A/N: Hi! Hi, hi. Sorry. Um. I'm... awful at updating, and I know it. I spend the majority of my time on here apologizing for my lack of updates, but I never truly feel okay about not doing so. You are all very kind with your reading, favorite-habits and reviewing, and I am beyond grateful. I'm not the best at this hooplah, but you all make it worth while, in my feeble little brain at least, with your kind words and support.
This is for my friend, who has been an unyielding support system for me through my times of writer's jank. COO-COO-CA-CHA! She also suggested the word. I am workin' on those requests, I promise.
Ennnnnjoooyyyy, and veeba lab fryngeh, or something!
Peter slowly came to, easing into cognizance. He began to open his eyes, but blinked back in pain as an onslaught of blinding light seared his retinas. Accepting his hard-learned lessons with an accompanying wince, he hesitantly braved a second attempt. His eyes fluttered open, brow creased in deliberate carefulness, to a full view of his surroundings. As he drank in the scenery, his senses flooded with rich stimulation. The glimmering sun perched high above his head gently warmed his cheeks, a cloudless sky stretching endlessly in all directions. The air was crisp and permeating; he could feel it clinging to the damp threads of his clothing. A whisp of steam punctuated each of his steady exhalations, feebly signaling the surrounding freeze. His nostrils were assaulted by a potent, acrid stench of cedar, intensified by the subtle smell of moisture. He knew this smell, this sky, the biting chill of this tundra.
He jolted to a sitting position, balancing himself on the worn palms of his hands. He looked around, head whipping back and forth in frenzy as he confirmed his aching suspicions.
He was on a frozen Reiden Lake.
His head fell at the realization, his eyes hammering shut as he suppressed the cocktail of feelings boiling in his consciousness. His jaw clenched as he shoved the memories into the recesses of his mind, resolving to deny all tethers this wretched place had on him.
He pushed himself off the ground with determination, his joints groaning in defiance as he stiffly tried to stretch himself out. He systematically brushed the snow from his clothing, sweeping himself over half-heartedly. He hastily shook out his hair, sending a spray of moist flakes everywhere.
He was flanked by trees in complete circumference, their white-topped bristles stark against the spotless look of the horizon. His location seemed to be at the focal point of the lake, the distance uniform as he spun on heel to observe his surroundings. Regardless of direction, it was still a sizeable hike. The quasi-picturesque look of the landscape was eerie to him; it contrasted patronizingly with the gloom of his memories.
Pulling his jacket tighter to his chilled bones, he decided to walk towards a patch of reedy trees to his right, the astronomical north. In his years of Boy Scouts, he had learned to follow Polaris in the evening sky; but it had been elusive to his juvenile eye, sightlessly searching in the infinite constellation of lights. Only when he had logged many an hour under the stars with a fair share of beautiful women did he truly learn to locate it with ease. He chanced a smirk at the ludicrous memories as he looked upon the faint scar of that burning beacon in the day's light, still leading him faithfully even during its true absence.
His footfall crunched the bed of snow beneath him, the tread of his boots marking his progress on the unblemished blanket.
He walked on for what felt like hours, relying solely on the forward momentum of his legs; trusting only his feet to lead him on.
But, he suddenly stopped, confusion streaking his features. His bewilderment was palpable, his eyebrows furrowing as he surveyed his surroundings. In all of that walking, it seemed he had not gone anywhere. The horizon was as far as it had been in every foreseeable course. When he turned around, he was alarmed to find that no prints had been left in his wake. But before he could consider the true peculiarity of the situation, he turned as he heard a soft shifting from behind him.
The sky instantaneously melted into uninterrupted grey, his surroundings blurred out by a suffocating haze. His emotions betrayed him as astonishment seized his heart, painting a picture of absolute terror across his face as he looked onward.
There stood a small boy, no more than seven, staring at him in solemn silence. The boy's piercing blue eyes shone menacingly behind a curtain of wet hair, his jaw set with utmost graveness.
This boy was him.
Before Peter could even react, the boy hoisted an ornate stone slab above his head, his eyes never wavering from their locked target on Peter's. His arms trembled under the weight of the stone; its massiveness visibly affecting the boy's… his, thin frame.
