Carnival of Rust
A/N: This takes place at no particular point in the series, just a night off for Peter and Olivia. Based on the song "Carnival of Rust" by Poets of the Fall.
Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe, at least not in this universe.
It was the gloss of melted candy that slicked over his mouth that finally drove him mad. Peter swiftly reached for a napkin, imprinted with festive incarnations of carnival characters. She really had to go for the cotton candy, he mused.
These carnival grounds on the cusp of Boston's limits had recently been reopened, complete with red and yellow big tops and an assortment of whirring and twirling rides that roused screams from their patrons.
"You ready to keep going?"
Peter looked up at the woman sitting across from him, Olivia Dunham with a Cheshire grin splattered across her face; he thought he could see constellations speckled in her eyes while he was still flicking specks of candy goo from his chin.
She burst out laughing from this. "Guess next time we should stick to fries," she said.
His own chuckling joined hers a moment later.
A minute later he stood and looped his arm around hers before strolling off into the menagerie of carnies and harlequins.
"And some people would call this kind of place crazy," Olivia whispered to him.
"Yeah, the ones who don't have to worry about the attack of a giant slug," he answered.
Olivia snorted a laugh, most likely recalling the incident earlier that day where one of Walter's "domesticated creatures" had reportedly "disengaged itself from its harness" and had run rampant around the lab for at least two hours before Peter caught it with a vacuum cleaner. Naturally, Walter had protested with something along the lines of "What would PETA have to say about such idiocy?"
"Peter, look over there," she said, motioning with a jerk of her head to a clearing where a few couples were dancing. There were faint ribbons of music weaving into the air, like a cobweb of melody strung by spider conductor. The lyrics trembled through the air like drops of liquid amber, igniting curiosity in the both of them.
He felt a tug on his arm and saw Olivia trying to lead him to the clearing. "Come on," she said.
He nibbled at his lower lip.
"You afraid of dancing, Bishop?"
She just had to tease him like that.
"Nope," he said and led her into the clearing.
The area was basically secluded with a few couples dancing slowly to the song as a large music box sat off to the side, where a particularly demure monkey was perched on it.
It was like someone had plucked them from the colossal chaos of the carnival and dropped them into the Enchanted Forest.
He let go of her arm for an instant and she quirked an eyebrow. Then he held out a hand in a grand display of chivalry. He figured if this was part of an Enchanted Forest, he might as well play Prince Charming.
Olivia took his hand and he braided his fingers with hers, their bodies flush against each other as they danced. Peter wondered for a moment if the ground was even there as the lyrics of the song painted a starry Orion's belt around them.
He pondered for a moment if there would be a time when the things on the fringes of reality no longer tainted actual reality. He considered it for a moment; all these people attending the carnival had no notion of things such as telekinesis or macro viruses. He pitied them for their naivety. For them, they were concerned with their pay checks, the traffic jam that made them five minutes late for work and how the coffee they drank that morning was a day old.
For him and Olivia, their daily worries were of another calibre entirely; they were always concerned with another creature on the loose or another strange manifestation of pseudo science.
He then felt about a dozen tiny fingers dance over his scalp.
He looked up as rain tumbled down onto the meadow. He knew that he should get Olivia out of the rain, as chivalry would demand of him.
"C'mon, sweetheart," he said, motioning to a tent where the other couples had taken refuge.
She didn't follow him.
"Afraid of a little rain, Bishop?"
The lyrics drummed with liquid footsteps.
He smiled, water curling over the bristles of his faint beard, "Not in the least bit."
He met her again, water draping her hair over her shoulders in golden streamers.
The rain twisted into her hair in clear pearls that glistened with stolen sunshine. Her eyes were like an inviting emerald field, whispering an invitation over the soft breeze.
"Peter," she whispered, "stay."
He always would.
Something shifted, electricity buzzed in the air between them as if a plug had been placed into a socked somewhere; there was too much space between them.
Peter readily fixed that by moulding his lips into hers, crafting a sculpture of human symmetry.
The moment tasted like a rainbow and a breath of a sunrise. He imagined himself tumbling aimlessly through a meadow, grass tickling and caressing his bare feet.
He could still taste the cotton candy on her tongue when she finally gave way to his own. His one hand was at her waist, the other in her hair, messing with the tangle of blonde tendrils that she had.
Somewhere in the background he heard the song go back to a chorus that drifted through the air like windswept feathers.
God had he ever been thirsty for this moment, and he was sure he'd be drunk off it for at least a week. If he had been alone at this carnival tonight, there would have been nothing for him in the rain aside from rusting carousels that kept turning and turning until the rust wore out their gears and crumpled into a heap of extinguished jovial entertainment.
Finally the need for oxygen arose and they parted.
Peter could already feel the rainbow disappearing. He then realised that the rain had completely soaked the both of them.
"We should probably find some dry clothes," Olivia said as she grabbed at the drenched fabric of her blouse.
Peter took account of his own sopping clothing, "And some hot food," he added.
"Fries this time?" She asked.
He chuckled. "I think that'd be a good idea."
He entwined his hand with hers, like two adjoining puzzle pieces in the centre of a massive pieced image. One incomplete in the other's absence.
As they left the damp clearing, she confided to him, "I'm glad we're leaving, that monkey was beginning to creep me out."
He smirked, knowing there was something else he knew he would have missed otherwise.
End