That night Olivia comes home to find him standing under a streetlight, waiting for her.
He comes back, for her.
And for once, even when everything about it screams too good to be true, she doesn't hesitate, she doesn't think. She hurries; runs even, leaping into his arms like she was all of seventeen… not caring that she was on a street full of people, that they had so much to say to each other, that she doesn't even know his reason for being there.
She doesn't ask because she doesn't need to, the smile on his face telling her all that she needs to know, the way he holds her, pulls her into his arms and spins her around. Olivia kisses him senseless like she'd wanted to a long time ago, the yearning of a lifetime ago splayed on her lips, when she'd returned to a universe she called her own and had woken up to find him sitting beside her hospital bed.
He looks anxious when they break apart slightly, scared, almost ashamed, like he wanted to explain himself, a gloved hand skimming her cheek slightly.
"Olivia…I…"
"You came back." She cuts him off, not willing to hear another apology. She's sick of them, not interested in listening to pointless words that express regret or uncertainty. They said too many of those to each other, had made a depressing habit of it in fact.
It's time to break that fucking pattern.
"I came back." He repeats and she laughs against his lips, and they're kissing again and this time she doesn't let go for a long time, holding him close, his hand pressed against her cheek. Olivia feels how cold his skin is against hers, as she realizes how long he's probably been out here.
She remembers all too well, his virulent distaste for this weather, and to know that he waited for her despite that makes her want to laugh with mirth.
"Let's go inside." She finally says after moments have passed. She leads him towards her apartment, her hand never letting go of his for a moment, even when she wrestles with the keys in her pocket awkwardly, suddenly feeling shy, trying to think of a suitable segue into some kind of conversation, small talk perhaps…
Except in the moment they're inside, Peter pushes her up against the door locking it deftly behind her with a click and resumes kissing her, all pretense of control lost within the confines of four walls, not even bothering to turn on the light. He makes quick work of her coat and scarf and allows her to do the same, her suit jacket following almost immediately, the earlier gentleness gradually given way to more abandon as he pulls at shirt buttons deftly, leaving her almost topless in a matter of a couple of minutes, her shirt barely hanging off of her.
Not that Olivia minds in the least.
She's missed him, the delicious friction of sensation against her lips, her skin, slightly rough facial hair and unbelievable soft lips working against hers, the push of his runner's build against her smaller form, calloused but gentle hands that stroke at her cheek. Its familiar and yet its unfamiliar. Her mind recognizing with ease what her body has never experienced in this time, coming progressively untethered with each touch which is as new as it is old. There is finesse to the way he does it, even in the middle of his frenzy, like the piano player he is, the engineer, he touches with precision, with purpose, with control and its there and it's everything Peter. His hand reaches for her hair, snapping her ponytail free of its holder, loose hair spilling down her shoulders as he weaves his fingers through them.
He always preferred it that way.
Olivia takes his hands skimming her back, and directs them to her shoulder blades, letting them trace the natural slope of her breasts, inhaling sharply when he thumbs her already taut nipple through the cotton, a helpless sigh escaping from the back of her throat as he traces it with feather light fingers.
"Peter…please." She whispers in his ear, unable to articulate what she wants, what she needs. " I just…"
Peter stills against her when he hears her, breaking away from her lips, swallowing hard, once, twice. His face betraying every shard of the need that's coursing through her, along with a hesitance, one that makes her frown.
"Olivia..." He says hoarsely, pulling away from her a little, trying to force some distance, which she doesn't let him. She reaches for him, a hand sliding under his sweater, to encounter warm smooth skin, just like she remembers. She touches greedily, committing every inch to muscle memory, attaching sensation to an already perfect archive of reminiscences, drawing his cartography for her hands.
Her mind already knows what to feel, how he feels under her caress, all the ways in which her touch affects him, her fingers move upwards his chest. She flattens her palm against his heart, rubbing slow circles against his skin, letting the vibrations of his pulse travel through her.
He feels alive, here, every beat, every breath…it's glorious.
He clutches her hand through the sweater as she tries to pull it up, stilling her movement.
"Olivia, we need to talk."
"We will." She nods, moving closer. "But not right now."
"There are things I have to tell you." He shakes his head. "Things you need to know."
She looks at him then, really looks at him without the haze of desire and urgency clouding her senses for a second to register the open conflict writ large over face, the tremble in his voice.
He looks…pained and Olivia feels her legs go unsteady for a second, suddenly feeling the enormous weight of the past months crash over her like a wrecking ball. It can't be easy, she realizes, making a habit of waiting for her to catch up, moving through times and spaces without an end in sight, chasing nothing but the possibility of her, grasping at the straws of something that only exists in their memories now.
