warriors with wild hearts. fringe. peter bishop/olivia dunham, lincoln lee. he's done this once before, pumping himself full of lsd to enter someone else's mind and save her; he's always known that he'd do it again in a heartbeat. one story, three perspectives.
(Peter Bishop)
He wakes up to the low hum of early morning traffic, and Olivia's hair tickling his face. He blinks slowly, checks the clock on his side of the bed (his side of the bed, he thinks with the same kind of wonder he's been feeling ever since he looked into her eyes and found his lover there) andsees that it is just past 7 a.m. He lets his eyelids close heavily again and shifts closer to her, his nose pressed against her cheek and his arm heavy on her stomach.
It doesn't take him long to find sleep again.
He's been mostly awake during the 48 hours he's been looking for her both physically and consciously. He's wandered her mind once to find her; he had no hesitation wandering the mind of an Observer to find her again.
The next time he wakes up, it is a little after 8:30. He carefully stretches and yawns, his stomach growling loudly in the relative silence of her apartment. He hears another growl, coming from her this time, but she doesn't wake up.
He checks her fridge and cupboards with a shake of his head and shuffles his feet sleepily all the way to the bathroom. He showers and dresses quickly before leaving a note on the bedside table by her side and gently kisses her cheek, lets his lips linger there for a moment.
"I love you," he murmurs against her warm skin.
He's quick to the task; still exhausted but the cold air invigorates him just enough. He doesn't waste time wandering the aisles of a nearby local store; he grabs what he needs and quickly makes it back to her apartment, his arms full, his stride long.
That's when he spots Lincoln Lee.
It's no surprise to find the FBI agent at this hour of day, standing outside Olivia's apartment building with coffee in hand. Peter's seen the friendly bond Olivia had developed with her partner and he has even encouraged it, so convinced that he wasn't home when all signs indicated that he was. But it seems that, even if Lincoln's affection towards Olivia was pretty obvious, at some point Olivia decided not to pursue anything.
And in the end, Peter's glad.
Lincoln spots him long before Peter's reached the stairs, looking a little bit unsure all of a sudden. "Hey," Peter greets him and nods towards the front door. Lincoln follows him.
"I was just stopping by to see if Olivia was okay," he offers as an explanation and helps open the door for a struggling Peter.
Peter tells him to go first and he closes the door with his foot. "She was still sleeping when I left." He tries to balance the grocery bags in one hand, but even with his genius IQ, there is no way he's going to open that door without having half of the bags emptying themselves in the corridor.
"Here, let me," Lincoln says and takes one of the bags.
"Thanks," he says and unlocks the door. Once he's retrieved the key and put it back into his back pocket, he takes the bag back from Lincoln's arms, leaving him to quietly close the door. While he goes straight in the kitchen, he senses that the other man's hovering by the door, undoubtedly looking for the one person he came to see.
The bedroom is still quite dark, but not dark enough that he can't see that Olivia's stretched out in bed, lying on her stomach, one foot peeking from under the duvet. In that moment, the only thing Peter really wants is to slip back under the covers with her and listen to the soft sound of her breathing, lulling him back to sleep.
But then, they have company and Peter is not going to send Lincoln on his way just because he wants to be alone with Olivia. He is nothing but grateful for his help, for all the practical and sensible things he did while Peter was silently losing his mind and doing reckless things like entering the mind of a dying Observer, even though it proved to be fruitful.
He's done this once before; he's always known that he'd do it again in a heartbeat.
"How is she doing?" Lincoln asks as Peter's putting the groceries away.
"Shaken up. Exhausted. But she will be fine." He pauses, searching for the right word. In the end, he settles for the obvious. "She's Olivia."
She's Olivia. And no matter how many times they try to bring her down, she always gets up and proves them wrong. Peter's proud to say that this is not just the woman he loves, but that this very woman decided that he was worth it; that despite all the things he's done in the past, she made him a better man.
He used to be a nomad, going from one place to another, never really forming ties with anyone. Now he can't think of being anywhere else, with anyone else.
"By the way, thanks for bringing breakfast," he adds.
Lincoln seems to be tripping over himself for a moment, staring at the still half-full grocery bags and back to his own smaller one, and Peter thinks he knows what is going on right now, at least he thinks he does. He has yet to be a permanent fixture in Olivia's apartment, and the very recent development between them has thrown everyone for a loop. What has been normal for the two of them for months has just resumed after being put on hold, and the rest of Fringe Division clearly wasn't prepared for this, for something they had never witnessed in the first place. So, judging by the two cups of coffee Lincoln brought with him, he wasn't expecting Peter to be here.
