Of Mistletoe and Christmas Carols
Three : Merry Christmas, Peter
She wakes up to a white world and muted sunlight, sore limbs and extreme bliss, the suffocating heat of Peter's entire body pressed against hers and his hand on her waist, keeping her prisoner.
For a minute, just a minute, this Christmas morning could be like any other one she's had for the past ten years, the morning after she's just spent the night with Peter, her best friend who's only in town for a night.
And then the nausea hits her and she forcefully jumps out of bed, flinging Peter's hand off as she claps a hand to her mouth and runs out of the room, across the hall and into the bathroom. Peter is ten seconds behind her and just in time to hold up her hair.
A few minutes later, Elizabeth walks in to find Peter rubbing Olivia's back in a circular motion as she presses her palms against her eyes, lingering for a few seconds before she gets to her feet slowly and moves to the sink.
"'Morning," She smiles weakly as she catches sight of Elizabeth in the mirror that stands above the sink.
"Merry Christmas." Elizabeth says softly, empathizing with Olivia's condition. "I know just the thing to make you feel better." She shares, drawing their attention.
"We'll be down in ten," Peter tells his mother, knowing that Olivia is going to need a while to compose herself. She had been fairly lucky at first, suffering little to no nausea at all, but the past three weeks have seen morning sickness attacking her with a vengeance. Thankfully, it seems confined by the limitations of its name, often leaving her alone by the end of each morning. Except for when they get called to crime scenes, as evidenced by her spending the entire night up two days ago.
Elizabeth nods understandingly and pads down the hallway, disappearing into her room. Peter waits for Olivia to wash up and does the same as she leans against the door, eyes closed as she regulates her breathing.
They climb down the stairs together and find a table of breakfast food waiting for them. "Bacon cures morning sickness?" Peter asks skeptically as they sit down. His mother turns around with an amused smile and sets down a plate of toast for Olivia.
"No, but I didn't think Olivia would want to have Red Vines on an empty stomach."
Olivia almost chokes on the water she's chugging down.
"Red Vines?" Peter sputters incredulously. Olivia's wide eyes indicate her state of shock.
"Oh, I suppose any sort of licorice would do the trick, really. But that's all we have right now, and it's what worked for me." Elizabeth brandishes a jar of the familiar red treats, setting it down in front of Olivia as she nibbles on her toast while Peter helps himself to a big serving of bacon.
Walter pads down the stairs just as Olivia unscrews the lid of the licorice jar and removes a single piece as everyone looks on curiously, even Walter who has yet to say a word. Ever so slowly, hesitatingly, Olivia brings the licorice closer to her mouth. Her features form a grimace as she takes a bite out of the familiar treat, before she can even taste it.
And then nothing happens.
The Bishops watch as Olivia slowly chews on her licorice, looking almost contemplative. No one makes a sound. She takes a sip of water. Nothing happens. She takes another bite, then another, and her lips curve into a smile.
"I'm good." Olivia announces and is met with three very relieved sighs and an extra-wide grin from Peter, who is already thinking of late mornings spent in bed without anywhere to go, not work or his parents' or the bathroom; nice, slow hours of the earliest part of the day spent quietly without the love of his life running away to be miserable every hour or so.
The third sigh draws attention to their new addition and three heads quickly snap to Walter, who stands in the doorway in a robe and bunny slippers.
Just a robe and bunny slippers. That the robe is untied goes without saying.
"Walter!" Elizabeth gasps, equal parts horrified and scandalized as Olivia turns away, dropping the Red Vine she had just picked out. Walter himself remains motionless except for his features which twist to form an expression of confusion at his family's reaction. No one has even wished him a merry Christmas!
Peter catches on and with his eyes averted, waves in the general direction of Walter's form. "Flying a lot low there, Walter." He jokingly points out, still too happy with Olivia's new, nausea-less condition to be upset by his father's weirdness.
The scientist looks down and checks himself at his son's words, laughing a little when he figures out the problem. "Oh." He exclaims softly, as if still in shock.
"Oh!" He laughs before mercifully disappearing from sight, presumably to get dressed. Elizabeth buries her face in her hands as Olivia turns to him with fingers cautiously splayed across her eyes, obscuring most of her vision.
