Strong Enough
Harvard University
07:00am
There was something unusually off this morning. Whatever it was, Peter couldn't put his finger on it, but the moment he opened his eyes he knew it was going to be simply one of those days. The headache that had pulled him out of his sleep was his first indicator. He felt like he downed a bottle of tequila the night before, the unforgiving liquid that put him into an uneasy sleep. The second was the queasiness he felt in his stomach as he walked through the quiet courtyard of the University and made his way towards the lab. He couldn't say what, something felt awkward. It crept underneath his skin, goose bumps rising as he shuttered against the cold winter air.
Maybe, he mused, was because of the dusky, gray clouds that had settled overhead and blocked the usual bright December sun. Instead of colors, all he saw was a gray scale of blacks, whites and everything in between. All around him seemed leeched of color, except the gray stone of the buildings and the thin layer of snow on the ground. Everything else was black, drained and completely lifeless, except for the crow that cawed overhead. Considering the time, any decent college student was asleep until the last very minutes.
Still, it felt… simply off.
Pulling open the doors he slipped back them and into the calm atmosphere of the main floor, towering pillars and tall ceilings greeted him with the echo of his own footsteps, quiet against the unusually empty halls. It had was strange to see the corridors so still, slightly darkened and minimal sunlight poking through the stain glass windows. Gliding around the stairwell he came to the doors and went through the normal motions, only to find the latch undone.
Someone had already entered, setting Peter's awareness level on high alert. Where the hell was Olivia with her gun when he needed it?
Slowly he opened the door, precaution at his fingers, and walked through, scanning the area within his vision for any tale of the invaders. Careful not to spill the precious contents of the coffee holder in his hand, his ears buzzed with silence as he strained to hear the tiniest of sound. His patience paid off in the sound of heel clicks as he turned around quicker than he intended and ran straight into someone unexpected.
"Peter!" exclaimed Olivia as they collided, his coffee spilling down her white shirt. "Shit," she muttered, staring at her stained button-up and coffee drenched papers and rolled her eyes. "What the hell are you doing here?"
He froze, taken aback by her statement, "I work here. What are you doing here this early? You're never here before ten." Immediately he slapped himself, hearing the defensiveness in his voice that was more out of surprise than annoyance.
Olivia sighed as she walked past him, the heel of her boot digging harder into the pavement as she whirled around a corner with Peter in tow. "I was here to follow up on a potential lead. Charlie called me this morning and faxed over something but it turned out to be useless." The cadence she spoke with, tough, broken and lined with aggravation, had confirmed Peter's suspicious.
Olivia was already in a bad room it seemed. This was definitely going to be a bad day.
Coming up behind her he leaned against the door frame. Before he could speak, he watched with a profound curiosity as Olivia swiftly unbuttoned her dirtied shirt, leaving her standing before him in nothing but a nude-colored bra and her pants. What caught his attention wasn't the fact she was half-naked in front of him, but the way her hands shook as she did it, an uncommon tremor he wasn't used to seeing. Being the gentleman he was, he averted his gaze to the wall behind him.
"To make matters worse," she said as she tossed the stained shirt aside and reached quickly for the spare draped over her chair, "We've got another body."
He pretended to look away as she pulled her hair from her collar and re-buttoned it. "Fantastic," he muttered and bowed his head. "On a more positive note, coffee?" he pointed towards the other room, making Olivia press her lips together and nod once. She followed his lead into the break room and leaned on the wall as he prepared a pot.
"Is Walter coming?" she asked, quieter and lower than before.
Peter nodded. "Walter should be here soon with Astrid. They go out for breakfast on Wednesdays. It's kind of nice, actually, not having to worry about getting him out on time." The water boiled as they came to silence again, examining her face once again, another alarm sounding as he squinted. "Hey, you okay?"
What had prompted his question were the paleness to her cheeks and the glassy appearance to her eyes, those deep emerald pools were shallow and thin. Even through the thin layers of make-up she wore, he could see right through her cosmetic mask. Looking more carefully, the white of her eyes was replaced by a flat, rosy pink and her lips dry. She pressed her lips together tighter, feeling his gaze on them. It was a tell tale sign he picked up that something was bothering her. Slowly Olivia crossed her arms and stared at the wall.
