The room is still dark, indicating that it is not even early morning yet. Peter opens his eyes, stunned that he is still in bed, shocked he didn't wake up in a puddle of his own sweat. Maybe he could snap out of it overnight.
...
Olivia feels stirring in the bed. She is able to sleep so deeply now that it takes a decent amount of movement to wake her up. She's in a daze, wanting to close her eyes and forget she felt anything. Moments pass and she is quickly falling asleep again, but then she feels it.
Peter is thrashing in bed next to her, shaking, sweating. It takes her no time at all to spring awake, and she rolls over to evaluate the intensity of his dream state.
...
Peter calmly closes his eyes again and tries to convince his brain to let him fall asleep again. Please don't dream tonight... But he can't fall asleep. He ends up lying there, staring at the ceiling. If he were fully aware, he would start to realize that the room is slightly distorted. Familiar, but small differences that indicate that he is in a dream state. The door seems miles away.
He rolls onto his side out of habit. He tends to study the bullet in the middle of the night when he can't sleep. Sitting there on his nightstand, a small, powerless piece of metal that almost took away everything he had. He focuses his eyes in the dark, but can't find the shine of the metal. He moves slightly closer and realizes its not there. Slightly panicked he turns to make sure Olivia is still with him. She is turned away from him, hugging their child as she sleeps soundly. Relief spreads across his face.
He now remembers that she put it on a necklace and was wearing it last night.
"If anything, it should humble you."
He tries to believe her words, but he's not there yet. She starts to reposition herself; his lips curl with ease as he realizes she is turning toward him. Bemused at the thought of his calmness in the night, he smiles fully as her face turns toward him and she lays facing him.
...
Olivia is sure he's having a night terror. But doesn't want to make any sudden movements to surprise him. Especially after last night. She carefully sits up against the headboard and prepares herself to wake him. Her face well above the reach of his arms and her stomach covered by a pillow. She promised him he wouldn't hurt her, and she has to keep that true.
He's mumbling words as he continues to move violently, suddenly, unpredictably in their bed.
"Don't... don't touch her... you killed her... you KILLED her"
As she predicted, the terrors would not disappear overnight.
...
He sees the chain around her neck, dangling and then settling in a new place now that she has rolled over. He searches for the bullet along the line of the chain, but can't seem to find it. Then he sees something fall across her collar bone from above her head. The substance puddles between her shoulder and her ear as she lays on her side.
He looks up to the ceiling, which is distortedly far away, expecting to see a leak of some sort. Confused, he brings his eyes back to her.
Another drop hits the sheets. He traces the path the wet drop followed as it fell to their bed. His eyes gently follow her body line, up her shoulder, near her cheek, and then up to her forehead.
Then he sees it. The bullet is lodged into her brain, a gaping hole in her forehead, slowly dripping blood onto the sheets.
...
Peter continues to shutter in his sleep. Shaking, sweating, she can see that he is suffering. She pins one of his arms down so she can get nearer to him.
"Peter" she says softly, her other hand coming up to his face. She gently touches his wet, shining skin. He flinches as her fingers make contact.
"Peter... we're ok... Peter... we can do this"
...
The room is now fully lit. The red of her blood stinging his eyes as it pops out from the white sheets. He's frozen for a minute, thinking... thinking how this could happen. How was he too late again? Why on earth he he let her wear that damn thing around her neck?
Panic ensues, and her voice starts to fill the room, she pleas his name. He looks down at his hands and they are covered in blood, her blood. He hears a thud across the room, a shapeless figure turned away from him heading towards the door. He studies his surroundings to find anything that can save her. He looks at the floor and see the figure dropped a pistol by the door, he knows it's the man who killed her. The man he couldn't stop. The man he couldn't protect her from.
He gets up to follow the man out the door, legs wobbling as he disperses his weight between them. He's walking, then jogging, the running, but the door never gets any closer. He can see the shadow of the man in the hall, fearful he won't get there in time to see who it is. Or to give him retribution for killing Olivia.
He feels an arm tug at him, he turns around and no one is there. But he knows it's her telling him not to focus on revenge. He needs to focus on saving her. He rushes back to the bed and looks for an exit wound.
He finds nothing.
...
Peter is up on the move, just like last night. She watches him to start, wanting to keep her distance. He heads toward their door, she swings her legs nervously over the side of the bed. Ready to follow him into the darkness.
He takes a few steps towards the door, but then stops. She hasn't even put weight on her feet yet.
He turns around suddenly, as if he is being lured back to bed by her simple presence. By her thoughts telling him, "we're ok, we can do this."
He comes back to their bed and simply lays back down. She drags her fingers through his hair, pushing the sweat off his forehead. She tries one more time "Peter..."
...
He is drawn back to her. He knows he can't save her, he knows he was too late. But he won't let her go, he won't let anyone take her away.