"Are we safe?" She questions in a hushed tone, utterly serious. Peter grins and nods, seemingly not quite all here as he tucks into his bacon and chuckles to himself.
"It's Tuesday," He mutters in between continuous fits of quiet, convulsive laughter. "Christmas on a Tuesday."
It doesn't take long for the women to remember the worst of all Walterisms, as Astrid has started calling them. A tradition of sorts upheld by Walter and feared by everyone in the vicinity.
Naked Tuesdays.
They exchange presents after breakfast – something that would have been impossible to convince both Bishop boys to do just ten years ago – and finally, Walter reaches for the last gift and with shaking hands and a hopeful smile, hands it to both Peter and Olivia. It's medium-sized and feels suspiciously light, a traditional red box finished with a large green bow to boot, just like in the movies. A tiny slip tucked under the bow brings a smile to the faces of both parents-to-be.
Baby Bishop
- Your grandfather, Dr. Walter Bishop.
Peter shakes his head with an amused smile while Olivia traces her fingers over the words Baby Bishop with an almost reverent look in her eyes.
"Go on then," Walter urges, barely able to contain his excitement as he bounces and jiggles in place. Elizabeth watches on with a smile as Olivia pulls softly at the bow and lifts the lid.
Inside, on top of what seems to be a large bundle of fabric, resting on a layer of wrapping tissue, she finds a teeny tiny pair of socks, red and green and white. Leaning into Peter to allow him a better look, she picks up a sock with shaking hands and rests it in her palm. The sock is smaller than her palm. Her baby's feet will be smaller than her palms.
Peter, who sits just behind her with his legs on either side of her, reaches for her free hand and laces their fingers together. Olivia seems transfixed by the tiny Christmas-themed sock until she feels his hand in hers and snaps her eyes to Walter.
"Thank you, Walter." She smiles, sounding a little too emotional.
"I just thought you would want to be prepared, and who doesn't love Christmas? There's more inside but I made these myself! Elizabeth taught me, of course." He adds proudly, beaming at his wife.
"It took a good while," She teases him.
"Those blasted guidelines were indecipherable!" Walter cries in defense of himself as the other tree laugh good-naturedly. He doesn't join them but eventually grins at the absurdity of it all. Those darned illustrations weren't even correctly proportioned! A little color might have helped.
Olivia looks down at the tiny knitted sock in her hand again and so does Peter. She leans into his chest and curls into him with a smile.
"We're having a baby." She whispers, her eyes bright and dancing with joy. Peter rests his chin on her head and raises their linked hands to rest on her stomach.
"We're having a baby." He grins, holding her close.
"And we're having a grandchild!" Walter suddenly exclaims, jumping to his feet and pulling a stunned Elizabeth to hers to spin her around in a dance known only to him.
Peter laughs, watching his parents dance around the cramped living room while Olivia goes through the tiny clothes in the box, all so heartbreakingly small that she can't help but worry.
How is she going to protect someone that precious, that fragile?
Not long after, Elizabeth and Walter leave for their usual Christmas Day drive around town, something Walter insists on like clockwork each Christmas afternoon.
Olivia waves them off as they drive away and heads for the living room. She sits down and flips through the channels, looking for something that will hold her attention long enough to keep her from having a nervous breakdown.
Her baby, the little life inside of her, is small and breakable and so, so precious. And even now, with her child safely inside of her, somewhat protected from the outside world, she can't help but worry constantly. So what happens when her baby comes out into this horrible, terrible world of theirs? She and Peter had obviously not thought this through when they had talked about picket fences and puppies and children. They had somehow – conveniently - forgotten what it is they do for a living, being on the frontlines against the worst horrors imaginable.
Peter hands her a warm mug of hot chocolate and sits down next to her, draping an arm around her shoulder. When she merely shoots him a weak smile in thanks, his brows furrow in concern.
"Liv?"
"I'm fine, Peter." She assures him, well familiar with his 'I'm worried' look. "Look, Buddy the Elf." She points out with exaggerated enthusiasm, earning herself a laugh and a frown-free Peter.
"How many times have we watched this, again?"
