((what might've happened if Peter and Olivia hadn't gotten back together immediately at the end of 4.16... and Peter had waited a few days before making the decision to trust the Observer. I don't own anything, etc etc.))
Your latest observation is that you are, indeed, drunk.
The last few days have dragged by, but at the same time, you feel like it was just a few minutes ago that you were talking to Nina, about how loving someone and being in love with them wasn't the same thing. About how you'd decided to not try to regain your old memories, that the love you have for Peter is worth giving up a lifetime for.
As you stare at the half-empty whiskey bottle in front of you, part of you is wondering if that was a smart choice. He can't even look at you without guilt, with thinking of "his" Olivia- the one that you thought you were, now that your memories had come back.
And you're sure now, even through the drunken haze, that that is what has happened, that you haven't had a second set of memories imprinted onto you, but they are your real memories, and the ones that you've had are of an artificial life.
Because you've never felt so alive as you do when your lips are pressed up against his.
And so, forbidden to work and not brave enough to go to the lab, to face him and his determination to hold you at arm's length, you've sat at home for days. Moping, more or less. You don't remember when you got the bottle of whiskey out, but you do remember that it was full when you started, and now it's half gone. Part of you realizes that this isn't like you, that normally you're stronger than this. But part of you is sick of maintaining the facade and doesn't care.
And you still haven't forgotten about Peter, which was what this... exercise was supposed to result in. If anything, it's only made your feelings stronger, and tears spring to your eyes as you picture his smile, as you remember that night, before everything was thrown into chaos, when you finally put your heart into his hands and trusted him not to break it. Leaps of faith have never come easy to you, and you wonder what deity was cruel enough to take him from you when you'd finally been able to love again.
Even drunk, your instincts don't abandon you, so when the door to your apartment opens unexpectedly you try to jump to your feet, only to have the room spin around you as you try to find something to grasp to hold you upright even as you peer at the door, trying to figure out who would be in your apartment at this time of the night uninvited.
And then his arms are around you, holding you upright, clutching you close to him, wrapped so tightly around you it's almost hard to breathe. You'd recognize his smell anywhere. It's the smell of safety, of security.
It's the smell of home.
You peer up at him, trying to make your eyes focus. "P-Peter? Wha-what are you doing here?" you stammer out the words, beginning to wonder if you're dreaming, if he's not really here, if all of this is just in your imagination, and the tears come again, this time spilling down your cheeks. "Please tell me this isn't a dream, please, please..."
"Shhhh, shhh. Olivia, I'm here." He brushes the tears away, looking down into your face before spotting the half-empty whiskey bottle sitting on the coffee table. "Are you drunk?" Not bothering to wait for an answer, he scoops you up into his arms and heads for your bedroom, gently depositing you onto the bed and pulling the covers up over you. You clutch his hand, and your voice comes out in a tearful whisper. "Please don't go."
He smiles, that smile that you adore so much, shrugging off his coat and kicking his shoes off while letting you maintain your deathgrip on his hand. "Sweetheart, I'm not going anywhere." He climbs over you into bed and pulls you over to face him, wrapping his arms around you and guiding your head to rest on his shoulder. "Sleep. We'll talk in the morning."
Your brain attributes it to your drunken stupor, but you swear he whispers "I love you" as you drift off. And for the first time in days, you sleep deeply and well.
You wake in the morning, hung over, by yourself. Rolling onto your side, you take a deep, shuddering breath, trying so desperately not to break down into tears again, but failing, because he's not here and you feel so absolutely empty without him. You squeeze your eyes shut, tears escaping from them-
And jerk upright as the bathroom door opens and Peter walks out of it. His eyes go directly to your tear-stained face, and he's on the bed in an instant, arms wrapped around you, cradling you close to his body."I'm here, sweetheart, I'm here, I'm sorry, you were still asleep, I didn't mean to scare you." You cling to him, your tears turning from despair to joy, sobbing out the feelings that you've kept bottled up over the course of the last week, finding solace in his embrace as he lets you ride out the storm of emotions.
Finally, you draw a shaky breath and look up at him, your hand reaching for his cheek. "You-" your voice is raspy, your throat dry, and you swallow to combat it. "You're here." Your voice is full of wonder, of hope. "I thought I was dreaming again."
He smiles, ever so slightly, and brushes a few stray strands of hair out of your face. "I'm here. I'm sorry I took so long to get here. I... I had to be sure."
Your heart leaps at his words, and you gaze into his eyes, wanting to hope but afraid to. "Sure of what?" Your mouth has gone dry and you barely get the words out, your heart thundering in your chest as you wait for his response.
He leans his head down to yours, nose nuzzling up against your cheek, before he whispers in your ear. "Sure that you were mine." And then his mouth is covering yours, and you're kissing him like you wouldn't survive without him. The hangover is forgotten as you pull him closer to you, clinging to him like a lifeline, and when you finally break apart for air laughter bubbles from your lips.
Some time later, you still lay in bed, clothes scattered randomly about the room. He holds you like he did when you fell asleep last night, and you lay there, you head on his shoulder, a smile on your face, his hand tangled in your hair. Reluctant to leave his embrace, you prop yourself up on one arm, looking down at him.
"What?" he asks, hand gently tracing over you cheek as you gaze down at him.
You pause, suddenly afraid that if you say the words he will disappear, and this will all prove to be just another dream. Your hand drifts down his chest, assuring yourself that he is real, and finally you look back up into his eyes.
"I love you."
He says it at the same time you do, and a thrill races through you. "Did... did you say that last night too? Before I fell asleep?" you ask him softly, though you already know the answer.
"I did." The smile is back on his face, and you recognizes the aura of wonder behind it because it's what you're feeling as well. And you know you'll get to hear him say it a thousand more times, and a thousand after that, because after all that you've been through together, you will not let him go again.
It occurs to you, somewhat abruptly, that this shift in his emotions towards you must have been triggered by something, and the question must show on your face, because his eyes soften and he reaches up to cradle your cheek in his hand. "What's wrong, Olivia?"
"Nothing, I just..." You turn your head to the side, kissing the palm of his hand. "Why now, Peter? You kept pushing me away, and now all of a sudden you're here, and we..." Your voice trails off, and you swallow hard to keep another round of tears at bay, the next sentence coming out in a whisper. "I can't lose you again."
His hand finds your chin, and he gently tilts your head back up, his eyes finding yours. "You won't." He takes your face between both hands, his thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. "I- When you were on that last case, I was... Walter found something in my eye, that one of the Observers planted. It led me to a beacon. And the Observer who I freed by activating it told me that I've been home all along, that the reason I hadn't been completely erased was because of love. Love that I had for people, and that they had for me." He kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, his voice dropping almost to a whisper. "I'm still here because of our love, Olivia. I'm sorry I pushed you away. I just... I had to be sure I wasn't making the same mistake all over. And I'll be damned if I ever let you go again."
As if to reinforce his words, his arms tighten around you, and his lips descend onto yours. Your fears drop away, and your heart fills with hope, and in that moment, you know everything will be okay.
Because he feels like home.