Wow. It's been awhile. I'm hoping to continue this but need to find the motivation and time. This takes place after Charlie's death.
I do not own Fringe or its characters.
It hurt.
Olivia's eyes glazed over with the last swig of her third round. But hey, who was counting? She swiped aching, calloused fingers over her lips and exhaled. Her blonde hair curtained over closed eyes.
It still hurts.
The pain began to sear through her insides like boiling water over a flesh wound. Needless to say it was becoming unbearable; story of her life.
"Bartender," she all but yelled and beckoned the bartender over, "another; double please."
The pain started at her knees roughly two hours ago and now it had streamed upwards to her hands. Another shot would soothe it. Olivia just about swallowed the shot glass with the double round that was delivered by the scrutinizing, concerned bartender.
Fucking finally.
Her vision was beginning to blur and her mouth was burning, but this was good. This was….numbing. This was what she needed after a day like this. From an onlooker's point of view, one might have looked at the far left of the bar and saw a pretty, shattered blonde sitting alone on a Tuesday night, drinking away her problems. If it was only that simple. But, as she was painfully finding out, nothing was simple about her life.
Olivia brushed back a strand of hair and panned her head to the left and then the right. Looking to the right, she captured the gaze of someone staring at her.
Stop looking at me you son of a bitch…I'm not in the mood.
The penetrating, malicious glance she shot towards him must have wounded him momentarily for the unidentified stranger broke eye contact and ordered another drink.
This is not me.
She hooted when the thought entertained her: who is 'me'? Who the fuck am I, really? She knew it was late and she knew she should have called Rachel by now. She didn't want her sister to worry at her expense, but at this point, the liquor began to chase away all of those menacing to-dos and rights and wrongs.
…………
She must have zoned out for a few minutes for when she came to her senses she felt hot puffing breath on her neck. Breath that smelled like beer and body odor. She zipped her head to the left, dizzying her in the process, and caught his gaze again. This time, the gap was mere inches away. The fellow bar fly pushed the paid for drink towards her.
"This will make things easier. Although, judging by the way you've been hammering these down, I think the chances are far in my favor than yours."
Olivia bit her tongue in disgust and rage. Any other time, which being any other time while not under the influence, she would have whipped out her gun or come up with some sassy remark. Instead, it took her more than a minute to gather her swirling thoughts.
"If I were you I'd back that fat, godforsaken face of yours out of mine before I break it," Olivia spoke never raising her voice to more than a whisper.
The man laughed, tugged at his trucker hat, and replied, "You're something else sweetheart! But, luckily for you, I like 'em rowdy in bed." And with that he brushed a hairy, slimy finger down the nape of her neck.
Furious, Olivia stood from where she was sitting at the bar and swiped his hand away. Unfortunately, she realized at that moment that she should have stopped drinking about two shots ago. Olivia lost her balance and began to fall backwards. She vaguely heard the stranger cackle a belly deep laugh. She waited for the impact against the floor but it never came. Instead, she felt two sweaty, hairy arms wrap around her from behind and begin to caress her sides.
"See, I told you sweetheart, piece of cake! You've done all the work for me."
At this point, Olivia's mind was swirling so fast she still felt like she was falling from her chair. She wanted to vomit, sober up, and get the hell out of here. A silent tear escaped when the perpetrator's finger grazed his hands lower toward unpasteurized land. She was about to scream out for help when she felt her head hit the floor pavement.
"You stay the fuck off of her you sick fuck!" someone yelled. The voice sounded vaguely familiar…
"And just who the fuck are you?" the stranger retorted with just as much venom.
Olivia's eyes were still closed but she could hear glasses shatter and more shouting. In the midst of the commotion, she felt two arms wrap underneath her arms, pull her up, and quickly drag her toward somewhere. She happily obliged.
"Fucking –A, Olivia!" she heard him yell at her. It wasn't until she was leaning on him, against the brisk night, that she realized who this man was. After taking in his familiar smell, it hit her.
Peter.
She lifted her head as best as she could and caught his countenance. Despite her vision being impaired, she saw anger and something else etched upon his face.
Worry?
She felt the soft humming of the car and the subtle vibration while she laid her head against the cool window. And then it hit her, again.
She hissed in pain and somehow managed to bring shaking hands to her head.
Peter tore his eyes from the road and glanced over at Olivia. He wanted to be angry and he wanted to shake her and scream at her but he just couldn't.
"Just relax, Liv," he soothed. When she cried out in pain again, the alarm rang louder inside of him.
"We're almost there, okay Liv? Just breathe. We're almost there…" his voice trailed off with soothing words. Olivia tried her best to sober up and conquer the pain, but the task was proving itself difficult.