It Takes A While
Summary: Years later, Olivia still has trouble telling the difference.
Disclaimer: I don't own Fringe!
Focus.
Focus on the dull weight of your cell phone in your pocket and the avocados in Walter's guacamole. Focus on Astrid's smile and the cup of coffee in your hand. On your blonde hair, pulled back tightly with an elastic, no longer sporting irritating bangs you have to continuously brush back from your face.
And for God's sake, don't look at Peter. He can tell, always could tell, when you were having trouble telling the difference.
Laugh. Laugh because Astrid's just told a joke. Laugh even though you just can't place the pop culture reference right now.
Stop laughing. They're looking at you now, eyes concerned and suspicious. Exactly the type you hate.
Get up. You can't take the stares anymore. You've never been a weak person, but you can't take the worry, the pity, the sadness. Get up, but make an excuse first. Bathroom or fresh air or something.
Take the back way out. Don't let them see you make your way outside. The last thing you want is to be followed.
Unbutton your jacket and let the cold winter wind find its way through your body. Let your hair down. Let it whip across your face. Don't think about how the breeze tickling your forehead reminds you of that familiar way your bangs used to fall, about that badge you carry in your pocket for a non-existent organization that hasn't operated in decades. Don't think about Charlie. Or Frank, or Lincoln, or Mom.
Don't recoil when a warm hand makes its way into your own. And don't look to your left where a chilly Peter now stands. Try to listen, to the words that stumble out of his mouth. Fail.
Nod. Keep nodding until he leaves. His presence is comforting, but sometimes when you've got two people fighting for control over one mind, adding a third person to the mix isn't helpful.
Don't flinch when his hand squeezes yours. Squeeze back.
Tell yourself you don't feel incomplete when he leaves.
Close your eyes. Open.
Breathe.
Look back. Through a small window at the table you just left. At the three people sitting there, who, after all this time, are three of the six you still care about in this twisted, distorted, war scarred world. Six isn't much.
Remember. If not for your sake then theirs.
Thanks for reading! BTW you should totally review ;)