Notes: Trope-bingo square: forbidden fruit. Title and opening quotes from the poem Not About Me by Jon Sands . Thanks to the Jam for help, all mistakes mine.
I never called it love when it
should have been called penis. Called it love when it should have been
called lonely. Called it love when it should have been called trying-too-
hard.
Olivia sat on the edge of the hotel bed. Her feet dangled and she considered taking off her shoes. She had ridiculously wore her work boots. She brought one foot up to untie the laces and then the next one. Now both boots were lined up on the the edge of the hotel on the floor. She moved them to the corner of the bed so her dangling feet didn't touch them. She should have changed. She should have chosen a different hotel.
He was late. He wasn't coming. This was a bad idea on so many levels.
Then he came in. She smiled, said, "Peter." Not Peter Bishop, though he had to suspect she knew his real name.
He looked at her with a cold appraisal. He said, "I wondered if you'd show." He walked over to the window and cracked it open, lighting a cigarette. It was a non-smoking room.
"Why?"
"Up and coming FBI agent making appointment with 'massage therapist' - I assume you're here for your career. You want to convince me to rat out people I used to work for. You're hoping to get yourself a great confidential informant."
She inhaled and exhaled. She said, "If I were a man, you wouldn't be that suspicious."
"It's not your career, it's feminism," Peter said, with a smirk. "You're just here for the completely legal activities."
Olivia took her hair out of its ponytail. Put it back in. She said, "I did work on the part of the task force that targeted Big Eddie. We were all disappointed we couldn't get him. But you don't work for him anymore, right? And I looked into you, like you looked into me." She took her hair out and shook it. "And yes, if I were a man, you wouldn't be this suspicious. You'd assume I was here for sex. Maybe I just want that kind of date."
"It's not a date with how much I charge," Peter said, stubbing the cigarette out. He closed the window. "So for feminism, you thought you'd hire an escort you heard about it in a mob investigation." He was attractive, something she hadn't anticipated. He was more attractive in person than his pictures.
"I thought you were a massage therapist," Olivia said, looking up at him. "I'm not your first law enforcement agent, surely."
"No," Peter said. He walked over to her, standing a foot from her. He was taller than she expected, too. He was lean, he had long hands. There was too much intelligence in his eyes. "You're not even my first FBI agent though the other two have seniority on you. By a lot in one case."
He considered, looking over her. She wondered if her attractiveness counted. He said, "Okay, you've convinced me. What do you want?"
"Um," she said.
He went to the bathroom and she heard him brushing his teeth, using mouthwash. He came back standing in front of her. "Come on, on behalf of feminism, what do you want me to do?"
She pushed her chin up. "I want you to go down on me until I come and then fuck me. How much is that?"
He said a price. She nodded. He was workmanlike taking off her pants and underwear. He said, "I always use a condom. There is no amount you can pay me not to. I have dental dams if you want that -"
She said, "No. Just condom is fine." She nodded ridiculously.
She was tense and idiotically ticklish for the first five minutes his mouth was on her. He rubbed her thighs which was soothing. He paused and said, "A lot of people are like this the first time. I wasn't judging your motives earlier, I was just worried about keeping myself out of jail. Let yourself have the experience you want."
It was an oddly calming pep talk. Soon she was bucking against up him, making ridiculous noises. She tugged at his hair. He licked in circles, every soft wet touch setting her on edge. His fingers made teasing, tentative pushes almost inside her and back again. Then nothing was soft and the urgency made her toes curl and her back arch. She moaned when she came, overwhelmed. He stayed for a moment kneeling at the edge of the bed. When he stood up to get on the bed, he was already wearing the mandatory condom, his pants and underwear down on the floor, she assumed. He'd unbuttoned and opened the dark shirt he'd been wearing. He somehow managed to not look ridiculous. He said, "Do you have preferences on position?"
She shook her head weakly. So he was on top. He was big and she was glad she was already open and aroused. He didn't slam into her like it was some porno, he went in slowly, letting her feel it. He seemed to be really good at reading her, shifting speed and angle to build her up a second time, pushing her into another explosive orgasm. She panted and rubbed her eyes, trying to pull herself together.
When she pushed herself up, he was back from wherever he threw out the condom and pulling on his jeans. She said, "Did you come?"
He looked like he was about to laugh. Instead he went back to the window and lit another cigarette. "That's really not part of the job."
She thought it seemed rude not to care. Which was visible on her face, apparently. Peter said, "Feminism, Agent Dunham, be a man and care only about your pleasure."
"I don't think that's my idea of feminism," she said.
"Don't worry," he said, still with that lightly mocking expression. He said, "How was your first time paying?"
"Good," she said, automatically. "I feel like I don't know what I do next."
"Well, you rented the hotel room. Stay or don't. I'm leaving. I'll charge you when I get home," he said. He tucked her hair behind her ear, which felt embarrassingly personal (more than the sex? yes, she thought) and left.