"Yea," she said flatly, avoiding his gaze, "I… just didn't sleep well last night."
Peter grinned. "John wasn't home to play teddy bear last night?"
She shook her head and answered quietly, the words betrayed in a whisper. "It's a little more complicated than that, Peter." his tongue he kicked himself for that comment. Again, she fell silent and making Peter's interest raise higher. He kept his gaze on her hoping she would spill whatever had tied her tongue into a thick knot.
Before he could ask the pot sounded with a high chime, bringing both of them back to earth. Peter filled her cup first and threw in a teaspoon of sugar, stirred and handed it to her with a smile. She nodded in thanks and left as she headed back to her office for a little peace and quiet before Walter and Astrid would arrive and begin their preparations to head out for their next body.
Peter, however, was determined; perhaps more than he should be. Walking into her office yet again he found her sitting still with her head in her hands, a deep sigh escaping her chest. Moving around the back he placed his cup next to hers and kneeled, placing his hand on her back, a friendly gesture of support. The pen she held darted from her fingers into the paper, sticking to it like concrete.
"Look, Olivia, if you want to talk about it, I'm all ears. If not, that's fine too. But if you need me, for anything, I'm here."
Twisting her head towards him, he gave her his best smile. Her answer was a simple microscopic smile back and a faint sparkle in her eyes. Keeping her chin in her palm she peered at him over the rim of her glasses. A loud bang! Outside her office signified Walter and Astrid's arrival as Peter heard his father bellow something, making Peter press his forehead against Olivia's shoulder as she chuckled lightly at the groan in his throat. It was a tender moment.
"You'd better get out there before he wakes the world looking for you," Olivia said, moving away from his hands.
"Wouldn't that be a pity?" He stood and bellowed out to Walter despite his growing headache, making Olivia's small smile grow wider in the curtain of her hair. Some things really didn't change.
Beside Olivia her phone began to ring, humming and buzzing across the surface of her desk. John blinked across the screen in bright white letters. It was too early to talk about the bombshell he dropped; what he kept hidden for her since they started dating. Biting her lip she hit the ignore button and shoved it in her pocket, immediately sending it to voice mail. Her and Peter were having a discussion. She had a scene to investigate. Any excuse she could come up with to ignore his calls she would write in her head.
Ignoring the stacked voice mails she had Olivia stood and secured her gun to her belt and exited, watching Peter, Walter and Astrid gather their things and head out the door, leaving her once again in a momentary second of silence, and utterly alone.
Cape May, MA
9:30am
Camera flashes flickered all around him as Charlie Francis hunched low in the small motor home as the frigid winter wind iced him in his spot. He felt compacted, a sardine in a can of filth and grime, and with another disgusting crime scene to investigate. The stench of sour milk, mold and decaying human flesh assaulted his nose and stabbed at his stomach as he surveyed the scene, forensics entering and exciting past him with the same sick face, begging for fresh air. Even the handkerchief he doused with mint oil wasn't enough to stop the putrid smell of rotting flesh. He was just thankful it wasn't summer when the body was discovered. Still, he knew he was going to have to burn this outfit. Nothing could kill the rancid odor that was stagnant despite the whistling wind blowing through broken window.
"I swore off roast beef after the first one," Charlie said as Olivia and Peter entered, "I think salami may be on the list too." He handed Peter another scarf and immediately passed it to Olivia. Lavender was more appropriate for her, he decided. Besides, whatever Walter had eaten the night before still scarred his nose. A dead body was nothing to the fumes Walter had created.
"Same mechanisms as before." Charlie continued, "The body was found by the mailman who stated he smelt a 'disturbing odor' and saw the glass. Local PD found him," he pointed to the dismembered body that lay where the bed should have been.
