Hello all!
It's been an embarrassing amount of time since I've updated here. So here is a fic I wrote ages ago. It's not quite finished but I plan to do so in the near future. Let me know what you think.
This story is based on the song "Sometime Around Midnight" by The Airbourne Toxic Event (who also sang Changes which was featured on Fringe last year). This takes place after Marionette in Season 3 when Peter and Olivia's relationship has completely broken down. Beware of the Angst.
I do not own these lovely characters. CURSE YOU J.J./JOEL/JEFF ETC.
It was about eleven o'clock. Peter wasn't acting like himself.
He was drinking. A lot. By himself.
Peter had left Walter under Astrid's watchful care. He had told her he just needed a drink. Astrid said that he looked like he needed it. That was two hours ago.
Actually, he was acting like he had up until three years ago, only back then Walter was at St. Claire's and there was usually some drunken college freshman hanging off Peter's arm.
It was what he had considered the "perfect lifestyle" before his world had been completely inverted. Before she came into his life. She practically blind-sighted him.
Olivia Dunham, the very FBI agent that tracked him down in Baghdad and asked him for his help. The one that blackmailed him with information she didn't have in order to bust his father out of a mental institution.
Peter was currently at an old favourite bar that he would used to go to when he stopped in Boston, during what he liked to call, his "Rebellious Years". The bar was called George's; it was one of the smaller places in Boston that few people knew about. The layout of the place was small and the bar's capacity could barely handle the people that streamed through the doors each night. The hardwood floors, the red leather booths, and the dimly lit corners attracted the bar customers, which consisted of twenty something lovebirds, sorority girls, and shameful drunks.
Peter found it fitting for his purposes. George's was a classic bar in which to drown his not-so-common sorrows.
During his rebellion years, Peter would often find himself in Boston for the layovers of his flights. Well, at least during the few times he was in America. Perhaps it was a subconscious matter; deep down he wanted to visit Walter at St. Claire's. All Peter consciously knew during those times was that he resented the fact he was anywhere near the vicinity of his father. Thus, he usually found himself heading to George's to pick up a girl and forget everything.
He was bitter then, he was bitter now.
Peter was sitting on a well worn red vinyl stool at the bar. He signalled the bar keeper to refill his scotch. The bartender walked over and removed the glass. "Could you put less ice in this time?" he asked. The bartender warily eyed Peter as he walked to the other end of the bar to fill the glass.
Upon first sight, Peter was intrigued when the tall, leggy blonde called after him in the hotel lobby. He was attracted to her, he admitted it. Like any other man would have, he considered about making small talk and eventually asking her if she would like to go up to his room, after making a stop at the bar of course.
But as soon as he discovered she worked for the FBI, his defences went up. He didn't need his contacts hearing that the FBI was after him, it would be like walking around with a target on his back. He didn't need this shit. Besides the FBI didn't have jurisdiction; they were in freaking Iraq.
On the flight back home, Peter was given ample time to study this woman. She clearly was the type who knew exactly what she wanted; her wants including blackmailing a civilian with some very dangerous enemies and letting them know of his location. Of course he later discovered all of it was completely made up.
Olivia Dunham was smart, willing to do whatever to get the job done.
He liked her.
Peter saw a flash of blonde from the corner of his eye.
It was Olivia.
She had just stepped through the door at the bar in a white, fitted, mid-thigh length cocktail number, and a black shawl around her shoulders. The shawl was nowhere near efficiently covering what it was designed to cover.
Was she trying to hurt him? He didn't know she even owned a dress like... that. Peter swallowed.
He just about choked on air when a man entered the bar after her. Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome looked like had he coined the catchphrase. He was the very example of what girls describe their perfect man to look like.
Of course, this guy was to with Olivia. Even from across the bar, Peter could tell that they looked like the ultimate power couple. He wouldn't be surprised if her date worked at the FBI. The two made their way to a dimly lit booth in a corner, a spot which Peter had considered to be the best in the house back in his rebellious years. The booth was private and dark. That booth was like "getting a room" without the cost.