"You must go home now," he spoke in severe cadence, his rigid facade never faltering. His eyes lowered to Peter's midsection only for an instant, before rising back to their previous position.
Peter looked frantically to see what he had glanced at, and nearly jumped in fright to find a tight rope fastened around his trunk. The rope wound away from him and into the center of the stone, where the opposite end had been secured.
"No, no. You don't understand! I… you, us. Neither of us have to go!" he said assuredly, his voice tinged with desperateness. He yanked at the rope's fibers as he spoke, his distress evident in the mindless splay of his fingers.
"No. You must go home now. Good bye," his younger shade replied, his weak arms wobbling violently.
As Peter attempted to yelp out a furry of objective remarks, the boy finally threw the stone down into the icy expanse beneath their feet. As the weight hit the ice, the surface fractured into a thousand shards; the rock disappearing into the onyx depths of the water below.
Peter's feet were involuntarily knocked from beneath him as he slid without hitch towards the ominous hole. He wildly tried to grab anything around him, but his meager attempts were useless.
He was plunging to his death with no way to stop it.
The boy just stood there in his foreboding stiffness, watching wordlessly as Peter slid into the abyss.
At submergence, the light of the day faded into pitch-black oblivion. Peter held his breath as he could, but the stinging arctic water was smothering him alive. The lake was numbing him from the inside out. His brain fogged as he hysterically wheeled around, a fleet of bubbles swarming around him. The biting water leeched into his entirety, the very core of his bones going stiff. He was immobile in his fate, a defenseless victim to the thousands of miniscule daggers burying themselves deep within his flesh.
Just as he had truly acceptable his fate, Peter felt himself being towed up by a distant force. He blacked out in part, aware only of the sturdy pull at his collar.
As he breached the surface of the water he felt himself being heaved onto his back. Someone tenderly cradled his head as he sputtered, his lungs fiercely expelling water with efficiency. A pair of worried, roaming hands tugged at his clothing, feverishly checking at his wrists and his neck. A warm ear came to rest on his chest, the pulse of another's breath softly pressing inwards.
As his mind refocused, distorted sight came to center.
Looking down in calm concern was Olivia Dunham.
Her head was wreathed in the lax glow of an afternoon's beam, her curtain of hair framing his vision. Her smile was reflexive as she saw responsiveness in his eyes, her hands sliding to cup his cheek in her warm palm. His chilly flesh thawed under her affectionate touch, instantly heating him wholly.
She placed a lingering kiss on his lips, the velvety flesh further tugging him back to clarity. She held his face in her hands, smoothing the soaked strands of hair off his forehead. Her green eyes surveyed him in full, making sure he was completely alright.
When her eyes returned to is, she spoke finally, her voice a magnificent melody to his ringing ears.
"Welcome back, Peter."
...
Peter awoke with a start, violently jerking back into consciousness. His chest surged as it compensated for the rampant beat of his heart. He looked around him, taking in his surroundings.
The night was still, a serene haze draping over the unlit room. He was warm in his bed, securely wrapped up. When he looked upon the sleeping form of his wife, her gorgeous curves silhouetted in a sea of sheets, he instantly soothed.
He slumped onto his back thankfully, the mattress giving a gentle groan beneath him. He closed his eyes momentarily, grateful that the jarring dream had passed.
He opened his eyes when the sheets rustled lazily to his left as Olivia rolled to face him.
He turned on his side, draping his arms over her and pulling her into him protectively. She never opened her eyes but merely smiled, nuzzling her nose into his cheek before withdrawing as she nestled into him. Sleepiness was unmistakable on her features, smoothing out the lines of routine worry that were characteristically etched into her face.
"What's the matter?" she said groggily, her voice thick with sleep.
"Nothing. Nothing at all," he said as he kissed her on the forehead.
For he was, without a doubt, home.
fin!
A/N: Yep. Okay. That. Hi. Reviews or something? I'd like that more than a Red Vines Milkshake (... eek, I think that would maybe actually be pretty awful. BUT LET'S PRETEND IT'S THE ELIXIR OF THE GODS).