Clearing the room of some personnel, Astrid stepped forward and swallowed a disgusting lump arising in her stomach as she caught sight of the blocks of human remains. Maggots, flies and whatever other scavenger-like creature known to walk the earth crawled on its host in a stomach-churning feast. Swallowing a lump of dry air, she spoke. "Do we have a motive yet, based on the first victim?" breathing through her mouth, doing anything to suppress the gag in her throat.
Charlie shook his head. "Not that we know of."
Behind him, Walter reached into his bag and grabbed the thermometer. He positioned the tip at the torso, pushing it slowly into the liver. Astrid licked her lips and turned away as the skin fell apart beneath the tip and sloughed off, almost melted. Walter huffed as he removed it, tossing it aside. "Temperature at this point is irrelevant, however, judging by the amount of decay and weather conditions, I'd say this man was dead for about three weeks, maybe closer to four. The freezing temperatures at night may have delayed some of the cellular decay."
"Four weeks?" Olivia asked, immersing herself into the case, turning curiously to Charlie. "That puts his time of death before the first victim." She glanced towards Astrid.
The young Agent nodded in confirmation. "I'll have the local PD to go through their missing records over the past month or so looking for any persons that resemble our victim as well as a call to the last known owner and landlord to see if they can tell us to last either lived here or give us someone to contact." She placed her hand on her hip and inhaled into her scarf.
Olivia's face twisted, trying to savor the last scent of the lavender oil. "Any hits on fingerprints?"
Again, Charlie spoke. "We found a similar aspect in the first murder other than method. This victim's prints were also removed."
Olivia sighed. "The first was a school teacher, the second a homeless man in a tetanus ridden trailer in the middle of a not-so-nice area of the Cape. What's the connection?"
Astrid interjected, shrugging. "Perhaps the killer is looking for polar opposites. One high class and one low class victim."
Olivia chewed her bottom lip. "Possibly. There's something off, something missing from this whole ordeal."
"This is a murder, Liv; we're almost always missing something." Charlie grinned, making Olivia's microscopic smile show for a bright, shining second.
A thick, spongy crack broke through her thoughts as Walter plunged another thermometer into the victim's head for another temperature, causing them to jolt away in disgust. Peter complained as Olivia and Charlie turned, and Astrid ran for the door, her hand over her mouth. As Walter removed the thermometer, something caught his eye. "Agent Dunham, you may want to take a look at this." Pulling back the ear lobe of the head, she crouched curiously, her eyes averting to the grime covered walls.
"Another tattoo," her eyes widened, turning to Charlie and Peter. "The first victim had the same marking. Agent Farnsworth," she called, bringing Astrid back into the small room, "Cross reference any markings on the body with the previous one we found, as well as any places within the tri-state area that offer this kind of tattoo." Olivia said slowly, her focus concentrating on the small marking on the victim's ear lobe. "Maybe there are a few tattoo parlors that can give us any information on who had bought something like this." Astrid nodded and dialed her phone to their contacts at headquarters and activated Olivia's request.
For almost another two hours they interviewed and collected any evidence that was thought relevant. A drawn out and daunting task that, by the time noon came around, Peter found himself exhausted and begging for another cup of coffee. His wish was granted when a break finally came, enabling him to escape a few blocks down the road and grab a few cups. Upon returning and dishing out the piping liquid, taking one sip he felt his throat begin to defrost, his chest warming. As Charlie and Astrid discussed the case, going over this particular scene, he noticed one body from the trio was missing.
A trail of size eight footsteps lead away from the crime scene and down the sidewalk towards the empty boardwalk. Squinting into the wind he caught site of Olivia's black coat standing on the beach, her head and shoulders low and defeated. Turning against the wind Peter made his way towards her, coveting her cup in his hands. Sand cracked like glass against his feet as he called her name, making Olivia turn her head behind her as she jumped slightly.
Peter chuckled, handing her the cup. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."
She forced a half-mouthed smile. "At least this time you didn't spill it." She sipped the warm liquid and clutched it tight, drawing as much heat from it as she could. Even here, burrowing into her coat, Peter could see the porcelain paleness in her cheeks despite the windburn red that spread across them, the bags underneath her eyes and the tiredness in them had grown over the past few hours.