Would he do it all again, Olivia wonders, if he knew what he signed up for? She'd pulled him into her orbit once, for another that she loved and he had stayed since, tethered to her whether he wished it or otherwise, by fate, by sacrifice, by loss.
By love.
"Hey…" She reaches out to him, pulling him into a hug, holding him close. "Whatever it is, you'll tell me later, we'll have time okay." She says forcefully, wanting him to know it was okay to breathe now. They had each other.
"We've lost so much time." He mumbles against her lobe amidst kisses, as he pulls her shirt off. "We lost everything Olivia. It's all gone."
She lets him hold her closer almost to the point of constriction, knowing the feeling. It was gut-wrenching…the feeling of loss, the misery that came with knowing the world had taken away their story from them, from history, reduced it to nothing more than a memory. For days she'd been walking around her apartment feeling that void everywhere, her mind screaming to her that everything was out of place, things were missing- Peter's books on her mantle, his clothes in her hamper, the red toothbrush that should have been next to hers on the bathroom sink, the coffee mug he had claimed for himself, even the 2 per cent milk she would make sure to get for him…
Movie ticket stubs, coffee shop bills, pictures, innocuous little things…the necklace he had once bought her on a whim when she'd simply pointed to it in an antique store, even when he knew as well as her, she almost never wore any jewelry. The traces of him in her life had been real, present…there and someone had wiped them clean.
It's a uniquely devastating feeling, to remember everything and have nothing to hold, to feel, to touch… Olivia wouldn't wish it on her worst enemy.
"We didn't lose each other." She tells him gently, carding through his hair, knowing it wasn't good enough, but it was enough.
"We still have each other Peter." She repeats firmly. "We can start again."
He nods against her shoulder, letting her go just so slightly, but still not enough to remove skin contact completely. A slightly sheepish grin lighting his face, almost bittersweet when he scrutinizes her, a hand coming up to brush away an errant strand of hair falling on her face.
"What?" She blushes a little under his appraisal, following his gaze along her already disheveled appearance. Barely minutes have passed and he's already gotten her half naked and out of breath, an outrageous color of red flooding her cheeks.
"I am sorry Olivia." He shakes his head, picks up her discarded shirt off the floor and hands it to her. "I shouldn't have…pounced at you like that. We should… we should take things slowly."
She almost snorts, ready to slap him in that moment. Sometimes the man was really too sweet for his own good. She shakes her head, dropping the garment he had just handed to her carelessly, pulling him close to her, where she can feel the evidence of his arousal against her. Standing on her tip-toes, she pulls him into a kiss before looking at him with dead serious expression.
"That is literally the stupidest thing you've ever said." She tells him.
Peter bursts into laughter then, for the first time since he came back, the sound of it is genuine…free of pain, of longing, of emptiness. It echoes in the silence of her apartment, breathing back life within this place.
"I've missed you, you know that." He chuckles, as she takes his hand and leads him to the bedroom.
He doesn't hesitate again, divesting her, and him of their remaining clothing with quick efficiency and singular purpose and has her sprawled on her bed in matter of minutes, his insistent fingers and tongue roaming over every inch of her body without pause. She has never seen him exhibit such an abandon of control...it's not his style; the opposite of rough in bed, for the first time, Peter holds nothing back. He's demanding, bordering on forceful, touches her in ways that will leave marks, butterfly scratches and bite indentions. But Olivia's glad for it, returns in full measure his want because underneath it all, he's still Peter, he's still caring and he's still heartbreakingly aware of her needs in the way he's always been. She consumes him in all the ways he does her, her caresses equally aggressive, seeking and claiming ownership of every part of him that she thought she had lost forever, until they're both reduced to nothing more than a mess of entangled limbs and agonizing building heat, poised to be driven over the edge.
Abruptly then, Peter pulls back from her, and she nearly whines in hurt protest, trying to move closer, giving him a baffled look as he doesn't let her, pushing her back against the pillows gently, his hands pinning down hers. "Olivia, wait… just wait."
"What?" She says almost irritably, not prepared for the loss of his warmth against hers. It's been too long… it feels too long, and she's beyond the point of false modesty.
He has the audacity to laughs at her impatience, even when he looks just as undone as her and she's almost ready to hate him a little at this point, except he sighs, almost like he's waiting for some disappointment looming over the corner. Peter then rests his forehead against hers, swallowing heavily. "Do you have any protection?"
She chuckles quietly when she catches his anxious gaze, understanding his reluctance only then, almost thankful for his thoughtfulness. She hadn't even remembered to think about that, having used birth control when they'd been together.