"Hmm," She muses. "Only once, I think. A few years back it was snowing really badly and your parents were around, so we stayed down and watched this with them." Walter had pouted his way through the afternoon, muttering about 'the bloody weather' and 'damned snow'. Elizabeth had made him an extra-large mug of hot chocolate overflowing with marshmallows and they had settled down in front of the TV, hoping to get Walter out of his funk. When Elizabeth had called out for Peter and Olivia to join them, they'd been left with no choice. Spending all day upstairs would have been too suspicious, and so they had plastered on polite smiles and watched movies with Peter's parents well into the evening.
"In total," Peter specifies. "I think I've watched this at least five times on my own." Olivia raises an eyebrow in skepticism, simultaneously trying to get more information on everything Peter's done 'on his own' for the past ten years. She has a rough idea and enough knowledge not to be painfully curious or suspicious of him, but Peter has always avoided discussing his life for the past decade with her, ever since he walked out that summer day.
"Let me guess: with a bunch of losers in your man cave while you tried to finish up whatever spiked eggnog you'd brought back from home?"
Peter chuckles, setting his own mug down on the coffee table. "Actually, it was in my rundown one-room apartment with no one for company and brownies."
"Brownies?"
"Walter said they'd last longer that way." He clarifies with an amused laugh and Olivia nods understandingly. It takes her a few seconds to respond to Peter's admission of the fact that he'd spent the last few days of each year cooped up in an apartment on his own watching holiday specials. She's always wondered what Peter was up to, especially in the days after Christmas, after he left her.
"I don't get it." She admits with a shrug and a smile. "Why spend the last few days after Christmas all alone in an apartment watching Buddy the Elf?" She presses for more.
"Let's not forget A Christmas Carol. Oh, and A Charlie Brown Christmas. They do have more than one Christmas movie, 'Livia." He teases her, swiping a TV guide from the coffee table to place on her lap. She scowls and bats it away, focusing her attention on staring at Peter. It isn't long before he starts squirming and explains himself.
"I was depressed, okay?" He finally admits. "I'd just spent all year waiting to see you, and then I had less than two days – most of which were spent sharing you with my family – and now I was alone for the whole year all over again because I just didn't have the balls to tell you that I wanted more."
She's taken aback by the fierceness and self-loathing in his voice and lays a hand on his chest. "Peter," She calls to him in a soft, soothing tone. "It wasn't all your fault, Peter. I…" She hesitates before figuring what the heck, there's nothing to lose now that they're actually together, now that she knows he's always felt the same way. "I wanted more, too. But I just couldn't tell you, or ask you to move back because I knew, I just knew that if and when you and I got together, that would be it. I would be done for life. But I didn't know if you felt the same way and the thought, the possibility of us being together and not working out, of ruining everything, it just… I was terrified." She confesses, keeping her eyes averted. She's never told him that – that she's done, she's with him and she's settled and that's that – in so many words.
"'Livia," Peter rasps, sounding choked up. She turns to him to find that he's dropped his face in his hands. "God, this is all my fault. I shouldn't have left, I never should have left Boston and home and you."
"Why, Peter?" She questions desperately, surprising both of them. This isn't Olivia. Olivia is the one who tells you not to blame yourself, who clears you of guilt, who comforts you and soothes you and forgives you even if she insists there's nothing to forgive. But she can't, not anymore, not after ten years of not knowing. She still remembers it, the day he left. She remembers waking up with dried tear tracks on her cheeks and a smile on her lips, more content than she'd ever been. She remembers waking up in Peter's room, in Peter's shirt, in Peter's bed. She remembers getting up and expecting to find his arms around her, and being greeted instead by a note. She remembers panicking, and jumping out of bed, and calling for him so anxiously that his parents had stormed into the room only to find what she had found: Peter was gone.
"It's been ten years, and we're together, and we're having a baby and I still don't know why you left. Why you left your home, your family, me. All I know is that one day I came home to find you shouting at Walter, and the next day you stopped calling him Dad and you just became so distant from all of us, even me. And I just knew you were leaving." She muffles a sob by pressing her hand against her lips, suddenly brought back to that dark period in their lives.
"Olivia." Peter sighs heavily, pulling her closer and wrapping his arms around her. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I… God, I'm sorry."
"You promised, Peter." She accuses weakly, sounding just like her nine-year-old self. "You promised you would never leave me and just when everything was changing and we were supposed to go out and live in the real world… you just left. I was lost without you." She admits.