"Normally under these circumstances, one could assume you were either hung over or high as a kite, but I don't think that's the case here. Olivia, you look like hell." He turned to her, his elbow leaning on the railing as he leaned in towards her. "You're not your normal chipper self around a crime scene. Not getting bored with all this craziness are we?"
With that she let out a laugh unintentionally, and shook her head, laughing again as the thought came into her head. "No. It's just… personal stuff," she shrugged as her smile disappeared with the wind, her lips sealing around the cup. "Just one of those days, I guess."
"I had the same feeling this morning," he said. "Just another day in paradise."
Olivia nodded once. "If paradise is what you want to call it, sure, I'm fine with that."
Fine, Peter knew, was an over-used term in her word bank. "Hey, humor me. We can't all be as tough as you, Agent Dunham. If we were, this job wouldn't be as fun." He raised an eyebrow and smiled as he earned yet another chuckle from Olivia as he nudged her. "Besides, I like it when we argue. I don't have that challenge with Walter."
Olivia laughed aloud. "You mean you two science guys don't get into astronomical arguments?" He gave her a sideways grin. "No pun intended."
"No. He's repetitive and stubborn as a horse. Besides, you're much better looking when you get angry." Peter's heart fluttered at seeing that continuous smile on her face. "Whatever it is, Liv, you're gonna be fine."
"I know."
With a singular nod Peter's gaze turned to follow hers to the distant horizon, searching for some microscopic distraction to bring her seizing heart to rest with whatever internal struggle she was experiencing. As the waves crashed before them, Peter and Olivia settled in silence beside one another, the wind to their backs as the ocean and Earth fought, a delicate balance of fury and grace; a beautiful ballet that seemed as endless as the waters before them.
They stood gazing at the ocean for what felt like hours, until a jingle from Olivia's pocket sent them back towards the scene. Turning into the sand they left, still as silent as before, letting the tide wash away their footsteps, once again smoothing the Earth where they stood.
Harvard University
5:00pm
John felt his chest squeeze tighter with each step he took, advancing him further down the busy hallways of Harvard University. Students entered and exited through doors and lockers down another hallway slammed, abuzz with activity. Rounding a stairwell he glided down the six or seven steps and found himself in front of Dr. Bishop's lab, and paused with his hand on the door, his heart rate increasing tenfold. He hadn't heard from Olivia in a day and a half since he dropped the bombshell of his redeployment. Each attempt he made to contact her was futile.
With a heavy sigh he forced open the doors and entered to find Dr. Bishop at the bottom tier, his focus was directed into the centrifuge that spun silently as he and Agent Farnsworth examined the blood work back on whatever corpse was lying on the bottom level. Two levels down sat Peter and Olivia, both hunched over a pile of books and papers, pens jotting away on bright yellow paper. A small chuckle from her throat echoed across the vast stone walls, reverberating towards where he stood.
"Olivia," Peter said with a smile as he caught site of John and nodded upwards towards him.
She turned around slowly and froze for a split second in her seat, her eyes narrowing as she stared daggers at John as he pressed his lips tighter together. In front of her, Peter's eyes reflected hers as he grinned in sheer curiosity. Normally now she'd be at the top of the stairs and paint John's lips with hers before they'd casually move towards her office. But this was different.
The look she gave him, if Peter had to pick a word, was nothing short of hostile.
"I'll be right back," she told Peter and grabbed her cell phone, her fingers dialing quickly as she disappeared into the back office.
John simply shook his head in frustration. "Peter," he called. "Can I have a word?" He watched Peter glance towards the back room, the door to her office remained closed.
"Sure," Peter responded, hesitancy in his voice, and made his way up the stairs. He leaned against the railing casually and crossed his arms.
John removed an envelope from his blazer and unfolded it, handing it to Peter. "The other day Olivia asked me to help with the case and find information on Full Moon Howl, the case that your victim was involved with. It took a little tugging, but I did find out information from a friend at the records office down in Washington."
Peter held up a hand. "Don't you think you'd want to discuss this with Olivia?"
