AN: Ok, so this chapter ended up being a lot longer than I thought it would be, and I think the final scene with Peter and Olivia deserves its own chapter, so here's a continuation. I can guarantee this ends with a fourth chapter, and an awesome reward for the patient smut-lovers out there. The last chapter will be Olivia's POV, since the last two have been Peter's. I try not to be predictable, but I think you can see where I'm going with this.

Last chapter coming soon. I promise.

-Ari

The obstinate ardor in Olivia's eyes seemed to die somewhere between the abandoned warehouse and the FBI building in the heart of Boston.

The medic had apprehensively declared Olivia clear to go home, more at the behest of Olivia's confidence in her health than his own. He had discovered a large laceration gouged into her scalp under layers of blood-matted blonde hair, several deep scratches along her abdomen and arms, a sprained ankle and a string of patterned dark bruises and cuts around her neck that suggested the use of a ligature. He also pointed out what looked like the remains of adhesive tape on her neck; Broyles looked at her darkly.

"It looks like someone dragged you behind a truck by your neck," the EMT said to Olivia, a little bitterly after letting her hair fall from his hands. He didn't seem keen to let a torture victim skip back home. "But, I can't put her into the ambulance without her permission. She seems lucid enough to make that decision. So, I'll let you take it from here, Agent Broyles."

"I would have someone check in on her frequently," the EMT muttered to Broyles before shuffling off, taking his equipment bag with him. He had cleaned several of Olivia's deeper injuries and wrapped her ankle. He had to peel back Olivia's top to address her wounds, and she seemed impatient to wrap what was left of her suit jacket back around her for the sake of modesty.

"I'll go back to headquarters for a statement," Olivia said. "Then I'd like to go home."

"Fine," Broyles said, his jaw tight. "But you're to take a paid leave until you can walk without limping." He stalked off, ordering another agent to get Olivia's car back to the FBI. Olivia's face betrayed a shadow of obstinance, but she couldn't muster the chutzpah to counter Broyles demand.

Strapped in to the front seat of Broyles' vehicle, she had pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her blackened forehead on the window. Olivia hadn't looked at Peter since shooting his would-be murderer. More than anything, he just wanted to hear her tell him she'd be okay. He wouldn't believe it until he heard her tell him personally.

"I was walking out of the building early Saturday morning, after getting caught up in some research about a case. About three seconds after walking outside, the shape-shifter attacked me. I was knocked backwards, and my head hit a concrete step, and as far as I know, I was knocked unconscious," Olivia droned. She hated playing the witness.

"That's where we found the blood. There was a pool on the step, and what I assumed were drag marks across the back parking lot," Broyles told her. "Dunham, do you have any idea how much blood you lost?"

"I would have no way of knowing that, sir," she responded flaccidly. "I 'woke up,' so to speak, as she was dragging me by my hair. She bound me rather inadequately and threw me in the backseat of my vehicle. I assume she was trying not to be seen and was in a hurry. She blindfolded me and took my gun, and we drove for what felt like 20 minutes. I managed to slip one leg out of my restraints while she drove. I couldn't do more, or she might have stopped and adjusted my ties."

A junior agent wrote feverishly as Olivia chanted on. Broyles dragged them all back to an interrogation room to take Olivia's statement after arriving at headquarters from the scene; he wasn't one to ignore protocol in favor of hurt feelings.

Broyles would interrupt her occasionally with questions. He had Peter sit in on the brief, so he could explain his short involvement in the whole gory tale, if needed.

"When we stopped, she opened my door. When I was upright, I kicked out and hit something. I assume it was her. I started running, trying to pull my hands out and pull down my blindfold. Unfortunately, they're extremely fast and I didn't get very far," Olivia faltered slightly. The whole room seemed to contract around her. "As she dragged me again, my blindfold slipped. I saw her face and it was the same shape-shifter that had abducted Dr. Truss. She got me inside what I know now is an abandoned warehouse that belonged to a medical supply three years ago. She bound me to a metal pole and started drilling me with questions: things about my past, what does Fringe know about the shifters, where my family lived, specific questions about old cases. I either answered vaguely, or not at all. Obviously, that made her angry," she said, indicating her pitiful state with a weary hand.

"Is that where those gashes on your arms and abdomen came from?" Broyles interjected, a bite in his words.

"Yes. She dragged a hunting knife across my skin every time I gave an answer she disliked. I assume she needed more information about me before killing me so that she could pull off the disguise for a long period of time," Olivia said, her voice still disconcertingly blank. "She also tried holding my head underwater and pressure points, among other methods," Olivia subconsciously rubbed her bruised neck. "Finally, she got fed up and taped a plastic bag around my neck. It was a clear bag, so I saw her take my laptop and turn her back. There must have been a hole somewhere in the bag, because I managed to suck part of it in my mouth and rip a larger hole with my teeth to breathe slightly better. The pole was square and had a jagged edge, so I was able to drag the ropes around my hands across the edge. It almost worked like a serrated knife. It took a minute, but once it cut through the first rope, I was able to loosen the bind and free my hands."