She stared at nothing, feeling her body at a remove. It felt good, she felt weird.
10 days later, she was in a different hotel. This time she took off her shoes confidently. She had had time after work to go home and dress in sweats. She could enjoy this.
She knew Bishop had started his massage therapist/hooker gig while working for Big Eddie. Presumably the mobster had offered it as a way to pay back a debt, thinking it would be humiliating. She wondered, even after only one meeting, if Big Eddie had ever known Bishop at all. After a year, the debt was paid and Bishop was an independent contractor. Nobody on the investigation had been able to get close to Bishop to talk to him. There had only been a few of them interested, anyway. Big Eddie had a lot of people who hated him and worked for him. Those people were the ones the team tried to turn.
Olivia had been the only one who really looked into Bishop.
He was a successful escort or prostitute or whatever he called himself, judging by what she'd paid. Peter came in and went straight for the window. He took out some sort of air ionizer or fan. Then he lit his cigarette.
She said, "I tried to find a hotel where you could smoke."
"They don't exist anymore. The ones that don't care aren't the kind of place I'd accept reservations at."
"Do you ever, do you do the boyfriend experience? Is that what it's called?"
"For some of my other clients," he said. "They like to talk. I listen. Sometimes I play chess. It's called customer service and I do prefer steady customers."
"Do you go to their houses?"
"I'm not going to your apartment," he said, finishing his cigarette. He went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and use the hotel mouthwash.
"I wasn't asking," Olivia said. "I wouldn't let you smoke there."
"You're not trying to get me as a confidential informant," he said, standing in front of her. He took her hair out of her ponytail. It didn't feel rote or like work to her. She was almost certainly wrong.
"I'm not trying. I'm genuinely interested. I ask questions. I get curious."
His hands in her hair, he said, "Same as last time?"
She had thought of other things, even fantasized, but looking up at him, she said, "Yes."
He started on the top of her thighs, licking her outside where she was wet before concentrating his mouth on her clit. He was different, faster, harder. He fucked her with his tongue, pushing in a place that set her whole body on fire. When he got on top of her and thrust in, it was also better the second time. She didn't think of herself as shy in bed, but she had never been this assertive with someone she was dating. That, she thought, was what pushed her to the better, harder orgasms she had this time.
He got back from disposing of the condom and had pulled on his underwear when she said, "Come up here." It sounded tentative.
"You want to cuddle?" He never spoke to her without that mocking tone in his voice.
"A little," she said. Then, "Yes."
He got on the bed next to her, his arm around her. "Tell me about your day," he said, still mocking.
"You could try to sound sincere," she said, not angry.
"I have a brand, you know," he said. "You're so curious. Is that why you're in the FBI?"
"No," she said. "I had a stepfather." She didn't know why she told him the whole story, but part of it was he wouldn't hold it against her. She could understand why men did this.
He said, for once not mocking,"I'm sorry. I'm glad he's dead."
She was on her side, pressed against him. She ran her hand up and down on his stomach. She said, "So why did you keep doing this after you paid off Big Eddie?"
Olivia felt the moment he tensed and forced himself to relax. He said, "Is this tit for tat? I didn't sign up for that."
"No, you're right, I'm curious."
He petted her hair. He said, "When Big Eddie offered this as a way to pay off my debt to him, he didn't expect me to take it. He didn't think I wanted to suck that much dick. And when I did, he set it up so I was working 6 days a week, 6-8 hours a day. But once he was paid off, I did the math and I realized it wasn't the worst job. I could charge more, set my own schedule."
"Be an independent contractor," Olivia said. She had acquired his mocking tone.
"I am, though."
"And you have regulars," Olivia said.
"That is a group that does not include you," Peter said.
"Not yet," she said, feeling like an idiot after saying it. "But, um, your regulars are mostly men."
He snorted. Then he went back to playing with her hair. He said, "95% of them, yes. Most consumers of sex work are indeed men."
She sat up and got off the bed. "Thank you for the cuddling."
"I'll have my cigarette and leave," Peter said. After he lit up, he said, "Were you going to ask me if I was straight or gay?"
"Not in those terms," Olivia said. "But then I thought, there's a difference between customer service and being an asshole."
"I'm bi," he said, exhaling smoke. "But you don't have to be turned on by dick to suck it."
"That makes sense," she said. "See you later," as she left.
The third time, another 10 days later, she was on top. His dick was big and she closed her eyes as he thrust up and she pushed down. Like he knew, he held onto her butt, fingers digging into her skin. The sound and the smell and pressure and stretch of sex with him, she enjoyed it too much. She literally sat on his face after the fucking, his tongue angled up into her, the scruff on his cheeks rubbing her inner thighs red, all of it until she came a second time. She got off him, lying on her back, flustered but sated. He said, "Cuddle again?"
