She chokes out a combination of a laugh and a sob. Once she has control of her mind-body function again, she brings her hands up to his face, and without any hesitation she pulls him in for a deep, languid kiss. He can feel the wetness of her cheeks on his, soon tasting the salt in his mouth.
...
The office door creaks as Walter pushes it open, completely oblivious to the intensity of the conversation... and other activities occurring in the room he's entering. He fully extends his right arm so the door swings wide open, but the elongated door blocks the view of the couch, which is on the right side of the office. He peers into the office, looking for any evidence of Peter and Olivia.
...
Olivia pulls away from Peter, whose back is to the door, suddenly, beaming with a wide smile, "I..." she laughs, "I... um..."
"What?" he asks hesitantly, the amount of concern in his voice all too apparent.
"Umm, it's just... Walter," she laughs and leans in for another quick peck, then she nods toward the door, "Walter is watching us."
He takes his hands off her cheeks and almost holds them up as if he's about to be prosecuted. He pulls away from her and turns to the door so quickly she can't help but laugh at him audibly. And, to Peter's delight, Walter is in fact, watching them.
"I..." Walter hesitates, standing in the door frame with his hand on the handle and arm holding the door out, one foot in the room. He clearly stopped upon his first step in, "I just wanted to see what was taking so long..."
For the second time in 24 hours Peter's face turns so white Olivia thinks he might faint. He is sitting there, awkwardly turned around toward the door, mouth open, in shock. And embarrassment; after all it is his dad. Well, sort of. He's had his fair share of Walter moments that he wishes he could forget, but this might just top the list.
"I'll just... see myself out," Walter says hesitantly, unsure how to react to what he just saw. For once in his life he had the social aptitude to understand he was not welcome in that situation. I mean, it was his son.. and Olivia? This Olivia?
Peter turns away from her, starting to face the door in order to greet their unwanted guest. Some things never change...
He cringes at the memories of Walter being in the middle of his relationship with Olivia. Either awkwardly pushing them together or unknowingly pulling them apart. Like he's said both last night and this morning, he is not ready to tell Walter yet. There is another level of complexity there, and he doesn't have the bandwidth to explain his existing, but not-so-existing, relationship with his practically senile father.
He starts, "Walter, we... we were actually just leaving," he finishes, trying to get alone time with Olivia... as far away from Walter as possible.
He says this as he pushes his palms on his knees to stand up in front of Olivia, holding his hand out to encourage her to follow suit. His palm enters her immediate sight and she slowly raises her gaze to his eyes. She wants to understand what the meaning is behind his every move, and at this point she thinks if she leans into him any more than she already has, she won't be able to let him go again.
She keeps eye contact, the last words he said to her echoing in her head:
When I look into your eyes, I know it's you... I know it's you
She forgoes taking his hand, trying to protect herself more so than trying to hide anything from Walter. She stands, and suave as ever, Peter moves his hand behind her toward her lower back. He hovers, not touching (but she is well aware of his close presence) and starts to walk toward the door of the office, escorting her along the way.
"We'll see you Monday, ok Walter?" He asks as they enter the main room of the lab. He knows Olivia's level of uncomfort, mostly uncertainty, and wants to remove them from Walter's company sooner rather than later. He doesn't even wait for Walter's response as they step out of the office door, his hand still hovering behind her spine.
...
If she slowed, just for a second, his hand would come into contact with her... she thinks.
Quickly she snaps herself out of it, keeping a strong, independent pace. All the while probably realizing that Peter knows her so well, his hand placement is entirely strategic. All a means to an end: to get them out of this lab.
They turn toward the main doors, but Walter interrupts. He lowers his voice and whispers as they approach, trying to subtly hide the conversation from Peter, "that sure didn't look like 'Peter didn't say anything to me,'" he says mocking her previous comment where she clearly tried to hide what she and Peter have and have not been talking about. "What did he say to you?" he asks with actual concern in his voice now - well aware that Peter is indeed trying to flee this universe as quickly as possible.
"Alright," Peter says as he approaches, "that's enough, you two."
"I didn't do anything," Walter says begrudgingly, stepping away from Olivia so Peter can join the conversation. He openly glares at Peter, as if he is trying to protect her... or warn him.
Olivia lets out a soft chuckle, "Walter, please..."
"What?" he looks at her, "this isn't my fault."
"Ok," Peter says shortly, "who said this has to be anyone's fault? She remembers everything," he holds out his arm, motioning toward Olivia, as if there could be anyone else this applies to, "right?" he looks to her for confirmation.
"That's not possible..." Walter gasps.