John's shoulders dropped. "Therein lays a snag. She's a little… pissed at me for lack of a better word, in case you hadn't noticed," he sighed, "I thought we were past the whole keeping secrets bid, and that part I'll admit I screwed up on. I tried calling her to she won't pick up my calls. I thought we were past this whole thing, but every time I try to apologize she ignores it."
"What'd you do?" Peter blurted out without thinking and watching John retract at his statement. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to come out like that. It's none of my business."
John's eyes shifted towards him as he sighed. "I kept a secret."
Peter cocked his head, grinning. "A secret? She's pissed at you because of a secret? What, you forget to put the seat down again or something?"
"This is a different situation, Peter," he said quickly, wiping Peter's smug grin off his face. "Olivia's not like other women. It's not my place to say what. But, I hate to do this, but can you ask her to call me? She listens to you, you know."
Peter laughed. "Right. The day Dunham actually takes what I say into considering hell's going to freeze over."
John remained steady and stiff, eying Peter and then left, letting the door close behind him with a solid slam.
Rolling his eyes Peter made his way towards the table and threw the envelope onto the dark top, leaning against it. Judging John's reaction his suspicious were near heightened that it was not just something that was bothering Olivia. It was someone. This was confirmed by his conversation with the suave Agent and his reaction. If there were relationship problems between Olivia and John that drama was something he wanted to avoid. Peter hated drama. If this is the way things were going to go, frankly, he didn't want to be caught in the middle of it. In the blink of an eye he found himself standing outside her door with his hand on the knob and twisted it, almost throwing the door open as he spoke.
Holding up her finger, she turned her head. "Alright, Charlie, thank you. I'll follow up." Hanging up her phone Olivia was silent towards him for a moment. "What did John want?"
Peter huffed. "Normally I'd say go ask him yourself, but since you two seem to be throwing axes at one another… the file you requested came through, about that military project our victim was supposedly involved with. He came to drop it off to you before you ran into here. So what's with the running off at the mere sight of him?"
"I had a phone call to make. John's not involved in this investigation and the information wasn't for him to overhear." She moved stiffly away from her desk, her response thick as she began scrolling through the Rolodex behind her.
"That's no reason to ignore him when he's trying to help, in his defense. Whatever he did, Olivia, I'm sure it can't be that bad. The guy came here to apologize for that matter. He feels just as bad as you're treating him. Sure, he did something that pissed you off, but what the punishment doesn't fit the crime."
She slammed her hands on the desk and turned sharply on her heels until she was inches from his face. "Stay out of it, Peter; this is none of your business."
"Everyone has problems in a relationship, Olivia, and that's understandable. No one is perfect, but still that's no reason to give John the cold shoulder if he's trying to mend it." She stood her ground, fists balling at her sides. "If you're going to carry on like this, all clammy and irritated, then it is my business, Olivia, because when you're pissed at something you have a tendency to let it cloud your judgment. I'm just trying to help you thinking clearly."
"I never asked for your help in the first place, Peter," Olivia challenged heatedly.
Peter huffed again, his pitch raising. "You never ask for help, Olivia. I know you well enough to know that sometimes you need a little kick in the ass and a reality check in order for that to happen."
Olivia's eyes narrowed, giving him a disgusted look. "You know me, Peter? You don't know anything about me," she said darkly, her face flushed as she turned sharply on her heel and swiped the file off the desk. Much like John, she left him standing alone as the door slammed behind her, the glass rattling in its perch.
"Like I said," he muttered to himself, "Stupid, stupid decisions." Shaking his head Peter exited her office to find Olivia had vanished from the lab and Walter and Astrid's eyes staring at him. Without another word Peter took up his perch at the table once again, feeling the emptiness in the air around him.
She was incorrigible, Peter knew, and there was no changing that.
