Charlie came and drove her home. Peter got a cab. The very best part of the day was seeing Rachel and Ella waiting outside her door. Charlie told her Broyles had given her the day off.

It was wonderful having Rachel and Ella there. Olivia brushed off Rachel's question about her injury. They sat in the living room, talking and laughing and it was wonderful. She felt better and better every moment Ella sat next to her, grinning.

Ella fell asleep right after dinner. Rachel looked over Olivia and said, "So, who's the guy?"

"No guy," Olivia said.

"Okay, Olivia, I want you to remember that I am your sister. And you actually don't have to be Super Agent Olivia Dunham with me," Rachel said. "I know you."

"There might be a guy," Olivia said. "But not really. Not really. I was, I was seeing John for over a year."

"John, your partner John?" Rachel looked sad for her.

"And he died and he was a traitor and he lied to me over and over again," Olivia said. "And then a month later, I'm, I'm something with Peter. It's clearly nothing real."

"I'm sorry John was a jerk. We sure can pick 'em," Rachel said. "But you don't know this guy is nothing real."

"Yes, I do," Olivia said.

"Is he cute?"

Olivia found the file on Peter and took out a picture from two years ago. Rachel said, "So, pretty cute."

"It's not about cute," Olivia said.

"Why not? You had a horrible break up, maybe, judging from what you said, even the world's worst. Why don't you get to act like everybody else and have some fun? Especially with pretty cute boy," Rachel smiled. Rachel always ended up smiling. She put up with so much but she was joyful. Olivia felt a little bit proud of that.

Rachel said, "Also, since it's totally not real, you won't mind if I borrow your jacket?"

"It's not mine," Olivia said. "No borrowing."

"Sure," Rachel said.

XXX

She was late for Peter and Walter's party. They had moved into their very own townhouse, paid for by Homeland and a little bit of Peter's own money. "From my salary," he said to her.

Olivia sat with Astrid at the dinner table eating some dessert Walter had just whipped up. Astrid said, "Don't worry, I watched every step of preparation." It was light as air pastry with a custard filling.

"I have to take you on the tour, dear, Peter is still recovering," Walter said.

Peter said, "6 weeks and I'm not running a marathon yet, I'm clearly a slacker."

Walter showed her the top floor and his bedroom. It was the master bedroom with a large bathroom. Walter had already put his own stamp on it. He had somehow gotten posters of David Bowie and Violet Sedan Chair that were above his bed. Olivia looked at the framed pictures on the wall. "Is that Peter's mother?"

"Yes," Walter said, seriously. "My dear Elizabeth." Then he was grinning and he said, "Look here, I have an electronic toothbrush!"

The second floor had the kitchen and living room and the guest bathroom. Walter, and she was sure it was Walter, had put in bright yellow hand towels with smiley faces embroidered on them. All the bookcases were full, and she'd seen boxes of books in Walter's room, and here in the living room.

"So Peter is downstairs?"

"Yes, I am," Peter said. "I'll show you later."

"I'm not allowed in without knocking," Walter said. "He locks the door."

15 minutes later, Astrid had left and Walter had gone upstairs to his room. Peter said, "Wanna see my etchings?"

She had had a glass of wine. She smiled. Peter had the ground floor to himself. His own door out, his own shower. "It's almost like you're not even living with Walter."

He flopped down on the couch, pushing his modified crutch off to the side. "This was originally a duplex. The last owners took out the kitchen that was down here and had their aging parents down here. I think one of them died on the bed," Peter said. "Not that bed, because that's new, but someone died here."

"You had to have creepy," Olivia said. She sat down on the bed. "Not this bed, though."

"I take it you weren't late because we finally found Loeb," Peter said.

"No, of course not. 2 weeks and we haven't found Loeb, his wife, David Robert Jones or any sign of any of the above doing things," she said.

She had found it easy to step down her relationship with Peter. She only saw him at the lab. She took Astrid to accompany her to interviews or Charlie. It was how it should have been, she thought. Consultant and agent, also friends, but nothing more. Peter seemed perfectly fine with it. She said, "I'm late because Ella said one more book three times."

"You love living with them," Peter said. "I think you're happy Rachel left her husband."

"I am," she said. "Greg is a jerk. She deserves better." She looked at him, sprawled on the couch. "Is it weird living with Walter, knowing he kidnapped you and everything he did?"

He looked at his hands and said, "You used to wait until we'd just had sex to ask those questions, but I guess since we're not doing that anymore…"

"Sorry," she said. "You don't have to answer."

"When do I not answer you?" He grabbed his crutch and pushed himself up to standing. "Of course it's weird. He lied to me about my whole life and took me from my family. But he did it out of his twisted idea of love. And he's out to lunch, I mean, whatever euphemism you use for not quite sane, that's Walter. I told you, I want to be here. I want to make sure Walter is okay. It's very prolonged Stockholm Syndrome, I guess."

He sat down on the end of the bed and started changing into pajama pants and a tee shirt. She hadn't seen his chest since the hospital, he had painful looking scars on his chest. She said, "Are you upset we're not having sex anymore?"