And really, he can't blame the guy for this.
"Maybe I should go," Lincoln says.
Peter shakes his head, laughing quietly. "No, that's okay. You can stay." He really doesn't mind. Lincoln Lee's a good asset in the field, and a good person at heart. He can see himself becoming friends with the guy.
Lincoln sits at the kitchen table, looking around with curious eyes and Peter guesses he's never been here long enough to truly feel comfortable there.
He suddenly hears the covers ruffling, breaking the relative silence. "'Livia?" he calls.
There's more tossing and turning. "Hmm," is the only reply. The sound is familiar to his ears, low and throaty.
A drawer is pulled open then closed, and a few moments later she's walking in the kitchen with a frown, eyelids heavy with sleep and she's the most beautiful sight he's ever seen. "Peter," she says his name in that sleepy whisper, the way that makes him want to gather her in his arms and never let go, and in that moment he doesn't care if they have an audience.
She greets Lincoln with a smile before walking to Peter and he kisses her gently, aware of the cut on her lips but she's smiling, smiling and this possibly can't be real. He feels like he's drowning into one of his dreams but she feels so real, so warm under his touch and this is suddenly really overwhelming. His lips linger on her forehead for a long moment, and he closes his eyes, reveling in the feel of her.
When they part and he's finally made her sit, she thanks Lincoln for the bagels and his cheeks tinge with red. Olivia apparently notices it, glances briefly at Peter but says nothing.
She slowly sips the tea he's prepared and munches on a bagel. They don't talk much; everything from the past 48 hours has been a whirlwind of mind-boggling events and it's still a little bit too early to even try and make sense out of it with a foggy mind. Soon, this will be all they will talk and theorize about. But not now.
"Hey," he says to Olivia and she blinks, her eyes bleary. He yawns and stretches, his hand finding her back and beginning to run in circles. It's only a matter of seconds before he realizes what he is doing and he stops, lets his hand fall at his side and Olivia grins knowingly.
Lincoln excuses himself not long after, talking about paperwork and such. Olivia thanks him for bringing breakfast and Lincoln pauses, you're welcome, and then he's gone.
A few minutes later, Peter yawns again, so hard that his eyes water. Olivia gets to her feet and takes his hand, gently coaxing him into following her back to bed. She helps him out of his long-sleeved t-shirt while he deals with his shoes and socks. Then he's laughing breathlessly, tangling his fingers into her hair when she kisses his neck and unzips his jeans at the same time. "You kidding, right?" He feels like all he could do for the next 24 hours is sleep, and even though he'd like nothing more than re-map her skin with his hands and lips, he's not sure his body could be up to this now.
Not all of his body, per se.
"Just sleep," she says, pulling her down with him.
They face each other, foreheads touching and he can't resist; he nuzzles her nose with his and he's reminded of their last morning together before everything went to hell, how blissful it was (I could get used to this.), up until their phones rang.
"Does it still hurt?" he asks, barely brushing his fingers against her throat. He feels sick every time his eyes settle on finger-shaped marks on the delicate expanse of her throat. Fury burns in the pit of his stomach every time he sees them, can picture these two hands closing around her throat and he knows he could grab the bastard who did this and do the same thing to him just as easily.
"Not really," she replies and he kisses a particularly tender spot.
It's much, much later when they wake up, somewhere around 3 p.m. She says, "Welcome back," and kisses the scar on his hand and they slowly re-learn each other as they make love, unhurried and it is so good that it feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest.
It's only been four months and it feels only like it was yesterday, and at the same time, like a lifetime ago. They cling to each other, their fingers lacing together on her pillowcase as her legs tighten around his waist and her free hand claws at his back.
It's the best feeling in the world, an elation he can't quite describe with words; like coming home, her earlier words all the more appropriate. In this moment, it is only them, universes and timelines be damned. There is still so much to do, later they will talk about it while they'll eat Chinese takeout on her couch and tomorrow, when she'll get ready for work (and she'll look at his reflection in the mirror with a smirk and leave her hair free for once and he'll say something about her being a tease) and they will brainstorm at the lab or at the FBI headquarters.
But right now, he can't think of anything else than this moment and Olivia – his Olivia – and nothing else matters.
(end part 2)