"I'm good," she said, walking to the bathroom. She showered and got out, drying her hair.
"I'm surprised you're still here," she said, looking at Peter, smoking again.
"Just checking in with you. Are you sure you don't want to talk?"
If it hadn't been that look in his eye, like he found her funny, she might have. Instead she said, "Do you support yourself doing this?"
"I do," he said. The mocking tone was gone, like he knew she had been hurt by it. He said, "I don't work Fridays or Sundays, and I usually only have two clients a day. And it's good money. A nice base of income."
She said, "Are they all regulars?"
"Most of them," Peter said. "I only advertise once a twice a month. I do background checks on the requests that come in."
"But you took me anyway," she said.
"You looked cute in your picture," he said. "And I was interested to see what would you say if I blew off your confidential informant job."
"Which I didn't offer," she said.
"No," he said, seriously. She stretched arms up and then put her hands against her lower back and did a slight back bend.
She got dressed. She said, "Thank you, really. That was helpful."
He was on his third cigarette, his eyes still serious as she left.
The fourth time she wasn't in any sort of mood, so she just enjoyed the sex. She said, "How much more do I pay for you to go down on me before and after?" He told her the price and she nodded, worth it.
He had her squealing, not her usual slightly more dignified response to good sex. She forced herself to drop good girlfriend habits, she didn't care if he came, she didn't even touch his dick usually. He was a 100 times more responsive than any man she'd slept with. He could read her mind, or more likely, had a well trained eye for how she responded to touch from encounter to encounter. He would shift from delicate and soft to hard and fast in one breath, just when she wanted.
As she panted and savored how she felt, he got up off the bed to smoke. He said, "Did you not enjoy the boyfriend experience? Am I a bad cuddler?"
"No," she said. She didn't believe he was hurt or anything like that. She said, "I think I don't want a boyfriend. I prefer this. My last few dates, I don't think they even cared how my day was. They just wanted to get me comfortable enough that they didn't feel like jerks asking to fuck me in the ass." He made her more vulgar.
"It's definitely a fun thing, absolutely, but I have to say my preference for anal is someone doing it to me," Peter said.
"Do your clients ever ask for that?" She was already halfway dressed.
He smirked at her. "One or two. Also, I do actually have sex with people when I'm not getting paid."
"Right," she said. "Sorry." She smoothed her pants down. "So you mostly date men? When you date?"
"I didn't say anything like that," Peter said. He had a toothy grin that looked fake. She had hurt his feelings somehow, she was sure. He said, "Are you trying your interrogation tricks on me? It's creepy when Johns try to date the people they pay to fuck."
"Got it," she said, leaving after she said goodbye.
He rejected her next request which worried her. But he followed up nearly immediately with an email about that particular night not working for him. She tried for the next night and was booked.
She was late getting to the hotel and got in the room about a minute before Peter came in. She was taking off her boots. She said, "I thought maybe you would bail."
"I told you the night didn't work," he said. He astonished her by sitting down in front of her and taking off her boots for her. Then he took off her socks.
"Then you wanted a different hotel," Olivia said, letting herself relax.
"I didn't want to drive all the fucking way out to Quincy," he said.
"I was in Quincy," she said. "Interagency task force."
"You didn't mention that," he said.
"I thought you were mad at me," she said.
He just looked at her. He said, "Okay, take off your clothes and wait a minute."
She raised an eyebrow but she did it anyway. He spread out one of the hotel's huge towels on the edge of the bed. He said, "Lie on the towel. I am an actual licensed massage therapist. And you look like you could use a massage."
"Oh," she said. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask about how much more this would cost. Instead she rested her forehead on her crossed arms.
He said, "Are you allergic to anything?"
"No," she said. "I don't think so."
She watched him walk to his bag and back to the bed. She said, "Don't you need a table for this?"
"Technically," he said. "But I can improvise. I do have a table, though. I go to conferences and symposiums. Gotta keep current." She smelled something fresh and lovely and his wonderful hands were right on her shoulders.
"You made your own massage oil," she said, sighing in happiness.
"I've always loved chemistry," he said. "Now, tell me who you hate at the interagency task force."
"You don't care," she said.
"You didn't give me a chance to show you how good I am at the boyfriend experience. Just tell me," he said.
She groaned as he worked on a knot in her right shoulder. She said, "Someone from DEA, just a sexist asshole. He kept, he did all the bullshit things men do."
"Never made eye contact, never heard a word you said, interrupted you and the other women, but never the other men," Peter said.
"Hmmm," she said. "And no one said anything, of course, besides Charlie."
"What did Charlie say?" He moved her arms and worked on them, mostly her triceps.
"He said, 'that sounds like a great idea, five minutes ago when Olivia said it. From you, it sounds stupid,'" she said. She smiled.