That had been a lifetime ago.
"Mmm, yeah, I think so." She nods, reaching for her nightstand drawer; she fumbles around hopefully, for something… anything. To have to put this off now, after everything…
Peter might have the self-control of a saint, but she sure as hell doesn't think she does, consequences be damned.
She finally pulls out a condom wrapper and presses into his hand none too subtly, shouting a silent thanks to the universe, as Peter makes quick work of it, for not screwing her over for once. She honestly doesn't know how it got there, the gaps in her memory suddenly feeling all that more acute. It had to have been there from long ago. Had she slept with someone and not even remembered it? It's an uncomfortable thought to fathom and for a minute, she feels unsure.
"Liv, you okay?" Peter asks, sensing the shift in her mood, his hand reaches her cheek as he pushes away the hair falling on her face.
Liv…
She smiles, leaning into his touch, the troubled feeling already leaving her quickly as she hears him utter the familiar moniker, the one that the people closest to her used. It's his own private code of intimacy. She could always gauge the distance Peter kept from her by the way he addressed her. The way in which Agent Dunham turned to Dunham and then later Olivia and how he would shuffle amongst the three depending on the situation. The way he would more than often drop the O and call her 'Livia when he spoke to her. The way he'd taken to calling her Liv when they'd begun their relationship, always in private, a sleepy whisper in her ears in the mornings, a note on the fridge, a voice on the telephone.
She was Liv in those moments, when it was just the two of them. She was his Liv.
It's his tell… one of the few Peter has, Olivia knows them all.
"You haven't called me that in a long time." She clasps his hand in hers, bringing them to her lips. "I've missed it."
I've missed you, she thinks but doesn't say. There's no need really.
He smiles, bridging the spaces between them, entering her in one seamless thrust. "I've missed a lot of things."
Olivia nods, forgets everything and simply surrenders to the blinding sensations that follow.
"What is it?"
"Hmm."
"You're crying." He reaches out to wipe a little tear that has gathered at the corner of her eye, his lips pursed as he regards her cautiously.
"It's nothing." She shakes her head, not able to make sense of the shivering mass of feelings throbbing inside her. She blinks away the wetness; every cell inside her body feels alive, like she'd been woken up from a long slumber.
It feels like a resurrection.
"I am okay." She tells him then, as he continues to watch her with concern. She touches his chin reassuringly. "I am just really happy."
He nods, looking somewhat convinced before breaking into a teasing grin. "I must be one hell of a lay."
She laughs out loud, collapsing against his chest in a fit of giggles. It feels familiar, this, it feels like living. She kisses the mole on his collar bone, traces the flecks of brown-gold on his cheek, reveling in the realness of everything, of him.
She shrugs, pushing him down as she straddles him in the next second, her voice low, husky. "That you are."
She sleeps in that morning, waking up with sleeps lines on her face and an excruciatingly wonderful soreness in her body, only to find the other side of her bed empty. Olivia panics immediately, an irrational surge of fear coursing through her veins as she sits up, blinking, trying to place Peter, that incomprehensible feeling of emptiness that had simply appeared that day at the bridge returning to her.
No, no, no…. It couldn't have been a dream. She didn't imagine yesterday night, she couldn't have. She looks around frantically, trying hard not to start crying, when she spots a note on the pillow with familiar handwriting on it.
Stepped out for a bit… be back soon.
Peter
She blinks back inexplicable tears of relief as she reads the note, drawing her knees to her chest, letting the rushing sound in her ears abate a little.
Olivia breathes deeply, trying to calm down, shoulders sagging with a weight that had to be lifted, she closes her eyes and counts the minutes slowly, only stopping when she hears the door to her apartment open and the subsequent sounds of Peter's footsteps.
He walks into the bedroom, giving her a grin. "You're up."
"You were gone." She says crossly, as he kisses her, her eyes narrowing at him in mild anger.
"I went to get us some breakfast." He shrugs, not obviously reading into her distress. "As always you have zero food in the house."
"You should have told me you were going out." She says pulling up the sheet around her.
"I didn't want to wake you." He's taking out things from the paper bag and setting them on the nightstand when he catches her looking at him.
"What's wrong Olivia?"
"I woke up and you were gone." She lets out a wobbly breath, hating herself for sounding this needy, this untethered. She shakes her head miserably as his questioning look morphs into comprehension, helpless to hide the fear that still hadn't left her. One she suspects is not going to leave her for days to come.
He doesn't laugh at her, probably understanding her worries far better than she does. Instead he presses a kiss to her forehead. "I am sorry. I won't do it again, promise."
She nods, giving him a watery smile. "You brought coffee?"