"And what was she doing while you did this?" Broyles asked.

"She had her back turned. I back up all my files on a hard drive at my desk, but I leave current case files on the desktop. She must have found something she was looking for, because she didn't turn to look at me while I freed myself. She must have heard me moving around, because she would mutter things like, 'stop making noise and die already.' I tried to make gasping noises so that she would think I was suffocating under the bag. After my hands were free, I bent down and untied my feet and ripped the bag from my head. I lunged at my gun. She had set it beside her while she looked through my computer. I managed to secure the weapon and take a few steps back before she noticed. I fired several rounds into the computer before firing at her and running through a doorway."

Broyles had been staring unblinkingly at Olivia during her whole tale. At this point, his eyes seemed to spark with an almost fatherly pride at Olivia's resourcefulness. Her eyes had been threaded to her hands while she spoke, only breaking it to glance at Broyles when he'd ask a question. She still hadn't looked at Peter; he felt a bile-filled bubble rising in his throat as she detailed her horrible two-day absence.

"The warehouse is like a maze, so I managed to put some distance between us. I could hear her violently tearing through the building, so I tried to slip out as quietly as possible. I had used all the ammunition in my gun firing at her, but I kept it in my hand, so I could possibly bluff and escape, if needed. I managed to make it outside and ran behind the storage pod behind the warehouse. I heard her burst out of the building, screaming, really angry. I found a rusty chain and several nails and metal wiring in the junkyard by the pod. I hit the pod several times with the butt of the gun, trying to lure her towards me. I'm not sure how I did it, but she went into the pod thinking I was hiding inside of it. Once she was inside, I pulled the door closed and tried to fasten it shut with what I had."

This time, Peter's heart beat with a surge of pride. Olivia was brilliant for sure, but faced with death, she morphed into a bona fide genius. Peter grinned slightly to himself, despite the sick feeling that had been churning in his stomach this whole time.

"I heard you guys rustling around the building, so I hid in a large stack of old mack truck tires. I might have just been paranoid, but I thought you might be shape-shifters, as well. So I got out of sight. I didn't have a phone, so I couldn't call for help. The tires were worn, so I could see through cracks in the rubber. I saw Peter open the pod, and the shape-shifter looked like she was trying to kill him. He had dropped a gun, so I left my hiding place and crawled to the gun. Then I stood, and took aim before shooting her in the back of the head," she said.

Broyles turned his intense gaze to Peter, looking at him expectantly.

"I heard someone inside the pod, and I thought it was Olivia. So I opened it to let her out, and the shape-shifter charged. She was straddling me and crushing my throat before Olivia fired the gun at her. It was a hell of a shot," Peter said.

Olivia looked up at him briefly, before her eyes fell to her hands again. He might have imagined it, but he swore to himself that she had just grinned at his words. The need to pull her into a bone-breaking hug was knocking holes against his ribcage.

"That's pretty much it," Olivia said to the floor rather lamely.

"Alright," Broyles said as he stood. "Dunham, I don't want to see you in this building for at least a week. I'll call to check in with you daily. If I don't hear from you, be warned that I'll send a few agents to break down your door."

"Noted," she said with a poor attempt at a smile.

"Please look after yourself, Dunham. I can't afford to lose you. You're a vital part of this team."

"Thank you, sir."

Broyles stood, marking an official end to the conversation. He motioned for Peter to follow him. Broyles already had his hand on the door when Olivia's voice sliced through an uncomfortable silence.

"Sir, I think we should try to make Peter a little more comfortable."

"More comfortable?" Broyles said, a confused eyebrow reaching high on his hairless head. "Dunham, he's a scientific anomaly that was vomited into our universe by an unknown force that has a penchant for the color blue and shiny things. What are you suggesting? Where could we keep him other than here?

"A hotel, in another willing agent's home," Olivia said simply. "I'm not saying we should stop investigating his case, I'm just saying he seems more than compliant. If anything, he seems as desperate for answers as we are, if not more. This is the second case he has made a contribution to, a valuable one at that. I think he's proven his worth and I don't think he's going anywhere. We could give him a stipend and living allowance until we figure out what this whole thing is."

Peter's stomach bursted with butterflies at hearing this. Olivia still wasn't looking at him, her eyes were busy fighting with Broyles' for dominance. Her voice had transformed from blankly absent to assertively certain. From the look on her face, she would not accept any other scenario. It was a nod, a vote of faith from one of the two people who mattered most.

"Alright," Broyles said, as he turned to Peter. "We'll put you in an extended-stay room, for the time being. I'll look into a stipend tomorrow. Follow me, and we'll make arrangements. Dunham, wait here. I'll drive you home."

Before exiting, Peter turned for one last glance towards Olivia. Her eyes were alight, a faint hint of triumph upturning the corners of her lips. She was smiling at him.