"I'm sorry, 'Livia." He repeats into her hair over and over again. "I just… it's a long story, 'Liv. And I promise I'll tell you about it. But when I found out… I was just so angry at Walter, and myself. I hated myself and I just couldn't live with it, knowing what I'd done… what Walter had done to you because of me. I had to leave." He pulls back and locks his eyes on hers.
"But I came back, Olivia. I came back eventually, for you. And this time, nothing is going to take me away. I'll never leave you. Never again." He vows determinedly, thinking of Olivia and their baby and how he would never forgive himself if he ever had to walk away from them.
Olivia looks at him for the longest time, searching for something in his eyes, eyes that hold nothing but love and adoration and unwavering determination. And she knows, whether it's because of them or their baby, Peter will never leave her again. And that's enough, as long as she knows that. It doesn't matter that she doesn't know what made him leave, what he's talking about, what Walter did to her. They'll talk about it someday. But for now, all she can do is accept his promise and let him hold her.
"Okay." She sighs softly, tucking her head under his neck.
"Okay."
Walter and Elizabeth come home to find the young couple dozing on the couch, credits rolling across the screen that illuminates the dark living room. With matching smiles, they tiptoe into the kitchen where Elizabeth starts working on dinner preparations immediately.
"They look adorable." She sighs happily over a bubbling pot as Walter pulls out the turkey they'd set out last night.
He nods. "It's good that they're catching up on sleep." He adds with a knowing grin and Elizabeth shakes her head indulgently at her husband's comment.
"They're young and in love, Walter. Let them be." She chides with a laugh, knowing just what her husband is talking about. Peter and Olivia have probably perfected the art of being quiet, but Peter's old, squeaky bed had kept the elderly couple up all night.
"I'm happy for them, Elizabeth." He finally says, looking out to catch a glimpse of his son's head peeking out from over the back of the sofa, outlined by the bright screen. "So happy."
Elizabeth smiles and walks into her husband's arms, letting him hold her as they observe their son with the woman they've always known as the one for him. "Me too," She pats his hand affectionately. They go back to preparing dinner, giving Peter and Olivia some privacy and time to rest in peace.
Until Walter accidentally blows something up with a loud bang, waking up Peter, Olivia and any other sleeping soul on their street.
That night they gather in the living room with mugs of hot chocolate and warm pastry, watching the flames dance in the fireplace. Peter and Olivia have been holding a hushed discussion while Walter reminisces and talks of Christmasses past, and when he comes to a stop, they look up with excited smiles.
"So…" Peter begins, drawing his parents' attention. "'Livia and I have been looking at houses, trying to find a place before the baby comes."
"Oh, that's wonderful." Elizabeth smiles encouragingly as Walter suddenly loses his smile.
"And you still won't live with us." He pouts, still a little upset.
"No, Walter, we won't." Peter smiles. "But we might live near you. Say, across the street." He says nonchalantly. Walter's eyes snap to his son's.
"Near us?" He asks hopefully as Elizabeth places a hand on his arm, waiting for Peter's answer.
Olivia speaks up. "We haven't exactly found a place just yet, and we'd still have to look into preschools but-"
"That's the plan." Peter finishes, sharing a smile with Olivia.
"Oh, Elizabeth!" Walter turns to his wife. "Did you hear that? They might live near us! We could see them every day!"
"You already see us every day, Walter." Peter points out dryly. "We work together, remember?"
"Yes, but this will be different, son!" He exclaims impatiently before turning back to Elizabeth. "Oh, and we could bring the baby to that park, the one we used to take the kids to, and we could drop her off at school and babysit and-"
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Walter." Elizabeth advises gently even though she's already thinking of all the time she'll be spending with her grandchild, raising her in the same neighborhood her parents were raised.
"Peter, Olivia," She addresses the young couple who seem just as excited over the possibility of returning here. "This is wonderful," She gushes. "Just wonderful news."
"We'll be a big, happy family!" Walter announces and goes right back to musing out loud, talking about the many things they'll all do together. His family indulges him and even plays along, idly pitching in with ideas for activities and days out. When the clock strikes eleven, Elizabeth gently interrupts Walter and tells him it's time for bed, and though Walter fusses and stalls, it isn't long before they're climbing up the stairs, leaving Peter and Olivia alone.
They stand up and stretch out their sore limbs before Olivia starts gathering used mugs and carries them to the kitchen, setting them down in the sink.