He hands her a cup. "And bagels."
They eat in bed… leaving crumbs on the blanket and sheets, and they finally talk. He tells her about the observer, about how he'd rushed to her place as soon as he knew. How he stood in the cold for over an hour, waiting for her because he simply couldn't wait till tomorrow to see her. She tells him about her conversation with Nina, about the case, about what she had realized was happening to her.
"Olivia are you sure about this?" He looks stricken, guilty almost, when she tells him about her memories and how they were overriding themselves. "This is your life."
"I know," she smiles, taking his hand in hers, she pressing his calloused finger pads against her own. "And believe me I am finally glad to have it back."
He nods, not looking particularly relieved. "You sure you're not going to regret this one day?"
She holds his hand tighter. "When it comes to you, there are no regrets."
They don't leave her bed for the next several hours. Peter thankfully remembers to make a quick stop at the pharmacy on his morning jaunt, her pitifully small stash having run out the night before.
"You bought the economy box?" She gives him an amused smile when she examines his purchase later, her body loose, sated. She lies on the other side of the bed, at the foot, unable to remember how she got there.
"I foresaw us needing it." He smirks at her with a confident grin. "You know what they say. Always be prepared."
"Such a boy scout."
"Oh… I was never a boy scout."
"No?"
"I don't do very well at playing with others… or taking orders you know."
"I'd imagine." She smiles, drawing lazy lines on his shoulder. It was easy enough, in the privacy of her home to forget the consequences of the step she'd taken. Olivia's not naïve enough to think there won't be any. History was almost entirely on record about how much the universe hated her acting in favor of her happiness.
"Is what you left at the lab all of your stuff?" She asks then, suddenly remembering.
"Pretty much."
"We should head over and get your bags sometime during the day." She mutters absently, her hand playing at his nape. She shrugs when he looks at her with some curiosity.
"You're going to need a change of clothes at some point you know."
He laughs against her throat, a low rumble that sends a delicious shiver down her spine.
"Did you just ask me to move in with you?"
She smiles as he holds her gaze, seeking confirmation. There's more than a question there.
She would ask, he knows that already, if the question needed any real verbalizing. Olivia is not shy about what she wants. She's never been. She's just never been terribly optimistic about getting what she wants.
They could pick up where they left off; it's not that hard. They didn't have all that much to begin with, moments they'd stolen from time, from impending fate, moments they'd salvaged from the shipwreck of betrayal and hurt and then restored painstakingly.
But she wants more. She's wanted more for too long in fact. She wants, moments of peace, an interlude from the horrors of her life, her past, some respite from everything outside of these four walls - the insides of her apartment don't seem to close in on her the way they used to – now that he's here. She wants forever with him, endless mornings waking up in his arms, breakfast in bed with itchy crumbs getting into the linens; Friday nights spent watching cheesy horror movies and eating Italian takeout, holding hands while walking through the Harvard campus.
But beyond that, she wants the promise of tomorrow, for their lives to be more than a collection of recesses borrowed from the reality of every day. She wants to feel more like a person and less like a soldier, a puppet built for another's agenda. There's a seething hunger inside of her, a yearning for something besides this, even though this, right now, with him is perfection.
She wants home with him, a real family…. children.
She extricated herself from her thoughts, though the last one lingers.
"Do I need to ask?" She smiles at him instead.
He shakes his head, rubbing her nose in an Eskimo kiss, it's an automatism with him, being tender comes naturally, too naturally. It had startled her in the beginning, the gentleness of his touch, the feather light kisses, almost like he were afraid to draw blood. She was not used to being treated that way, with the kind of care that one showed towards porcelain.
It's one of the many contradictions that make him who he is.
"You sure you want to go to the lab? I am not sure Walter's going to be very pleased about all of this."
"I don't think he's going to care all that much, if it means you're going to stay." She finds it odd that he questions his place still, when she knows just how miserable Walter has been at the prospect of him gone, even if he's been disapproving of their proximity. She knows how well they work now, better than she remembers, knows Broyles is glad to have him, for a mind as sharp as the senior Bishop and without the idiosyncrasies that come with. Whoever made that call got it wrong, she thinks, to remove him from this time and place. His presence makes everything better, not just her. This universe was never fully healed without him.
It doesn't work that way.
"It's not going to be easy…with him." He shakes his head, a tired sigh escaping him.
"Was it ever easy?"
"No. not really. When you think about it, what's another lifetime of daddy issues I guess." He shrugs.
Olivia shakes her head in amusement. She kisses him hard then, helpless to laugh as the remarks tickles her relentless.
"What's so funny?" He asks.
She shrugs.
"I've missed you, you know that?"