"I'm not an asshole, so no, I'm not upset with you for not having sex with me. I certainly enjoyed it and you did, too, but clearly outside the sex, the whole thing made you miserable. So, just friends, all good," he said. "Actually if you could get up so I can get in bed?"

She did. She said, "It didn't make me miserable. You never made me miserable."

"You called it insane and unhealthy more than once, I'm sorry I took that as something that made you unhappy," he said. "I don't mean to rush you out but I'm going to take my painkillers and then I'll just be lying here, drooling, passed out. You can stay and watch."

"No, I'm sorry," she said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She drove home feeling guilty.

Luckily Rachel was awake so she could not talk about it. Rachel said, "How was the housewarming?"

"Mostly good, then I felt like an asshole, so typical party," Olivia said.

"Were you an asshole or did you just feel like one?"

"I sort of was," Olivia said.

"Cute guy you've stopped having sex with? Which, hello, bad idea," Rachel said.

"The sex was the bad idea, not stopping," Olivia said. "There's just so much going on you don't know, Rachel, and I can't tell you. Trust me."

She drove over to the Bishops' home in the morning. She knocked on Peter's door specifically. She heard him walking with his crutch over to the door and she said, "It's me, Olivia."

He opened the door and said, "Is this work?"

"No," she said, stepping inside. She closed the door behind her while Peter worked his way over to the coffee maker on the desk.

He poured himself a cup and said, "Do you want one? After this trip, I'm going to sit on the bed and miss my functioning ankle and foot and hand, so speak now."

"I'm good, thank you." She said, "But you will get your ankle and foot and hand back, right?"

He rubbed his forehead. "That's what they tell me. So why are you here?"

"I feel bad about where we left things last night. I came over to talk to you and be clear. But now I'm here and I'm not sure if I'm clear."

"You remind me of the Leonard Cohen song, did you ever go clear?" He sipped his coffee and put the mug down. "It's Famous Blue Raincoat, that's the song." She saw the fingers of his left hand moving like he was playing piano.

"I know I wanted to say that any misery you saw on my part was from me thinking too much. The world sort of stopped making sense for me, and I couldn't make sense of my own actions so I just, I was thinking my way out of my own actions. But I was miserable because of me, never you," she said. "Well, I was really upset when you spilled half a bottle of really good scotch on my bed. And also when you nearly got yourself killed."

"Okay," he said. "I'm sorry I was being an ass last night. I'm in a lot of pain and I can't get anywhere, so. And are you saying that the world now makes sense to you?"

"No, it doesn't, but I'm trying to roll with it." She took off her coat and sat down next to him on the bed. "I think I was, it's hard to make sense when John had just died and in the way he died and I had these feelings for you."

"Feelings in your pants? That you had," he said, before drinking more of his coffee.

"No, not in my pants. Not just in my pants," she said.

He glanced over at her. She was sitting on his right side, she realized. She got up intending to move his other side but she stopped in front of him. She bent down and he reached up with his uninjured hand and they were kissing again. She sunk down to her knees and held his waist. He said, "I like you, too. Not just for your tits or the sex. I wanted to stay in Boston for you."

"That's really good," she said. She leaned forward into his chest and he ran his hand through her hair.

He said, "If we're going to make out or just cuddle to celebrate this, it will be a lot easier if you come up here and we both lay on the bed."

She followed his directions and said, "You're very practical."

"No," Peter said. He was smiling at her like she was extraordinary. "I'm pretty aware of my limitations these days."

She shifted closer to him and tried to arrange herself so she wasn't bumping into his injured hand or foot. He put his arm around her. She said, "I'm not hurting you, right?"

He said, "No," softly. She kissed him again. And again.

She said, "You got the shit beat out of you for me. And Walter. That's very sweet but don't you ever do that again."

"Please don't tell Walter, but it was more you than him," he said. He kissed her and she kissed him again. He unbuttoned her shirt and his hand was inside her bra. She reached behind her back and undid her bra clasp. "You're good at that," he said.

"Just trying to help," she said. She shifted so she was more laying on her back. Peter took his time getting her shirt and bra all the way off. He took even more time showing his appreciation of her breasts. She unzipped her pants and wiggled out of her pants and underwear. She pressed her hand against his clearly hard dick in his sweatpants. "Do you need any help there?"

"I like how direct you are," he said. She helped him get naked but mostly because she was impatient to have him inside her.

"What's the best way to do this?"

"With you, of course," he said, smiling. She rolled her eyes at him. He held her hip and she moved as he directed. She laid on her side, her back to him. He lifted her top leg, his on her thigh, then he was touching her right where she wanted.

"Walter can't just come down here, right?"

He laughed into her neck. "You're supposed to wait until I'm in to ask that. And no, I lock the door when I come down."

He thrust into her and it was so so good. He held her breast and she covered his hand with hers. They moved together and he was saying something into her hair. She said his name.

She wiggled a little for a deeper angle and then she felt his cast against her back. "Ow, ow," he said. "Hold up." He nudged her into a better position for them both.

"Sorry," she said. "Where were we?"

"About here," he said, pushing into her again.

Some part of her she liked to ignore thought this was making love. She came with that idea pushing her over the edge.