"See," Peter replies, looking at Olivia in an I told you so way. Then he turns to Walter and tries to appear innocent, "that's what I said."
Walter steps back just as Peter moves toward him, as if Peter being near him was dangerous in some way. Peter's brow furrows in confusion. Walter starts pacing, unable to wrap his mind around why she might have the memories of Peter's Olivia. The other other Olivia.
He stops pacing suddenly and looks directly into Peter's eyes, "You can't do this to her," Walter says seriously.
Peter looks back at him in shock, and suddenly anger, "do what to her?"
"This," he motions at Olivia, "whatever this is. You need to stop doing it. You being here has clearly affected her."
Peter starts to get defensive, "I'm not doing anything," he huffs.
"Well you have to be," Walter starts, almost intimidated by Peter's response. His hands move to the elbow patches on his sweater, slightly hugging himself for confidence and support, "what other explanation is there?" Walter questions with more confidence.
Peter scoffs, and before he can respond, Olivia interrupts them, "Alright, stop." she says, walking between them and putting her hands up, one palm toward each of them.
"Walter," she continues, "I remember everything, and Peter didn't do anything to me. It just happened, ok?"
Walter doesn't seem convinced, "I know what you are doing, son... I know how badly you want to be home, but you can't just come into this timeline and ruin her life," he says to Peter, his words growing louder, but still hesitant, "she had a path... before you showed up.. and now you've taken her off that."
Walter is met with silence, so he continues in his typical social awkwardness, "And plus, there is no logical explanation for why this is happening. It... it just.. can't be right," he stutters.
"Oh, very convincing coming from the man who... I don't know... took a child from his path in another universe," Peter seethes.
"GUYS," Olivia gets their attention, both looking at her now, "stop."
She takes a breath, "Look, this is happening to me. It's not happening to you, or you," she points toward them, "its happening to me. I am the only one getting memories from a different life. And it happens to be my decision as to what I should do about it... ok?"
"What to do about it?" Peter asks, instantly his stomach dropping. Does she want it to stop... does she want Walter to make her the Olivia he met 3 months ago?
"Yes," she responds, "and the answer, for now, is: I am going to do nothing about it."
Both Walter and Peter look at her in shock, but soon she continues, "I'm tired, I want to go home, we will figure this out later."
Both men were still staring at her, unable to fathom her response. She looks at Peter, raises her eyebrows to indicate she is grabbing his attention, "we were leaving...Peter?" She says as she informally gestures toward the entrance of the lab.
It takes far too many seconds, maybe even a minute, for Peter to register what she is asking him to do. She looks toward the door, then back at Peter to re-emphasize her point, really not wanting to have to repeat herself.
...
Once Peter exits the doors and heads toward the parking lot, Oliva exhales a sigh of slight relief. Peter, however, is rigid as ever. She heads toward her car and immediately climbs into the driver's seat. Peter pauses, about 5 feet away from her SUV, frozen in fear of making the wrong decision.
Clearly they arrived separately, as Peter recalls the slight heart attack he had when he read Olivia's note this morning: gone to talk with Walter...
So here he is again, faced with an impossible decision. Does he, or does he not trust his gut? The aching feeling that just told him it had to be his Olivia. And the first step to making this decision is simply whether or not he climbs into Walter's old, beaten station wagon, or follow's Olivia into her SUV.
Once in the driver's seat, she turns back to grab the door and close it behind her... assuming Peter is on his way to sit shotgun. As she looks around and reaches for the extended door handle, she sees him, standing there, frozen in the middle of the parking lot.
"Oh..." is all she says. It's not accusatory... but it's not not accusatory. I mean, their kiss... he did just lead her on quite a bit.
To her surprise, he asks, "Do you want me to come?" as if there was any other option that she would want to happen. She tries to keep a straight face, but he can read right through her. A single, curt, nod from her and Peter starts walking over to the passenger side, albeit hesitantly. He climbs in, and she retreats to business as usual, silently starting the SUV and driving back to her apartment with no exchange of words between her and Peter.
Her demeanor is calm, but calculated. He can tell she has started to be able to control the overwhelming waves of emotion that have previously caused her to break the Olivia is a brick wall facade she wears so proudly. She is determined, acting more like the Olivia he knows from their years of casework together. She has a destination, and she is getting to it. That is all.
For now...
They arrive at her apartment and she parks on the street, eyes still facing forward, hands still on the wheel, not necessarily comforted by the silence that hung around them for the entire drive. And silence is their thing... that comfortable silence that requires no words but says so much at the same time. They were both looking for that, and it was nowhere to be found. You wouldn't think that a simple interruption from Walter would set them back this far. But then again, she thinks about the situation they are in and gives herself credit for not just feeling entirely messed up.