"Good for Charlie," Peter said. He was on her lower back and her butt. He wiped his hands on the towel and caressed between her legs until she was wet. She was pleasantly aroused. He said, "The oil's not bad for you, I just hate the taste."
She said, "And the women, ugh. I know how it happens, I know exactly how it happens. I saw it in the Marines and now in the FBI. The kind of woman who thinks she has to be one of the guys to get along. She makes jokes about throwing like a girl, or ridiculing any man with even slightly feminine characteristics. Because it makes her safe and one of the guys. And it doesn't have to be that way."
"Not everyone is strong like you, Olivia," Peter said.
She stopped complaining as he took another half hour on her legs then her front. The way he touched her breasts was less massage and more groping. Enjoyable groping. He spread her legs and said, "What do you want?"
"Mmm, just fuck me," she said. She kept her eyes closed so it was a surprise when he pushed inside her. They moved together better than her last two boyfriends. She whimpered. He was on top of her and she heard him grunt. He got off her and she grinned. "Did you come?"
He rolled his eyes as he walked to the bathroom. When he came back, he said, "Stop smiling like you accomplished something. It's not the first time I came with you."
"I didn't notice before," she said. "I'm a lousy customer."
"You're fine," he said. He smoked again while she got dressed.
At her next appointment, Peter was late. He was thirty minutes late, she was contemplating calling someone. She was debating who to call when he finally came in. He said, "I'm sorry, I know I'm late." He lit up even before opening the window and carefully placing his air freshening gadget. He was sweating. Instead of his usual dark jeans and simple button down or long sleeve shirt, he was in dress pants and what had been a crisp white button down. Now it was wrinkled.
She said, "Are you okay?"
He said, his voice calm, "I'm fine. Everything's fine now." He'd gotten a haircut since she last saw him. It looked more professional banker than his usual. He stubbed out the cigarette and said, "I know this is unprofessional, but would you mind if I took a shower?"
"Go ahead," she said. He went into the bathroom and she heard the shower start up.
She took off her clothes and turned on the TV, watching the news from the BBC. This hotel had a particularly nice cable package. She glanced at the bathroom and back at the screen. She thought about Peter saying 'unprofessional' so seriously.
He came out, rubbing the towel through his hair before letting it drop to the floor. He said, "What do you want tonight?"
"Are you okay?"
He looked steadily at her and said, "If I needed the help of the FBI I can call agents with a lot more pull than you, Olivia."
She said, "Okay, then." She told him what she wanted.
She was on top again, focusing on the feeling of him inside her. He said as he fucked her, his first words in at least half an hour, "I'm sorry for earlier."
"Hmm?"
"I snapped at you about the FBI thing," he said. "Sorry." She nodded and couldn't speak since he did a thing with his wet fingers on her clit and she came.
She went into the bathroom when they were done and picked the towel he'd used up off the floor. She wondered if he'd been washing something off. She shook her head and hung it up. She came out and got dressed. Peter was, as always, smoking. Though this one time, he had only put his underwear on. She said, "Tell me why you were late."
He looked at her and she thought he seemed deflated. It was weird. He said, "I was asked to do a favor. But after I talked to this supposed new client it was clear he didn't realize he was being set up. I don't do that."
She thought. "You mean, someone wanted you to sleep with a man, so they could blackmail him."
He nodded. "So I split and there was some disagreement about what would happen to me. I went with the best way to end a fight."
"You ran," Olivia said. "Because you didn't want to set the man up." Peter nodded. She said, "If you live outside the law, you have to be honest."
"That's not true at all, Bob Dylan knew nothing about living outside the law," Peter said.
"A man must have a code," Olivia said.
"The Wire," Peter said. "Much more true. Look, I was late and pissed off at myself for not seeing through the setup earlier. I didn't mean to snap. I'll give you a discount," he said.
"Okay," she said.
"Do you mind if I stay here tonight?"
"You don't want to go home?" She fiddled with her phone, wondering again who she would call.
"I'm fine to go home, I'm just tired and I don't want to deal with cabs or the T," he said as he closed the window.
"Of course you can stay," Olivia said.
He said "Thank you" as she left.
When she checked her bill, he'd given her a substantial discount. So she scheduled her next time sooner than usual.
"I want," she said, smiling when he came in. She described the various acts. She'd had some time to think about it, bored out of her mind on a stake out.
"This is sooner than usual," he said.
"You gave me a discount," she said. "Good customer service."
He smiled at her. "You're not getting a discount tonight."
"I know," she said.
He made her come like rockets exploding in her blood, in bright shivers under her skin. She laid back on the bed and said, "Do you think it's skill or compatibility?"
He'd already finished his cigarette and was sitting next to her on the bed. "How much you enjoy this, that's what you're asking? I think you're discounting the thrill of the taboo, forbidden fruit."
"Maybe you're just great in bed," she said.
He shrugged. "I practice a lot."