O'Leary's Tavern
Brighton. Midnight
Swallowing another mouthful of beer Peter pressed his lips together, savoring the sticky taste on his lips, licking the remnants of the honey-sweet barley and let it all soak in. Placing the half empty bottle down on the bar he stared aimlessly into it, searching the vast foaming, yellow sea for an answer to the hundreds question that had him ultimately perplexed. Each time he found an answer, it always leads to more questions. That alone was obnoxious. Even more harrowing was the vivid dreams he had been having lately. Each time he awoke, he felt the urge to vomit and on some occasions did. Next was a pounding headache, like he downed a bottle of tequila the night before. But the effects were always the same. A blackout of time from his last memory to winding up on his bed, the nausea and sheer terror of what he did not remember.
Sipping his beer again he ran through the small aspects of his dreams he could recall. The dream image he remembered was a funeral. It was dark; the only illumination was the amber-yellow fire that burned on the stakes. A man stood at a podium, dressed in all black, his eyes sunken and red, but his face was unreadable, blurred by the heat of the fire. Behind him a casket floated silently in the wake of the bay. A sudden flash of light and the floating casket was set aflame, burning color into the night sky. The second dream was just as confusing. Here he watched as an older man sat on the back porch of a house, drunk and sobbing. Whatever the reason behind it Peter did not know, but it was a different sadness. Perhaps this dream and the first were linked in a way, but Peter couldn't make the connection.
Hallucinations were his only viable explanation. They had been working quite a few cases lately, with it being only hours between them. Sleep deprivation he knew could do that. But what had driven Peter to the bar that night wasn't the first dream, or the second. His third that week was the most vivid yet.
Every time he closed his eyes he a grave stone with Olivia's name on it, her name carved in stone burned across his memory. That image alone was enough to scare him half to death. He saw the gravestone. He traced her name, felt the cold, rough stone beneath his fingertips. He felt his heart cease at the thought of her being no more. A voice, small and monotone rang in his head.
Only you can save her.
Those five strange words were enough to make Peter's brain pound in confusion and terrifying curiosity. What did Olivia need saving from? From his point of view she was more than capable of handling herself. She had John to help her through the tough parts. Peter fit nowhere into her picture. She was just his partner, Olivia's colleague, a civilian consultant. To her, Peter was nothing more than a co-worker. But to him, Olivia Dunham was beginning to mean something more.
The more time he spent with her, the more he found himself getting lost within her. The sea glass green of her eyes, the way her hair fell over her shoulders, the intensity in her body and the sideways smile was enough to make Peter's green monster of jealousy creep up on him on the most unfortunate of times. Sure, she was stubborn, hard-nosed and sometimes downright annoying, but it was the little quirks that made Olivia… Olivia.
An angelic chime above the door echoed through the calm atmosphere, making Peter turn his head towards a low-lit corner, glowing yellow-orange against the dark shadows by the small candle. Sitting in the small booth sat a single figure, eyes lost in a haze of whiskey and her head resting on her palm, finger tracing the outline of the glass. His mouth ran dry as Peter stood, tossed a few bills onto the bar and made his way towards where Olivia Dunham sat at the table, silent, lost and alone.
"You know staring into that flame will make you go blind," he said, startling her slightly, her head jumping from its perch to gaze up at him. The saddened expression diminished from her cheeks as she chuckled slightly, averting her gaze back to her glass.
"That may not be such a bad idea, actually. No more gross crime scenes to see," she grinned, cool and smoky. Sliding into the seat across from her Peter leaned closer towards the warm light bouncing across her face. It was there he noticed a dark, haunted shadow that shrouded her eyes. Straightening her hunched back she sipped her glass. Was it their fight earlier? Maybe it was the seemingly raw nerve Peter hit.
Maybe, it was something entirely different.
"I'm sorry," Olivia said quietly. "For before. You were just trying to help. I had no right to yell at you like that."
"You're right, you didn't," Peter replied with an edge on his voice, "But I'm not the one to hold grudges for long" Not with you, at least, "But apology accepted nonetheless. What's been eating you, Olivia?"
Biting her lower lip she remained quiet, still staying away from his curious blue eyes. Encasing her glass in her palms the traced the outline of the rim, drawing in a slow deep breath. Even in the low light they sat in she tried to hide the quiver in her throat but Peter could see right through it. Painted a soft, pale brown by the light, he could see the sadness in her eyes; those beautiful emerald orbs were swollen and red.