He sits there, waiting for her instruction. Her hands still on the wheel, she looks over to him, "you know where I stand; you know what I want."
"I do?" he asks genuinely.
"I told you in the lab," she responds as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "I am not going to do anything about it... for now."
He smiles, and his cute, undeniable indecisiveness is starting to wane on her, "What do you want from me?" She asks... posing the question that he has asked her so many times before.
He can tell she is frustrated, "Liv," he sighs, "I don't know, ok?" Walter's words keep rushing through his head... you can't do this to her. What if she's still out there? What if she's still out there, and now he is going to break both of them, for good?
His answer does not enthuse her. She stays rigid, face unchanged and hands still on the steering wheel even though the SUV is off.
"Is your face telling me that that is not an acceptable answer?" He jokes.
"Peter," she says plainly, "you can't... you can't do what we just did... and ... and say... what you said... back there... and then not tell me what you want, ok?"
His face falls flat as he mumbles, "I know."
"But-" he starts, then she interrupts him, "-no buts."
He looks down at his lap, unsure what to do next. So in an act that is very his Olivia, she takes control of the conversation and forces him into a decision. Even if that decision is just whether or not he comes inside, "Look, Peter. I am just going to lay this all out for you."
He looks up to meet her eyes again, intrigued by the forward nature of her comment. She continues, "...I'm in love with you. And I can't just turn that off... Ok?"
She waits for his response, but he is dumbfounded. 24 hours ago she didn't even know why she brought home Damianos... but she did it anyway. And then she kissed him. And now, what? She is declaring that she loves him?
He obviously doesn't respond, so she finishes for him, "if you think this is a bad idea... if you think you need to stay away, then you need to do that. You need to be responsible for that. But I can't make that decision, because... because I can't just turn this off," she finally takes her hands off the steering wheel and motions between the two of them, indicating her desire to be with him, "so it's on you."
Still no response.
She starts to open the driver side door, turning to him saying, "I am getting out now, you can follow me in, but it's on you," as if she has to repeat it multiple times for it to sink in for him.
...
She steps out of the vehicle, silence pounding in her ears from Peter's lack of movement behind her. Her heart sinks as she walks toward the front door of her apartment building, alone. She extends her arm to unlock the exterior door and suddenly hears one word echoing past her, "WAIT."
He jumps out of the open door of the car and runs toward the door. Her back is still faced toward him and her hand is still around the key, barely starting to turn the lock. He starts speaking but she doesn't turn around to face him, "Look, Liv. This is all just... fast. And overwhelming... and these are excuses, I know. But for some reason it's easier when I just forget... what's happening"
He closes his eyes and shakes his head, even though he knows she can't see him, "No, that's not what I meant."
He sighs, "I mean, it's easier when it's just the little things... like sitting in the lab listening to you talk and just knowing it's you," he finishes just as she turns around to face him. "Liv, I can't just sit there... in the car, and listen to you tell me you love me and think that everything is ok."
He can see the hurt breaking through her every facial muscle. The regalness of her strong exterior trying to stay rigid amidst hearing those words. He immediately brings his hands up to his face and rubs his eyes, his palms and fingers sliding down his cheeks and then back up through his hair line, "No... that's... I," he stutters, "I've been trying to go home, Liv... where does that put me now? What if Walter is right?"
As if he could predict that she would pass on answering that question, he starts again, "can I just go upstairs... and talk to your couch cushions again?" He asks timidly, knowing fully and completely how much he is fucking this up.
...
She unlocks the door to her apartment after a very silent walk up the stairs. She steps in and he follows, immediately trying to dissipate the awkwardness that he's created entirely on his own. He tries again, saying, "you know this has to be the real me... because no one else would fuck this up as much as I am right now..." with a cheeky, questioning smile, but it doesn't phase her.
"If you want to talk to the couch, there's your couch," she says tersely, "am I invited to the conversation too? So you can forget your predicament and maybe, convince yourself for just a second, that I might be her? Or maybe you'll just enjoy the moment and then run home to your real timeline after?"
"Olivia," he cuts off her brigade of questions, "that is not what happened. I just... I just need a little more certainty, ok?"
"Why?" she counters so quickly she almost forgets the sensitivity of this subject.
"You know exactly why..." he says his voice low, actual hurt laced through his words now. She falls quiet. He pulls himself together enough to explain himself, even though he knows this topic doesn't need explaining, "I am sorry that I need certainty... ok? I just... I just don't know how to move forward now, without it."