He pulls her limp body onto his chest, wrapping his arms around her. Swaying back and forth nervously as he firmly plants his nose in her hair and mumbles "not again.. no.. not again"
He cradles her, as if he could will her to live again. As if his movement could spread through her and allow her to move again. There is another wet substance hitting the sheets now. Tears stream down his cheeks. He holds her tighter.
...
Olivia can see the muscles in his face transitioning from being strained by fear, to being taken over by great sadness. He has stopped thrashing now, still shaking though. He looks weak, like everything has been taken from him. She studies his body, his face, and wishes she could do more to get him to snap out of this torture.
Her eyes return to his face and she sees a different kind of moisture gather across his face. A tear streams from his eye, as if he let defeat take over him. It pains her. She cups his cheek and moves closer, confident he won't make any sudden or thrashing movements. Her thumb traces his cheek, following the trail of his tear. She leans her forehead against the side of his temple. She says softly, but resolutely into his ear "we're ok. We can do this"
...
Peters eyes flash open. He gasps for air. She moves away from him quickly, but not too hurriedly - still trusting that he would never do anything to hurt her.
He takes quick, shallow breaths as he tries to familiarize himself with his surroundings. She attempts to slow down his breathing and relax him, putting her hand flat on his chest to soothe his heart rate and force him to take deeper, longer breaths. He looks around hurriedly, making eye contact with her, but only for a brief second. His hands start to move. He feels the soaked mattress beneath him, trying to ground himself to this reality. Once he feels the damp sheets, he is unable to ignore the sweat beading on the rest of his body. He brings a hand to his forehead, drenched with saltwater. He runs his hand through his hair as if he could hide the sweat from her. He rubs his eyes, feeling how raw they are. Now he knows more than one type of salt water dripped from his face.
His breathing slows; he brings his outside arm to meet her hand on his chest. Squeezing her fingers as if it would make her more tangible. His eyes still shut. Not ready to face her, or well, anything.
He feels her start to tangle her fingers through his hair. He knows he can't shut her out, run away again in the middle of the night, no matter how badly he wants to. It takes some time, but he opens his eyes and finds her still leaning against the headboard, looking down at him.
"You didn't punch me," she says quietly. The only light in the room coming from the moon between the curtains. Her eyes have adjusted to the darkness, so she can see all the features of his face. His pupils haven't quite adjusted yet, but he's ok with that. He can look at her without actually having to see her, having to see into her, or worse let her see into him. He's not ready for their wordless communication to show her just how scared he is.
He retorts with "I usually hate it when you're right." She's too tired to laugh, but the corners of her eyes wrinkle. The smile reaches her eyes without even crossing her lips. She sinks down to his level, laying her head on his chest. Her arm now hugging across him.
He knows how sweaty he is. He mumbles "you really don't have to." But she stays put and says "I don't care." They lay like this for 30 minutes. Her ear pressed to his chest, listening to his heart rate continually slow.
He feels such comfort in her simple touch. Probably why the thought of losing her is making him go a little crazy lately. He feels calmer with each breath he takes. Her head rising and falling with his chest.
He doesn't know what else to say besides: "thank you." He practically whispers it. She doesn't need to respond. He knows how she feels.
After some time, she asks him again "do you want to talk about it?" She can feel his chest tighten beneath her. She doesn't dare lift her head to make eye contact with him, knowing that her piercing eyes might break him in this fragile state.
He wraps his arm around her back. His other hand coming to comb his stubble with his knuckles. He contemplates.
"Umm.." he starts. He has never told her the intimate details of his nightmares, just that he was being kidnapped and the irony embedded in every dream state moment he had as a kid.
"Well..." he continues. But stops again, unsure really how to tell her. She can feel his hesitation and stiffness, she would be able to tell from across the room, heck even across universes, just how rigid he feels. She doesn't look up at him, but she nudges his jaw line with the top of her head. She whispers, "just go through it like it's the plot of a movie or something. Better yet, a cheesy horror film." His rigidity reduces, but he still has no idea how to convey this dream, or why he even has to tell her the details.
He gives in, exhausted from pushing everything down, down, down: "We were.. uhh sleeping. Just like this."
Her thumb drawing small circles across his side, her arm steadily wrapped around him.
"And.." he trails off again. She knows how hard this is for him. She is honestly surprised he's telling her about his dream... well, nightmare. She knows it will help him though. Clearly, trying to convince both her and himself that "it's nothing," has worked super well for the last couple months.
"And you rolled over.. and the bullet...was..." his voice cracks. She knows what he is implying.
"I saw the man with the gun, and tried to follow him. But..." he can't continue.
"But, you came back to me?" She asks, finally tilting her head up to make eye contact with him. Her thumb still moving across gently across his skin.