"But you don't just practice, you read me." She smiled, she didn't want to sound creepy. But she was creepy, she thought. "It's the sort of skill people like us have."
"People like us," he said, quietly.
"My stepfather was abusive, your father is in a home for the criminally insane," she said, not thinking.
"You really did do your research," he said, getting off the bed.
"Yes. Your father, Walter Bishop, is in St. Claire's. Your mother killed herself when you were 15. You found her body," Olivia said. She sat up to watch him. She was tired of dancing around him. She was angry out of nowhere.
"She didn't realize I skipped school, it wasn't her intention for me to find her," Peter said, glaring at her. His voice was level.
"You were supposed to go into foster care, but you just disappeared. Until you were 19, when you arrested for fraud in Dallas. You've been arrested 6 more times, though never for solicitation. And you've managed to never spend a day in jail," Olivia said.
"Your research isn't as good as you think. I've spent more than a few days in prison. Just not in the US," he said, his voice still level. He was obviously furious.
"You've been here in Boston for the last 2 plus years, three months doing god knows what that got you in Big Eddie's pocket, a year where he was your pimp, now another year where you stay but do this job," she said.
"Why all this research on a minor player?" He was fully dressed, standing in front of the door with his arms crossed.
"You aren't to me," Olivia said. "Your father experimented on me when I was 3 and again when I was 7 and 8. I don't remember any of it, but one of my fellow subjects found me and told me."
"I had nothing to do with that," Peter said.
She looked at him. "It just started my curiousity, what kind of person were you?"
He left without saying anything more.
She sat on the bed, wondering why she had been so angry. Why she had let her anger ruin the plan. The plan, though, had been ruined the first meeting when she had sex with him. She'd done everything wrong. She'd just wanted him, just once, to be a person with her, not a veneer. What a dumb thing to be angry about.
When she got home from the hotel, she checked her credit card statement online. He'd already charged her, and more than she expected.
She tried to book again the next day and the day after. After the third try he emailed her a simple message: "take the hint."
She knew where he lived. If she tried to see him there, he would never talk to her. Instead she went to bars near his apartment, especially ones where you could smoke. It took a week, but she finally found him. He was lounging in the back room of a bar where every single person seemed to have come alone. They all, also, seemed to want to stay that way. The back room had a kind of trellis ceiling made with tarp that meant the bar could let the patrons smoke inside and claim they were outside. Peter was smiling (flirting?) at an attractive African-American man sitting across from him as they shared an ashtray. He saw her and his face was blank. The other man got up and walked into the bar.
She sat down across from him. He said, "I'm not staying."
"Please," she said.
He leaned forward. He said, "You're being creepy, incredibly creepy. Who comes running after someone they pay to have sex with?"
She didn't flinch. She said, "I lied to you. I did have this idea that over time I could get you to inform for me. And then I'd be able to convince you to get me in St. Claire's to see your father. Me and Nick. Nick's been in and out of mental institutions thanks to your father's experiments, you see. I want answers, he needs them. So I did do more research on you, even before I worked on that investigation. I had this plan and I met you, and I knew it wouldn't work."
He sat back and lit another cigarette. He was looking at her with contempt. She didn't need Nick to tell her that. He said, "You thought you'd just threaten the broken and damaged whore and everything would fall in place?"
"I didn't think that at all," she said. "I thought you'd be more eager to get out of the job. I've seen how you tested when you were a kid."
"My IQ's too high for sex work?" He still looked like he was going to use that cigarette on her.
"I was wrong. I messed up my own plan. I like you. I don't want to use you."
Peter finished his cigarette. He drank half his beer. He said, "What kind of experiments?"
Olivia said, "He gave us drugs, to release our innate abilities. Nick, he can make people feel everything he feels. Everyone but me. We met another one, a man who creates magnetic fields. Neither of them have any control over it, though Nick is trying really hard. Nick's told me what I used to be able to do, but I can't anymore." She looked at him, hoping he was softening.
Peter said, "What do you want from me now?" He sounded hopeless, or sad, or neither of those. She was never sure she was reading him right.
"I like you," she said. "I'd like, mostly, to be your friend."
He sat forward and then stood up. He said, "I'd rather have you as a regular. Come on, I'll give you a freebie and then we can go back to normal."
She said "okay," and followed him out the door.
He took her to his apartment, unlocked three locks she could see, turned off an alarm system she hadn't noticed and then unlocked another lock she hadn't even noticed. "Security is important to you," she said.
"Well, I used to work for an asshole," Peter said. "And I've worked for some others before that."
It took him another few minutes to reset everything when she was inside. He had a sparse, simple apartment. It was almost a studio but there was one wall between what she assumed was the bedroom and the rest of the place. She noticed one of his gadgets he always used at the hotels fixed into the wall by the one window. It had to be why the apartment didn't smell like cigarettes. He guided her back to the bed.
She said, "We don't have to do this."