"Hey buddy, you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost, or something." The bartender set the glass down in front of Peter, surprising him.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he muttered his thanks and downed the glass in one shot. The scotch burned his throat. Peter welcomed the sensation. He closed his eyes and savoured the feeling.
The sound of her laughter seemed to cut through all other noise in the bar. His eyes closed, he heard the music, the chatter, the clinking of ice cubes hitting the sides of glasses, all fade away. Olivia's laugh only grew stronger in Peter's ears. Rarely did Peter ever get the chance to hear that woman laugh. He couldn't remember the last time she had laughed in his presence. Her laugh was bubbly, short- but most of all- happy. His eyes still shut, Peter willed to be able to hear the drunken comments around him again.
He opened his eyes and he could hear George's atmosphere once more. Peter gave a sigh of relief. He caught the bartender's eye. He could see the man's jaw clench in disapproval. He instinctively knew that the bartender was about to turn down his request for yet another drink.
"Hey, buddy what's your name?" Peter said abruptly, "I figure if you get to know my choice of poison, I should at least know the name of the guy who's so generously enabling me." He could see the bartender smirked slightly at the remark.
"Chuck," the barkeeper answered shortly. Chuck picked up a cloth and began wiping the inside of a clean glass.
"Well, Chuck. I promise I can handle my liquor. I will either call a cab, or walk home. I promise I will not drive." Chuck still looked doubtful.
"Look, see the blonde on the date in the back corner?" Peter nudged his head in Olivia's direction. He refused to look at her again. "Well she's the reason I'm here. I made a mistake and she couldn't let it go. I've apologized and she still won't talk to me or listen to me. Now I guess she's decided to make my life a living hell with What's-His-Face back there."
Chuck's eyebrows went up and Peter could see sympathy lingering in his eyes... or was it pity? "Sorry to hear that, man."
"Wanna know what the worst part is?" Peter shook his head as though he didn't believe it himself. "I work with her. Have to see her every damn day," he laughed resentfully.
The noise of the bar seemed to swell in the silence between the two men.
Chuck cleared his throat and spoke loudly, "Although I've heard a lot of sob stories involving women, I have to say that's pretty bad, dude. I also feel like there's more than what you're telling me."
He studied Peter for a moment. "Next one's on the house. Just... try to nurse this one." Chuck walked across the floor behind the bar to fix Peter's drink and to help another customer.
"I'll try," Peter said to himself.
He wouldn't make any promises.
While he was waiting for his scotch, Peter peeked over his shoulder in the direction where Olivia and What's-His-Face were sitting. He could see them leaning towards each other over the table. That kind of body language was never a good sign, at least not from his perspective.
Peter could clearly remember the times when he found himself caught up in a heated discussion or debate with Olivia over whether or not one of Walter's theories were correct. When they leaned toward each other, Peter was always able to catch a whiff of what she smelled like. She didn't smell like perfume, for which he was grateful. The girls that Peter used to go out with always wore some sort of scent that made him gag.
But Olivia... he wasn't even sure she wore perfume. It was a mixture of her shampoo and her natural scent that got him every time. And now seeing her with Every-Woman's-Dream was really getting to him. Knowing that man could hold her, kiss her, breathe in that scent, and take in all of her... it made Peter pissed and miserable.
Chuck came back with his fourth scotch. "Just in time," Peter mumbled. "Cheers," He raised his glass to the man behind the bar. Chuck nodded in acknowledgement.
Peter could hear footsteps behind him. He didn't bother to look. He did however, happen to notice Chuck's eyes widen. "Can I help you?" He asked the individual.
"Can I get a scotch and a gin and tonic?" The familiar feminine voice requested. Chuck nodded and went to fill the order.
Peter could feel his eyes darken along with his mood. He turned only to find-
"Peter?" Olivia shifted her shawl tighter around her shoulders. "I didn't think I'd find you here tonight. I thought you said you had a date."