"Uh.. yeah. How did you know that?" He asks, perplexed.
"Well.. you got up and started walking toward the door. And then you came back." He stares straight at the ceiling. Aware that he moves during his dreams, but unaware of how similar his dream state and reality are. It also frightens him. As soon as she says those words, he thinks about what else he could have done as he moved across the room. He closes his eyes again and tries to eliminate that thought from his mind.
She waits for him to continue as they lay in silence. Then she asks gently, "what did you come back for?" She feels his heart flutter under her cheek. She knows it will take time for him to answer. She patiently waits, knowing not to probe again.
He wants to just stay in this moment, safe with her on his chest. Pretending their life is normal. And so he does. He lies there, content in the silence. Unable to re-live that moment of holding her dead body to him, rocking in dismay. But he knows he can't avoid it forever, no matter how hard he tries. He also knows that saying it out loud will make his experience real. The dream might not have been real, but his experiences and his feelings are as real as it gets.
He takes a breath.
"I came back to hold you" he says simply.
He's not sure if the words actually came out, but his heart feels pressure and relief at the same time. He doesn't feel the need to say anything more.
They both realize they are holding each other now, just as Peter was so desperately trying to hold onto Olivia in his dream. They both feel the fear and sadness consuming their whole being, but neither of them talk about it.
...
Peter breaks the silence, Neither of them sure how long it had been. "Um... I am definitely gross right now."
Olivia chuckles. She doesn't really care though. "Just wait about 6 months, then you'll see gross."
He scrunches his eyes "are you referring to the birth or the aftermath of diapers?"
In between laughs she sneaks out, "both."
He smiles hardily, "well I think I'm going to take a 'I'm miserable and I know it' shower, for the second time in 4 hours. Care to join?"
She smirks and looks up at him, "no I am going to change the sheets. But hey, you're not miserable, remember... you still have me."
Their eyes meet and the are able to communicate silently again, so she continues where she left off, "no offense but I don't really want to sleep in a pool of your sweat. I am only touching you now because you needed it," she teases him.
He laughs again. It feels like the most he's laughed in a while. Especially at night, "fair point."
"I'll be quick. God knows we both need some sleep" he says sarcastically. She takes that as a sign to start moving and sits up slightly before he reaches out for her arm and pulls her back to him.
"Hey... thank you."
She smiles. Her eyes say a lot more than she could ever say in words. She kisses him slowly and he reciprocates in favor. She looks at him as their lips part. Her eyes saying, "we can do this."
And with that she is up, grabbing the damp towel off the rack from earlier this evening and wiping any skin that touched Peter. As he walks by her into the bathroom, he makes a teasing face at her as if he's insulted. She responds in kind by kissing him again and then wiping off her lips. Raising her eye brows as if she is challenging him. He looks back at her, eye brows raised and his face silently saying, "you want to go there? You're challenging me? You know I'll win."
They pause, both waiting for the other to move first. Peter takes his chance and wraps his arms around her hips, lifting her feet off the ground and bringing her face up above his, as he rubs his sweaty head in the crook of her neck. Any other girl would squeal, scream, or beg. Olivia says in a very stern voice, but also squirming in his arms trying to get away: "No. Peter. Put me down. You're gross. So gross. Peter. Please."
He pulls his head away from her neck and looks at her. Still holding her hostage, "only because you said please, and definitely not because you have a gun," a smirk spreading across his face.
She huffs as he puts her down, trying not to smile back at him. She grabs the damp towel from the sink where it was dropped and flows some fresh water across the edge of it. She starts to clean herself of his sweat again.
"Get in the shower. You smell," she says to him. Still trying to hide her amusement as her lips curve into a subtle smile.
He obliges, holding back a sarcastic comment of his own, and she gets out fresh sheets. Once he's clean, dry, and acceptable to Olivia's standards, he joins her in bed. He's able to lay his head down with a little more ease this time.
He meets her with a kiss, one that has a little too much deepness behind it. She barely stops kissing him, eyes still closed, to say: "None of that." she sneaks another comment between kisses "I am growing another human being inside me and someone keeps waking me up at night. I need sleep."
He pulls away, giving her a not-so-innocent look. "What? I am just kissing the beautiful woman in my bed goodnight, Nothing more." he says cheekily.
She rolls her eyes and says "Sure. Goodnight." He goes in for one last kiss and she obliges, with very little resistance. "Goodnight Olivia."
He rests his head, closes his eyes, and holds her close to him. The mountains and valleys he has experienced today are overwhelming, but one thing has kept him grounded the whole time, and that is Olivia Dunham. How can one person be so happy and so sad at the same time? He tries to turn his mind off, focusing on the happiness he feels at this very moment. He doesn't dream this time, granted "going to sleep" right now might only qualify as a couple hour nap in the dead of night.