"I know," he said. "I want to. Call it the closest you'll get in amends from the Bishops."
"Poor Nick," she said. "He gets nothing, huh?"
He just looked at her. She said, "Maybe you just want to?"
"I don't do things I don't want to," Peter said. "But just this once, you're paying as usual after this."
She nodded. She got on her knees in front of him and tugged his jeans open. Peter said, "Oh." She concentrated on his dick and balls, let him fuck her mouth until he came. She swallowed but she took the glass he offered her afterwards.
She coughed. "Vodka?" She took another sip.
"I spent some time in Russia," he said.
"In prison?"
He shrugged but smiled. "Actually, just a few days. It wasn't that bad."
He pulled them both on the bed. She was pretty sure Peter took better care of his apartment than she ever had anywhere she'd ever lived. The sheets smelled fresh, there was no dust anywhere in the room.
Then he kissed her. He'd kissed her before, more than once. This was more making out kissing, his hand was in her hair, and she sighed against his lips. He was slower, he lingered. She held his dick, rubbing up and down. She tried to be as good as he was in picking up on what he liked.
He took her hand away and said, "Condom. It's in the drawer behind you."
"Just the one?" She grinned as she took one from the box. "I meant you just have one condom, not anything else."
"I know, dork," he said, kissing her again.
He was inside her and they found a jagged kind of rhythm. He looked happy to her. Happier than she usually saw him. She stopped thinking about it.
She came before he did but only by a minute or two. She said, "I have to move now?"
He looked at her from where he was standing. It was dark in the room and light behind him. She had no idea how he felt. He said, "You can stay if you want." He sounded like he was in a good mood. She hoped he was.
She fell asleep quickly. She woke up briefly, just enough to notice he was in bed with her. When she woke up all the way, he was in the kitchen, making coffee. He'd made very nice coffee, she could smell it.
Olivia said, "I have to get back to my apartment. Charlie is picking me up in a few hours."
"Charlie's a good guy," Peter said.
She smiled at him.
That night she sat alone on her couch in silence. She'd made a mess of this thing. She had been making a mess. She'd been off kilter in her head since Nick came to her a year ago. She believed Nick, as ridiculous as his story sounded. She knew Mark Little had as well. But they were three people. Olivia was the most together of the three of them and she was a mess.
She'd had sex with Peter because she wanted to. It was messed up that she had wanted to. She still did. She should have asked why she got a freebie instead of a date. Why she wasn't someone he would date. He'd been so insistent that he dated.
She rubbed her forehead and fell asleep on her couch.
Her next two nights with Peter were just like the previous ones, only with different moments of awkward. He kissed her more, mocked her less. She told him about Charlie and her asshole coworkers. She mentioned when Nick decided to go back into the hospital. Peter surprised her by sometimes mentioning his own day. He'd been reading this book. He'd watched an awful horror movie.
He stopped her from reaching for his dick. Like she was breaking the rules. She said, "Do you do that with your other regulars?"
He didn't object to her calling herself a regular. He said, "I have a few completely straight married guys who actually get off giving me head or a handjob and them I don't stop."
"They're completely straight," Olivia said, seriously.
"That's what they tell me," he said.
So she was surprised when he just didn't show up. She waited half an hour and emailed him. When there was no answer, she emailed him again 10 minutes later. 5 minutes after that she emailed him that she was going to check on him.
There was still no reply even 35 minutes later when she pulled up to his apartment building. She went to his door and banged on it. "Peter," she said. It was probably overreacting to break in, but she was contemplating it.
She heard a faint sound from the other side. She pounded on the door. Then the locks were unlocking and the door opened. Peter was looking at her, pale and shivering. "What are you doing here?"
"We were supposed to meet an hour ago, Peter," she said. "You're sick."
He rubbed at his face. He said, "No, I think I've been poisoned. Let me get my phone and wallet."
She waited while he staggered for a moment before she walked in and said, "Tell me where they are."
She had to help him to her car after she'd carefully locked all his locks at his direction. She drove to the hospital. By the time they got there, he had passed out. He didn't stir when she slapped him.
He'd had the foresight to take out his health insurance card and had written a note listing the chemicals in the poison. She could barely manage to get him out of the car and then he was over 6 feet of feverish deadweight she couldn't even carry into the hospital. A nurse came out and helped her and then they rushed Peter behind the doors to treat him.
She'd worn perfume for him.
When he finally opened his eyes, he looked at her and then up at Charlie standing behind her. He said, "Hey."
Olivia said, "You're going to be fine."
"Oh, good," Peter said.
Charlie said, "I just want to confirm your relationship with Agent Dunham here."
Peter looked at the ceiling and said, "She's been meeting with me regularly, trying to convince me to turn on Big Eddie and a few others I know. I strung her along because she'd pay me and then we'd just sit around, no sex, no nothing. Oh, I gave her a massage once because I felt guilty about all the money she'd paid."