Earlier that day, Peter found himself gathering papers with Olivia in her office. They had just finished a case and he was helping Olivia wrap up for the day. The office was dead silent. They had no current ongoing investigations so he was at a loss of what there was to talk about.
He wanted to talk about the other Olivia, get it all out in the open. He wanted Olivia to hear his side. He wanted her to give him a chance. It had been a month since Olivia had come back from the other side. However, Peter knew this wasn't the time or the place to bring all of that up.
Olivia finally broke the silence with the standard question of, "Have any plans tonight?" Peter finished gathering up the rest of the papers and handed them to her. Their fingertips brushed one another gently. Olivia yanked her hand away quickly.
"Uh, well it is Friday. Date night." Peter didn't have any plans of the sort. It wasn't his fault if she jumped to the conclusion that he did have a date.
"Right well," Olivia nodded. The room was silent once more. He wanted badly to ask Olivia the same question. He wanted to nose his way back into her life. He wanted to make sure that she wasn't moving on.
"I'll talk to you Monday." Olivia said. She picked up her briefcase and was out the door within a matter of seconds. Peter was left standing alone in the middle of her office.
That was the moment when he decided he needed a drink. The tension between them was unbelievable. And it wasn't the good kind of tension. He knew what the good kind had felt like during the first two years he had known her.
He hated that he had screwed it all up.
Peter stood so that he was eye level with Olivia. "She cancelled. So you decided to check the place out, huh?" Peter nodded to the rest of George's.
"Well, I remember you'd mentioned it once." he noticed that she kept flickering her eyes back to the table she had been sitting it. It was vacant at the moment.
"So... you're here by yourself?" he couldn't help but ask, even though he already knew the answer.
"Actually David asked me out for drinks tonight. I suggested this place. He works in Fringe Division as well."
Peter thought that Mr. Perfect looked familiar. He vaguely remembered David in the FBI building about a year ago asking Olivia for clarification over a route in the raid they were going to make. It had given David a chance to talk to the pretty FBI agent in charge.
Peter made an effort to look past Olivia and directed his gaze at the very same table she seemed to be keeping an eye on. It was empty. He raised an eyebrow.
"He's in the restroom. He asked me to order the drinks already." he nodded, trying to control the expression on his face.
"I didn't know that you had a date tonight," Peter stated lightly. He rested an elbow on the bar counter and leaned against it.
"You didn't ask."
No, he hadn't.
"You, uh, you look good." he commented, drawing the conversation to Olivia's appearance.
Peter took this opportunity to give her a good once over. He noticed how the dress had a sweetheart neckline, a term one of his former college girlfriends had informed him of whenever he kept referring to one of her dresses as the 'one with the neckline that does a curvy thing around the chest area'. (The term ended up sticking with him, even though the girl hadn't.)
Olivia's white dress seemed to hug every curve, tightening around the hips and clinging to her legs till it reached her knees. Her feet were decorated in a pair of open toed high heels with straps around her ankles. As the conversation focused on her, Olivia moved the shawl even tighter around her shoulders. She sure wanted to send this David guy a message. A message that Peter wasn't sure he wanted Mr. Perfect to receive.
"New dress?" Peter asked.
"I had to buy a new one. I didn't really have anything to wear tonight," he flinched.
Olivia must have cleaned out her closet. After all, she said she had tried to rid her apartment of anything that reminded her of the other Olivia.
"I see. Well, it looks good on you." Peter forced his eyes to meet hers. Her expression, as usual, was hard and unrevealing. He did manage to identify a glimmer of an emotion before she turned away.
Sadness, it was a sadness he had caused.
"Thanks," Olivia replied.
Peter hated seeing her like that, closed off. Her defences were up and the walls around her fortress impenetrable. He wanted to apologize like he had hundreds of times before. He sighed and straightened up, drawing himself to his full height, "Look Olivia, I-"
"A scotch and a gin and tonic for the lady," Chuck cheerfully plunked the drinks down in front of them.
