A/N: I know, I know, this was supposed to be posted on Saturday. But midterms + life = an extremely busy and somewhat disgruntled Ellie. Oops? Anybody who's read my stuff before knows my less-than-stellar updating habits. I'm really hoping to turn that around with this fic and the Castle fic that I'm working on with another author in the fandom.
Confession time: this was originally supposed to be something else, but my friend Maddie was feeling pretty down, and I just had to write this for her. This'll probably end up being decently long, unlike the one-shot I posted a few days ago. Sound good? Good.
Disclaimer: Olivia Dunham and Peter Bishop don't belong to me, Fringe doesn't belong to me, etcetera, etcetera. You know the drill.
When she answers the door, hair tied up casually and pajamas on, the painful knot in his chest loosens. She's okay. They're both okay. Crises have been averted; car crashes and deadly viruses can't hold back fringe division. That's what he tells himself, over and over.
"Hey," he says, expertly faking a charming smile, masking his breathless relief. He's never told her, never told anyone, but memories of her "accident" still float around the forefront of his mind. Terrible images of Olivia Dunham lying motionless and broken in a hospital bed, eyes closed, looking so deceptively serene. And after today -
A smile from her, just hearing her voice, they're everything. Her heart's beating and his heart's beating and it's kind of miraculous.
Say something, Peter.
"How are you doing?"
Idiot.
"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" The corners of her lips quirk up, but she seems exhausted.
He shakes his head slightly. "I barely remember being infected. Just an overwhelming need to get outside. And you, trying to help me. And everyone else in the building, of course."
Her expression softens, becomes more sincere.
"I'm fine, Peter."
She's so real, a stark contrast to his most recent line of work, an anchor. Tethering him. He's just starting to realize how much he's needed that.
He steps closer and, like the reckless moron he is, kisses her. It's a bad idea, beyond a bad idea, and she isn't reciprocating, isn't reacting. He can almost hear the doubts running through her mind. A thought enters his: Some genius -
That's when she kisses him back, and it wipes his mind utterly blank, gloriously blank. It's only her, only Olivia, living, breathing, wondrous Olivia, her fingers drifting up to his face to cradle his cheeks. They've never been this close - physically - and he's not exactly sure where his hands are or what they're doing but she feels sogood that he can't bring himself to worry over minor details.
Of course, the moment doesn't last too long. She breaks the kiss, but stays only inches from him, and looks up at him with those lovely, troubled eyes, doesn't move her hands.
"No more worrying," he says, low and soft. "I think we've already done enough of that today."
She hesitates, but presses her lips to his again, slipping her arms around his neck. He finds her waist and they're pressed together in her doorway, wrapped up in each other, cold winter air against their warm bodies.
No more worrying.
Even as a child, Peter was intensely solitary. He was always well aware of this character flaw, and was sure he would always be like that, which didn't bother him too much. Not when the people that he encountered were who they were, crooked and selfish like himself. But Olivia is different from them, different from anyone he's ever met or known, strong and selfless and lion-hearted. She took him away from his self-inflicted isolation and gave him a family. And now he's kissing her and it feels completely rightand maybe he does belong in Massachusetts after all.
The next morning, he wakes first, and tugs the covers tighter around them (December isn't the most comfortable time to be sleeping naked). Her cheek rests against his shoulder blade, stomach to his back, her legs tangled in his. He can't help but smile; waking up with Olivia Dunham cuddled up to you is hardly the worst thing in the world.
After a still, blissful moment, Olivia stirs, waking, and then presses a kiss to the space behind his ear.
"Good morning," she murmurs.
He turns over, hovering above her, faces inches apart. She kisses him, arms winding around his neck as they did the night before, and then moves from his mouth to his neck. His fingertips skim her sides, her hips, lingering and teasing.
Eventually, when their morning greeting comes to an end, they make their way out of bed and pull on clothes. Well, just underwear, really. Olivia, over her bra, also dons Peter's shirt, rolling up the sleeves so they don't obscure her hands. They traipse out to the kitchen and scour the cabinets for viable breakfast food, a formidable task in the Dunham household. With Rachel and Ella out of the house, as they had been since yesterday, they didn't have to worry about modesty or explanations. All by themselves, there's no awkwardness or weirdness, just an unprecedented naturalness, as if simple domesticity has somehow always been their fate.
"You know," she says, smiling, flipping a pancake, "I could get used to this."
He kisses her temple and discretely drops some chocolate chips into the batter she just poured, a second pancake. She raises an eyebrow at him.
"They're completely essential," he deadpans. "You should know this, Olivia."
She rolls her eyes, not even trying to pretend she's anything but amused, and he grins at her.
"You really are Walter's son, aren't you?"
"Hey, now, no need to be rude, Liv."
"Liv?"
He shrugs.
They make scrambled eggs too, and a pot of coffee, and then sit down at the table. Her legs end up across his lap and she laughs when he tells a dumb joke and she's never felt quite so unadulteratedly happy.
It's almost like being under a spell, and when Olivia's sister and niece return home early, the spell's broken. Olivia can only blush and tug the hem of Peter's shirt to hide as much as possible.
"Why are you guys in your undies?" Ella asks, innocently bewildered. Upon noticing the pancakes and eggs, she adds, "Why are you eating breakfast in your undies?"
"Go play, El," Rachel says, smirking knowingly at Olivia.
Ella - albeit confusedly - obliges.
"So, you two are together now," Rachel says, leaning against the counter.
The older Dunham considers that briefly; she's never taken relationships lightly, romantic or platonic. Her (understandable) distrust of people usually overpowers her loneliness, a protective and defensive instinct. Usually.
"Yeah," Olivia replies easily. "We are. What's your point, Rach?"
"Nothing." Rachel tilts her head slightly, sister-speak for Sassy this morning, aren't we? "You two are cute, that's all."
"Cute," Peter echoes, a hand on Olivia's leg, thumb almost distractedly caressing her ankle bone. "You know, most of my ex-girlfriends described me as a puppy at least once. I'm sensing a pattern here. Maybe it's the eyes."
"Yeah, because irritated snarking is adorable," Olivia teases.
"Are you complaining, Agent?" He raises an eyebrow, so damn confident that she has no choice but to tug her chair closer to his and pulls him into a kiss. Rachel fakes a disgusted face and throws a chocolate chip, the bag of which was left out by the lovebirds.
Olivia can't not laugh, threading her fingers through Peter's, reveling in this. The freedom she has, something she never had with John, which she previously thought she enjoyed. She doesn't have to hide Peter away, doesn't want to. For once, she has no desire to locked things up. She approaches anything not work-related like she's about to maneuver a field of broken glass; delicate steps, thudding heart, unshakable reluctance. But not with this. Not today, anyway.
A/N: Well, I hope you all enjoyed my uncharacteristic delve into fluff. Angst to follow, of course. We all know Peter has some magical ability to get Olivia Dunham pregnant very quickly, and that's gonna be fun to play with, considering we're in mid-season two territory. :)
-Ellie