"Okay," Charlie said. "Good, that matches what she said."
She looked down at her shoes. It was close enough to what she'd told Charlie. He hadn't believed her at all, and she doubted he did now. But he liked her and trusted her. Charlie said, "You were poisoned."
Peter said, "Yes."
"You knew exactly how you'd been poisoned. But none of these doctors recognized the compound you wrote down," Charlie said.
"I made it," Peter said. "Then I gave it to these guys. I guess they decided to test it by getting it in my cigarettes, but it's not a great delivery method."
"You gave them a formula," Olivia said. "Were you in danger?"
"A lot of danger," Peter said. "Thanks for stopping by."
Charlie said, "Why were you making designer poisons for them, whoever them are?"
Peter was quiet. The machines made noises. Finally, Peter said, "They said they would kill my father. They sent me a picture of him with them."
Olivia said, "He's in St. Claire's. How would they get in?"
Peter said, "They did. I saw the picture. It wasn't faked."
Charlie said, "Give us more information so we can investigate this."
Peter sighed. He was quiet for a few minutes. Then he said, "Fine."
Olivia went outside to wait for Charlie to get the information. Charlie had made it very clear that Olivia was not to be involved in any part of the case that might reflect on her record. He was being protective. He didn't have to, but he did it anyway.
She got a call from Quantico. She recognized the name of a bureau head. She answered. The bureau head said, "Are you the one investigating the poisoning of Peter Stuart?"
She said, "Yes, sir. I am. With Agent Francis."
"I wanted to check on him," the bureau head said. "He was very helpful to us on a case. And his chosen field of work can be dangerous."
"Yes, sir," she said. She was pretty sure this was Peter's more-senior-FBI-agent-than-her client. She'd met the man's wife once when she was training at Quantico. She said, "You should know Stuart declined to furnish any information on his clients. He thinks the poisoning is related to other criminal activity."
"Do you think your investigation will be looking into his clients?"
"He is actually a licensed massage therapist, he even takes courses to stay up to date apparently. You've met him, sir," she said, wondering if he was one of the ones who liked giving blowjobs. "He's a very smart man, he keeps these things very effectively hidden. Even if we needed to find out who his clients were, I don't think we could."
"That's true," the bureau head said. "Let me know if you need any help, though, as I said, he was very helpful to us."
"Absolutely, sir," she said.
They didn't need the bureau head's help. Peter provided excellent information. They moved Dr. Bishop to another mental facility. Olivia volunteered for the duty of driving him. Unfortunately, the assholes at St. Claire's sedated Dr. Bishop into a drooling coma for the trip.
She went back to Peter, still in the hospital. "Your father is safe," she said.
"And the bad guys have been caught with enough illegal material on their persons, I don't even have to testify or come up at all in the court proceedings."
"You could have told me," she said. "Before it got to this."
"I could have told lots of people," he said. "I didn't." He smoothed the blanket on top of him. "That was probably pigheaded of me."
"Arrogant, even," Olivia said.
"Yeah," Peter said. "I'm moving out of Boston. Quitting the business."
She blinked and nodded. "Okay. That makes sense."
"Does it?"
"You probably feel really exposed right now," she said.
"Yeah," he said again. "I've been here longer than I expected, you know? I got into the habit of that job. I liked my clients." He glanced at her. "I got complacent."
"Bad idea to be tethered down," she said, finding that mocking tone he'd used on her months ago.
"For me, I think it is," he said. "If I come back to town, I'll let you know."
A day later he checked out of the hospital and effectively disappeared. The bureau head called Olivia two days later to see if she knew where he'd gone. She said honestly that she had no idea.
Two weeks later, at the tail end of a very long stake out, Charlie said to her, "Maybe you could try dating instead of paying for it."
"I never paid for it," she said, looking at him with wide eyes. He shouldn't have called her on her obvious lies. She sighed. "I liked him, okay?"
"Lots of people did," Charlie said. "He had a nice income."
"I think I'll go back to being married to my job," Olivia said.
She did. She checked in with Nick and Mark Little every week. She wanted to make sure they were safe. They were the only people in her life besides her sister, Ella, and Charlie who would notice if she even disappeared.
7 months later, on a Saturday morning, she was walking back to her apartment after a run when she saw Peter sitting in a coffee shop that had opened on the corner. He waved at her. So she went in. She ordered a black coffee and sat across from him.
"So, I'm back," Peter said.
"I see," she said, smiling.
"I'm not working the same job anymore, though," he said. "I've left that behind."
"So you're telling your regulars?"
He smiled. "Sort of. No, uh, honestly, just a few people I used to know."
"Your favorites," she said, probably still smiling.
"Yes," he said. "I've got a new job."
"Please tell me it's legal," she said.
"Mostly," he said.
They were both silent for a few moments. She said, "What did you do for the last 7 months?"
