glimmer, just a hint, and he almost smiles as the four faces staring expectantly back at him beam with excitement.
Olivia, Astrid and the Bishop boys are more than happy to oblige.
"So what time can we crash your wild house party?"
There's a skip in his step, something distinctly cocky and jaunty in each stride. Olivia has never thrown a holiday party (not during his tenure, as it were), and he's never had the opportunity to meet the few others privileged enough to share her precious personal time.
Eager doesn't begin to describe how anxious he is to experience the company she keeps when the world isn't falling apart at the seams.
The agent has a breezy aura about her, and her eyes are starlight as she smiles at him.
"Be there by seven. We start early so everyone is good and wasted by midnight."
"Sounds like my kind of party."
"There will be hard liquor. You'll have a blast."
"A party hosted by the fabulous Dunham girls? I'd expect nothing less!" his lips purse as he considers an afterthought, "and what about Ella? Is Rachael going to let her stay up, what with all the grownups getting trashed?"
"She's invited to spend New Year's with a friend from school. That's actually the only way we're getting away with a party," she adds sheepishly, kicking a puffy clump of snow in her path. They're strolling slowly down the sidewalk despite the brisk cold, and Peter passively observes how young and spry she looks with a rosy glow across her cheeks.
"You sound like the good girl breaking house rules while the parents are out of town."
Her smile falters slightly. "Ella's father would throw a fit if she were home for the party. Not that I'd want a house full of drunks around her anyway…"
"You were hoping she'd be able to spend New Year's with you and Rachael."
She stops suddenly and looks him square in the eye. "Yeah. I was."
Peter's hand is firm and comforting on her shoulder. "You and Rach deserve a night to let loose. It's been a rough year. And it'll do Ella some good to get out of the house, too."
She nods, biting her lip as she stares down at flake powdered shoes.
"Hey."
She glances up at him, and his eyes are warm. "She'll be there New Year's Day to help you nurse the awful hangover I have every intention of instigating. And there's always next year, too. Don't beat yourself up over it."
Something changes in the agent's expression – fear? – and suddenly he knows exactly what skeleton he's rattled in the closet.
"Yeah. There's always next year." The cowardly lion has more conviction.
"Olivia…"
But she's staring at the slush again, and he imagines the cold, brown muck is an excellent analogy for her sudden mood. If a count-down to the apocalypse wasn't their day-job, she'd still be smiling.
A daring brush on the chin forces her attention, albeit startled, and his voice is barely a whisper. "Don't do this to yourself. Not today."
"Peter…"
"Listen to me." He squares her in front of him, hand on each shoulder so he can be certain she won't shy away. "Two days, we're going to pretend the sky isn't falling. For one night, you're going to be surrounded by people who love you, and you aren't going to tear yourself apart wondering if the world as we know it is going to break. We're going to get shit-face, stupid drunk, I'm going to do something I'll probably regret, and we're all going to laugh about it on Monday and hope to hell no one had a video camera."
The grin unfurling on her lips is matched only by the tears brimming in her eyes.
"Just for tonight, we're going to live our lives, Olivia. Come what may."
She stares back at him, a few tears slipping down her cheeks, but she's smiling.
"Come what may," she whispers. The jaded agent nuzzles her head into his pea coat as he pulls her close. Even as her mind settles, she quietly wonders if this summer-eyed genius is vulnerable to Freudian slips.
"We should get going," he murmurs into her hair. She pulls away and nods, mouthing a silent thank you as his eyes crinkle into a smile.
"Guess I should go get that party put together."
"Yeah…I still gotta pick up something to bring for tonight."
"Right..." Olivia drags an errant hand through her hair, stuck in the place between an awkward silence and not wanting to say goodbye. She's about to bow out when he takes a tentative step forward, peculiar expression masking his features.
"Hey, Olivia…you need a hand? Getting everything ready for the party?"
"Will Walter need you for anything?"
The younger Bishop shakes his head and visibly relaxes. "Not likely. He'll probably spend the afternoon baking all kinds of booze-friendly treats. And I'm sure I can barter with Astrid to check up on him once in a while."
Olivia ponders this a moment, recognizing a rare opportunity, before nodding.
"I'd really like if you came along."
Head cocked to one side, eyeing her curiously, he smiles and tucks away his car keys.
"I call shotgun."