A/N: Thank you all so much for the kind and encouraging words! It means so much, thank you :')

So I know I said this would be fluffy and...I tried. Haha. Pure fluff is just hard for me to achieve, so I went for bittersweet. Just a glimpse of some P/O domesticity, that left me quite weepy again. But don't trust my judgment, I'm writing it, it's my baby, I tend to get emotional XD

I apologize for the mistakes, my brain is tired X_X Enjoy!


IN REVERSE


XI.


Olivia is practically curled up into a perfect ball by the time he comes back to the couch, with her legs brought up to her chest, both arms tightly wrapped around herself. She looks pale, even in the dim light of the room.

He bends over and touches her cheek lightly. She opens her eyes and looks up at him.

"Sit up," he tells her softly. He sees her gaze fall on what he's brought back from the kitchen, and she obeys without question, unable to contain a pained sigh as she moves, though.

He sits where her head was resting mere seconds ago, moving the cushion behind his back –which still aches dully but it's bearable now- and she lies back down without awaiting for his invitation. Her head falls upon his thigh, pressing her face into his sweatpants, even managing to curl up a little closer to him. He wraps his arm around her, placing the heat pad over her stomach, her hands soon covering his, increasing the pressure. He knows she's in more pain than she'd admit, as usual, and he wishes he could do more.

His other hand finds its way into her hair; his fingers move in a soothing motion, gently massaging her head to try and make her whole body relax, nails grazing her scalp. While her eyes seem to be lost somewhere in the distance, staring at the black TV screen without really seeing it, he keeps his gaze on her profile. He quickly takes in the frequency of her cramps by the way her fingers regularly squeeze his rather forcefully, as if trying to get the heat pad inside her aching insides.

"Is it helping at all?" He asks softly after a while, still massaging her scalp.

She lets out a small chuckle. "A little. The fact that you're sitting here with a heating pad, massaging my head when you should be in bed yourself, does make me feel good, though, trust me."

He smiles at her smile. "I think I'm legally obligated to take care of you when you're whiny and in pain. Just like you did for me three days ago. It goes with the whole marriage thing."

She purses her lips and turns her head slightly to look up at him. "I'm hardly 'whiny'. Apathetic, maybe. Moody on occasions. But I don't whine."

His smile grows wider, and he tilts his head apologetically. "I know. I'm just bitter and jealous. Because I was incredibly whiny. I don't know how you manage to stay this collected when you're in pain."

She's smiles again, clearly remembering how overly dramatic he was indeed behaving only a day ago while lying in bed with a 'broken back'. In his defense, it had snowed a lot, and since they still hadn't bought a snow blower, he had insisted on shoveling the driveway all by himself. No less than four times in two days. He had ended up barely able to move, and she had only scowled at him once for his stubbornness at acting 'manly', despite the fact that they both knew his back wasn't what it used to be, not after all those 'work accidents'.

She had been caring, though, like she always is; he is now simply (and gladly) returning the favor now that she has to go through her 'monthly torture' as he calls it.

"Well, you know what they say," she replies eventually. "Women just have a higher pain tolerance for obvious reasons."

She turns her head again, moving slightly as her whole body tenses briefly; it's a reaction he knows well and recognizes. He knows it's not caused by her current aches, but by some rush of memories she would rather keep dormant.

"We really need to find a way to go get Ella tomorrow," she says then, casually, putting an end to the growing tension. "She's mad at us."

He huffs. "She honestly thinks we're responsible for that snow storm blocking the major highways?"

She chuckles humorlessly, her gaze moving from the empty screen to the window. Thick snowflakes can be seen falling against it almost in slow motion. Endlessly. He doesn't even want to think about the driveway right now.

"She was supposed to spend the week with us, and ended up being stuck with her dad instead," Olivia takes her niece's defense. "She's ready to blame the weather man at that point, but I'm easier to reach on the phone."

"That, plus the fact that she's fourteen. The whole world is basically against her at the moment, right?"

She glances at him, not amused. "Don't go tell her that. There's no better way to send her off."

He snorts, his hand in her hair not really massaging anymore. He's mostly simply enjoying the silky feel of her soft strands between his stroking fingers. "I've been living with you for seven years. You'd think I know better than to question a Dunham's motive for being angry."

She makes a face then, genuinely amused this time. "What is that supposed to mean?"

He gives her a teasing smile. "Nothing. I just have no problem picturing you as this rebellious teenager."