"I'll do it, 'Livia." Peter offers hurriedly as she starts rinsing out the cups and Olivia laughs him off.
"I can wash a few dishes, Peter. Our baby isn't going to end up with dry hands." She jokes as he comes to stand behind her.
"But you will." Peter says, his lips close to her neck. His hands press against her waist as they reach out and replace hers, making quick work of the few mugs they'd used. Long after they're done, they remain pressed against the sink, with Peter trapping Olivia in place as his hands wrap around her waist.
"I love you," He says suddenly, lightly pressing his hand to her stomach. "And our baby, who is going to be just like her mother."
"Or maybe he will be just like his father." She retorts, resting her hand over his.
"If you really want a Bishop boy so much, we could just try again after our little girl." Peter suggests casually. Olivia laughs dismissively.
"As soon as they figure out how to get men pregnant." She promises as Peter frowns into her neck.
"Just you wait until you see our perfect little baby. She'll be so perfect that it would be a crime for us to procreate only once, Dunham. And we'll end up with a tribe of little Bishops, only better because they'd be smart and strong just like Mommy. And blonde. Everyone knows that's better." He jokes, lifting a hand to push aside her curtain of light hair.
"I don't know," Olivia says, squirming in his arms until she can turn around to look at him. A hand lodges itself in his hair, fingers running through the dark curls she's always associated with Peter "I'm kind of partial to this." She tells him with a grin.
"A whole tribe of little Bishops, Liv." He suggests again. "Some of them will look like you and some of them will look like me, and some will look like both of us."
"Just how many do you think I'm popping out, Bishop?" She questions with a serious look on her face.
"As many as you want, sweetheart." He smiles sweetly, giving her a good answer. Olivia nods, satisfied, and pushes her way out of his arms only to hold a hand out to him.
"I think I'm ready for bed." She announces and he laces their fingers together as they walk out of the kitchen, ready to call it a day. They roam around the house in silence until Peter comes to an abrupt halt just shy of the stairs, pulling Olivia to a stop.
"What is it?" She turns around, looking at him before following his eyes upward… to the tiny sprig of mistletoe someone – Walter, most likely – had hung just two steps away from the stairs. "Oh." She breathes, looking down and meeting Peter's smiling eyes.
"Merry Christmas, sweetheart." He grins, giving her no warning before he pulls her in, crashing his lips to hers under the mistletoe. She throws her hands around his neck, reciprocating despite her initial surprise. When air becomes a necessity, as it frequently does, she pulls back just enough to press her forehead against his, both of them still holding each other as they both breathe rapidly. A smile lights up Olivia's face as she regains her breath and looks into his bright, familiar eyes.
"Merry Christmas, Peter."
~ MERRY CHRISTMAS! ~
So yeah, I Googled 'morning sickness remedies' and ended up with about ten articles and a hundred-odd suggestions. Only one stood out: licorice. Yes, some people believe licorice alleviates the symptoms of morning sickness and even though I've never heard of this, you just know I had to work it in somehow.
Sorry for the delay, everyone. I had planned to do all of my writing and get the stories up by the 27th at the latest, but an unexpected condition had me spending my time in a hospital instead. My (body's) bad! This chapter is a little longer and more substantial than usual, so I hope that makes up for it.
Once more, I had a bit of trouble picking out a title and ended up with 'Merry Christmas, Peter' as a parallel of sorts to last year's third and final chapter, 'Merry Christmas, Olivia.'
Well, that's that for this year, folks. I hope the Bishops' Christmas experience was a fun story for all of you and that your Christmas was just as fun, if not more. Or Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Festivus. I think I celebrated a little of everything.
In terms of this AU and my plans for it, I'm hoping to write a full prequel next year, starting from when Peter and Olivia first met (as shown on the series) up to the day Peter left after their high school graduation. As for current events, I will definitely be returning to this storyline. Right now I'm torn between writing a full, multi-chapter story that follows Olivia's pregnancy or sticking with holiday specials – we've done Christmas, Halloween and Thanksgiving so far – but rest assured that this is not the last of fluffy Polivia. Or it might be, because soon enough it'll be fluffy Polivietta.
I'm still accepting Christmas presents so… review maybe?
E Salvatore,
December 2012.