Licking her lips, finally, she spoke, sandpaper in her throat. "John's being redeployed into the Marines. Apparently an old case he worked is being reopened and he's been summoned to continue its investigation. I'm not mad he's going, perhaps a little scared over it, but… he knew there was a chance. He didn't tell me- when we started dating. I'll be the first to admit I've got trust issues and something like this I would have hoped he'd mention. We both finished our tours with honorable mentions. This, though… this is something else." She swallowed the bowling ball in her throat. "I almost lost him one, Peter," she whispered, "I don't know if I could do it again."
Peter bowed his head as she wiped a few tears from her eyes. Removing the glass she clung to, he replaced it with his hands and laced his fingers in with hers. Giving her hands a gentle squeeze, he sighed, understanding the weight that resided on her chest. One conclusion came to mind. When Olivia was nervous, she became defensive. Weakness was not a strong suit. But this… this was something else. Olivia wasn't simply scared, he knew.
She was terrified.
Ever so gently Peter held her hands, felt her tremble and the coolness of her palms.
"He needs to know that. I saw the look in his eyes when he came to the lab earlier today. He thought it was simply because he didn't tell you. Olivia," Peter gently raised her chin to meet his eyes, pools of emerald tears spilled onto his finger, "You know better than anyone there's nothing better to tether you to reality when you're fighting a war like the thought of someone back home. If this case is any bit of dangerous, he needs you here, knowing what whatever happens, you'll be here. Don't let him leave thinking you won't be here for him. He's the luckiest man in the world to have you, Olivia. He needs to know that."
For a few moments she sat still, her pulse racing against his skin. "I should get going," whispered and let her hands slip effortlessly out of his. Standing she rounded her jacket around her shoulders, causing Peter to stand and do the same.
"I'll walk you home." It came out as more of a statement, rather than a question, like he had intended.
She paused hesitantly, gauging him from head to toe, but allowed him to follow suit. Together they left the bar and entered the crisp winter air. Silently they made their way around the city as the night grew colder, sharper and beautifully clear. Above them millions of stars glowed, spotting the black night with a beautiful light display. A gust of frigid wind would blow past, gently knocking their elbows together as they bowed from their jackets. Snow crunched underneath their feet as their hands feel deeper into their pockets, begging for whatever heat was trapped inside still. Eventually they came to her front door shucking the show from their shoes as she lead him upstairs, stopping just outside her door.
Slowly she slipped the key in the lock and turned it, a low click signifying the end of their journey. Turning, she leaned her shoulder against the door and focused on the ground, causing Peter to do the same. It was an unsung tension between them, a small voice that told her to push him away, but to pull him closer.
"Olivia," Peter sounded her name, rounding the vowels. "You don't have to go through this alone." Peter traced her bottom lip lightly as he cupped her cheek, "You've got Astrid, Charlie," he paused hesitantly, "and you've got me. So whatever you need to get through this, whether it'd be a shoulder to lean on or a punching bag, doesn't matter. I'm here for you."
She smiled in his hands; her cold skin cooled his warm palm. Placing one hand over his, she closed her eyes and sighed, entangling her fingers in his. "You know you're really not the hard-ass you make yourself out to be."
Peter chuckled. "Well don't tell the world that I'm a sucker at heart. It'll be bad for my ego."
Her smile brightened. "Thank you, Peter." Olivia whispered into his hands, her soft lips ghosting across his rough skin, a beautiful contradiction that made Peter's smile grow wider with hers.
God, she was beautiful.
"I'll see you tomorrow?" He asked hopefully.
Olivia nodded against his hand. "Yea." She left his touch abruptly, almost making Peter fall with the suddenness of it. "Good night," she said to him as her smile disappeared, leaving Peter in the hallway alone.
"Good night," he whispered into the air and left, turning on his heel and tromped down the stairs. Opening the door he sighed, glancing upstairs again, and with one final push exited into the cold December air...
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