She shakes her head against him, lips pursed. "Uh uh. I was too busy being a loner to be rebellious. It was always more Rachel's trademark."

It only takes an instant for the dark shadows to invade her eyes after that, and his own heart squeezes painfully beneath his chest, knowing that for a fleeting second there, she had simply…forgotten. She had forgotten that Rachel was gone, that she didn't talk about her anymore.

Unsurprisingly, she shifts again, sinking her cheek deeper into the fabric of his pants, eyes fixed on the window, nails almost digging into the flesh of his hand. He starts the slow massaging of her head again, but she remains incredibly tensed.

"I was a real pain in the ass as a teenager," he says then, voluntarily too lightly, pretty much willing to do or say anything to soothe her at that instant.

He is rewarded when her fingers do relax their grip around his; he even sees the shadow of a smile on her lips. "Hasn't changed much," she breathes out; exactly the answer he expected from her.

"Thank you, honey," he replies in a falsely hurt voice. "It's the last time I warm up that pad for you."

But she intertwines their fingers, then, keeping the pad firmly pressed against her abdomen, her thumb gently caressing the side of his hand. Her small smile is already gone, though.

"My mom used to say I had Walter's temper," he says softly after another minute of silence. "You can imagine how well I used to take that."

This is rare. Not the fact that he's sharing one of his few memories with her; that actually happens quite often, during lazy mornings spent in bed, or late into the dark of night whenever their love making leave them with the intense desire to share a little more of their souls, and they sometimes talk for hours. The rarity comes in the mention of his mother, as well as of Walter. They are usually really good at leaving these names out of conversations.

They both have their ghosts.

And yet, this feels right. Good, even, especially when he feels her relax a little more in his arms, waiting for him to go on.

"In the winter, I would always get weirdly obsessed and fascinated with the lake. I would regularly decide that I wanted to 'explore it' when it was frozen, and my mom would freak out."

They both know why his mother reacted that way, now. They know that the lake is where Walter made them cross over.

The first Crack between their worlds.

The air should be charged with tension by now, but it is not. His nails are still grazing her scalp, while her thumb brushes his skin, and her body is almost back to being soft against his. And when she speaks, her voice is a quiet whisper.

"We used to go sledding. Rachel and I. Quite honestly, any excuse to get out of the house was good, especially when our mom was having one of her relapses, which meant that she was in the hospital and we were left with him. There was this huge slope nearby that even older kids didn't really dare to use, because it ended up in this deep, dark pit, and being bigger, their speed made it hard for them to stop on time."

"Let me guess," he says with a soft smile. "You used to go down that slope all the time."

She smiles, her mind miles away from here now. "Worse, I would take Rachel with me. And she was…five, maybe? I was barely eight, and pretty much fearless. She was always so scared. I used to tell her 'Just close your eyes, Rach, you're safe with me.' And she was, you know?" He knows. He can't do anything but keep on stroking her hair, though, staring at her face, so intense and focused, lost in her memory. "I think that's the reason why I always managed to stop the sled on time," she goes on in a murmur. "She was with me. And I wanted her to be with me because…because when we were going down that steep slope and gathering so much speed, there was always a moment when I would actually feel scared, just for a second. But going down, I felt like there was…something more. Like, if I concentrated hard enough, I wouldn't need to stop because where we were going, there would be no hole, only firm ground. And we'd both be safe there."

It is strangely fascinating, how they both know without needing to say it out loud what she's implying. How, even as a young child, she had felt the Other Side, and how she had even on some level understood that this association of love and fear could trigger her abilities. And as it is so often the case, he understands her.

He understands that young child who had been so desperate to get away from her life and take her little sister to safety, no matter how dangerous the path might be. Because even though he doesn't remember anything clearly, feelings are easier to try and grasp than images. And he remembers quite vividly his own intense longing. He had wanted to go home.

It is slightly ironic, how it is home that has found him in the end. A home with two beautifully haunted eyes, and the kindest of smile.

His fingers leave her hair, then, brushing the soft skin of her cheek. "You're safe, now," he whispers.

They both know it is a lie. As long as this world keeps on crumbling away, tearing them apart from the people they love, none of them will ever be safe.

But it's one of these good lies. Lies they need to keep on going, day after day. And he knows she understands what he means.

She's safe with him.

(January 2018)


TBC...


A/N: Yep, bittersweet. The next part will feature some Peter!whump and a P/O fight. Please don't be shy, reviews keep me writing fast! :D