He shook his head. "Not much. Laid low." He looked at her and then away. "I had a boyfriend for a while, that was nice."
"Oh," she said. "Are you still looking for one?" She sipped her coffee to cover her sudden nervousness.
"Another boyfriend? Maybe, I don't know," he said. "Or girlfriend. Whatever."
She nodded. "You stalked me to tell me that?"
"You stalked me a lot more than this," he said. For once, he didn't seem to be mocking her.
"Did you tell the head of BAU you're back but not in business anymore?"
Peter sat back in his chair. "He was never a client."
"He called me three times when you were poisoned," she said.
"One of his agents was," Peter said. "His protege, I guess."
"One the profilers at the BAU liked to give you blowjobs?"
"No, he liked to get them. He liked to get blowjobs and be fucked. He was a talker, too. I had to put up with a lot of talking about the importance of physical release and how penetrative sex for men has been constructed over history. Apparently, he's a genius," Peter said.
"You're a genius," she said. "According to your test scores."
"He also wanted to play chess," Peter said. "He tried once, to profile me. He got two words into it and I told him if he ever wanted his physical release from me, he'd never try that shit again. I assume he did keep noting his very insightful observations about me, though, just in his head."
"I profiled you," she said.
"And I stopped talking to you," Peter said. "But I like you more than him."
"I'm persistent, too," Olivia said. "And I like you, too."
"Does it feel like we're passing notes in 4th grade?" He had a handsome smile.
"A little," Olivia said. "Minus all the sex talk." She was happy to see him. "Do you want to go out? A date?"
"Yes," he said, smiling at her. "I came here just to say hi, though."
"We can dissect motives later, right?" She stood up. "How about tonight, my place? I'll let you smoke. We can order food."
"Sounds good. I quit smoking, though," he said, standing as well. They set a time, he kissed her on the cheek as he said goodbye. She stood by the chair for a few moments, trying to figure out what had just happened.
She cleaned her apartment for the first time since Rachel and Ella had been visiting. She unpacked a box she hadn't touched for three years. It had books in it. She looked at the cover of one and started to read it. When she looked up, Peter was knocking on the door, 5 minutes early. She ran her hands through her hair right before she opened the door.
"I brought wine," he said. He handed her the bottle.
They ordered pizza. She poured them both a glass of his wine. She said, "I don't know if you want to, but I have this dvd, it's a really horrible horror movie. I mean, pure 80s awful. I don't know if you want to watch it, but I thought -"
"That sounds fantastic," he said, smiling.
They were laughing so loud at the first killing, they missed the first time the pizza delivery guy knocked. Then Olivia sprang up and tipped the poor fellow. The movie continued to be awful.
When it was done, Peter said, "Wow, that was great."
"We successfully navigated the first two hours of this date with not much awkwardness," Olivia said.
"And then you said that," Peter said. He ran his hand down her thigh. "How much of a future do we really have? It's not like you can date an ex-escort in the FBI."
"What did your boyfriend do?" She stopped his nervous motion on her thigh.
"Actually, he was in the FBI," he said, smiling. "But not here in Boston where everyone knows."
"Hardly everyone," she said. "8 agents here in Boston, 4 of whom barely cared about you. And most of your records seem to have conveniently disappeared. I assume thanks to your other clients. Honestly, I'm not trying to be Assistant Director before I'm 35."
"Really?"
"Maybe before, but now," she said. "Not you, it was Nick and Mark. I want to know what was done to us. I want to find the rest of the subjects and make sure they're okay."
He held her face and kissed her softly. "You really want to date me," he said.
"Even though you think I'm creepy," she said.
He made of face, like he was amused. "I know, and it is creepy when Johns try to date whores, but I was pretty much over thinking you were too creepy for me around the third time."
"I'm sufficiently creepy for you," she said, smiling. "Though, I think I need to ask, how many FBI agents have you dated?"
"Just the one," he said. "And you, now."
"Why'd you two break up?"
"Basic things, not his job or my past, just, you know, bad timing for us," Peter said.
"Okay," she said. Then she moved to straddle his lap. They kissed over and over again through the slow tender sex.
She woke up and he was still there. She woke up again when the sun hit her eyes and he was sitting cross-legged and naked next to her.
He looked serious. He said, "I know something of what my father did to you. My mother left a note."
She watched him watching her. He was waiting to see what she would do with that information. She said, "You don't have to tell me."
"I want to," he said. "I knew when you were sitting in that hotel room, that first night. But I thought you didn't."
She pressed her lips together and rubbed at her eyes. She said, "Okay. I understand. You're not much for trusting people, I get it. I haven't been very trustworthy with you."
"Don't make it sound like you did something wrong," Peter said.
"Neither did you," Olivia said. "Right?"
"Not in this case," Peter said. "But I want to tell you now."
She said, "Okay," and listened.