Peter noted the barkeeper had impeccable timing.
"Thank you," Olivia set the money down on the counter. Chuck nodded and made his way to the register. Peter made sure Chuck saw the look of contempt he shot his way.
Olivia picked up the gin and tonic in one hand and the scotch in the other. She then quickly downed a third of the scotch. Peter was all too aware of her actions. He knew she could handle her liquor, however he couldn't help but wonder if was he the reason she was acting this way. She held the drinks in front of her, as if the glasses were cruxes, keeping him a safe distance away.
She glanced over to her table and saw that David was back. Peter saw David wave to her. He just about gagged.
"So," she began. "I should probably-"
"Yeah," Peter cut her off. "Well, uh, enjoy your date."
"Yes, enjoy your evening. See you Monday." As Olivia picked up the scotch, Peter turned to face the counter.
He refused to watch Olivia walk back to the table where he was waiting. Peter knew that watching her walk away would only make what he was feeling worse. The sense of loss would have only been stronger.
Although he knew that he could never understand what Olivia was and had been going through when she came back from that alternate universe, he wished that she would understand that she wasn't the only one who had gotten hurt. Not having her speak to him stung worse than when he found the Olivia that had come back with him wasn't his Olivia.
His Olivia was still gone.
Peter picked up his scotch.
He had lost her and he couldn't get her back.
He downed the entire glass. He had just about choked as the liquid went down his throat, leaving a burning sensation behind. The light-headedness that hit him a moment later helped Peter to forget all about his problems.
He sat down on the stool and managed to grab Chuck's attention once more. "Chuck, my man. Another would be great." The ice clinked in the empty glass.
This time Chuck got Peter the fifth scotch without hesitation.
It was sometime around midnight when Peter stepped out into the street. He felt the cool winter air hit his face. His stomach turned. He immediately threw up in a nearby trashcan. He felt his body shudder as it tried to rid itself of the alcohol that remained in his stomach.
Shit, he wasn't going to make it through a taxi ride. Besides, he'd need to sober up a bit before heading back home. Guess I'm taking the subway.
Peter realized he was on an unfamiliar street. After he had managed to squeeze an eighth and final scotch from Chuck, he left George's. As he left the bar, he noticed that Olivia and her boy toy were gone. They must have left without his noticing their absence.
Sure, when they enter the damn bar they gotta be the centre of it all. But leaving? Gotta do that as subtly as possible. Peter groaned. His mouth felt dry.
Peter felt his phone buzzing in his pocket. He took it out and looked blearily at the screen. It was Astrid calling for what looked like the fifth time.
He shut off the phone. He'd apologize in the morning. No matter how much scolding he would receive, the hangover would be punishment enough.
He drew in a breath and looked down the street in search of a sign directing him to the subway entrance. He turned slightly and looked in the other direction. After a moment, Peter drew his eyebrows together and said, "Where the hell is the subway?"
"How the hell can I not find the subway? I've only lived in Boston most of my life." Peter muttered to himself. He tripped on a miniscule crack in the sidewalk as he made his way down the street.
He regained his footing before he hit the pavement. I suppose it would help if I wasn't piss drunk out of my mind.
He stopped and took in his surroundings. He was standing under a streetlight, the street around him covered in a blanket of darkness, nothing moved. The moon was not visible, causing Peter to feel as though he were completely alone in the world.
Peter continued to stumble down the street. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't care.
He had lost what mattered to him. He lost her trust, her respect, and most of all... her.
He had lost her completely and he didn't know if he was going to get her back.
Soon he found himself on a familiar street. He walked up to a building and knocked on the door.
The world was spinning. He braced himself on the doorframe. "I just had to see you," he called out after a moment.
The door opened. She stood there unimpressed.
"I just had to see you," he said quietly.
Let me know what you think! Part 2 will come when I have time to update.