She looks up, far too much sadness in her eyes, "why don't you trust me?"
He scoffs at her, "you know I trust you. We've had this conversation, I just..." he hesitates, "don't trust myself... and I feel, I don't know, ashamed that I can't trust myself. That I can't be confident. Because it comes off as not trusting you... and I wouldn't ever want you to think that."
"But really Peter, let's face it. The problem you had... with her," she motions toward the window, outside, but he knows she is implying the other universe, "before I came back, you were fooled. And you don't want to be used again, right?"
He nods, but doesn't say anything.
"So if she was using you then, why would I be using you now? Who is benefiting from this situation?"
"I don't know, Liv, but you have to admit that it is very bizzare to go from you not even knowing who I am, to being in love with me in the span of 24 hours. Am I allowed to be hesitant at least for that reason?" He asks, genuinely wanting permission.
She closes her eyes and takes a breath, realizing that this is hard and confusing for him too, and he's not trying to hurt her, "Yes," she responds quietly.
"I would never use you..." she adds as silence fills the room. He moves to sit down on the couch, "I know," and motions for her to come next to him, "I don't want this to be my decision or your decision, I want it to be our decision." He continues, "I just want to think through the probabilities with you... I just want to actually sit down and think about it before diving in... which is what I was trying to do in the lab. Well, honestly I had just become ok with the concept of doing that, talking about it, and then..." he looks up at her, his pupils widening as he makes direct eye contact with her.
When I look into your eyes, I know it's you... I know it's you
He forcefully breaks their eye contact, the energy it takes for him to do so draining his last reserve. He closes his eyes and then looks down at his lap, "then you... I... was distracted... from the task of... talking about it." Both of them fully know he is referencing their kiss. "But then... and with Walter..." he continues, "in that moment, right before he walked in and it was just us, it became easy to forget what has been our reality for the last three months, ok?"
She moves closer to him out of instinct, their thighs touching now, "ok," she responds quietly. She too looks down at her lap avoiding eye contact, "I'm sorry. We can talk... or think... about it. We can do that."
He doesn't know where to start, so when she speaks again he is relieved, "I guess you've had 3 months to train this out of you," she smiles, referencing this as herself, and her inability to let anything go... or be a little less intense. Ok... a lot less intense.
"HA, barely," Peter laughs a little too hard, making her suspicious of how much he actually attempted to separate himself from her... or whatever version of her she was at the time.
"Barely..? What is that supposed to mean?" She asks abruptly, slightly changing the tone of the conversation. More so out of eagerness to understand what went through his mind these last 3 months, but also because she still has so many doubts inside her. Doubts whether he will stay. Doubts whether they will ever be together.
He chuckles at her response, knowing all too well that the intensity of her personality is exactly why he couldn't 'train her out of him,' whatever that means. Plus he was so god damned miserable and lonely, what else was he supposed to do besides think about her obsessively?
"I don't know Liv, I just.. um..." he struggles as he tries to put his finger on the right word to describe his mental state for the last 3 months, "you are not someone I would forget, even though each day that went by I felt like I was being pulled further and further away from you. That just made me think about you more - try to remember you more." She lets her guard down and places the palm of her hand gently on his inner thigh. Her body language screaming for comfort and stability as she seeks answers from him.
She realizes what she did, and slowly retracts her palm from the denim, "sorry," she mutters, "I guess it's hard for me to know that you... were thinking of me in that way... when it was a completely different version of who you really wanted me to be." She looks up at him as she debates whether she should move slightly away, so there is at least a centimeter of space between them.
"Liv, I wasn't looking for you to change. I hope you know that," he starts, "if anything, these last 24 hours should tell you that I didn't expect you to be her. Ever," he chuckles, and then the soft wrinkles in his smile fade as he looks into her eyes, "this is not your fault."
She blushes at the phrase he has said to her a million times, the familiarity encapsulating her body with a warm air of comfort and belonging. The physicality of their relationship now taking a toll on their ability to stay on topic. Her eyes are glued on his, and slowly, but ever so intently, she starts moving her eyes down his chest, torso, and stomach, then onto his lap. He can see... and feel... her focal point, "Liv..." he says hesitantly, wanting to keep them steered on the right topic.
"Peter," she says tiredly, "No. That's not," she starts to laugh as she slides her body horizontally along the couch, ultimately resting her head on his lap, "I just wanted a pillow to rest my head on," she plays with him, coy as ever.
He scoffs in disbelief, especially given the placement and motion of her fingertips on the edge of his thigh earlier.
"Really!" she says, trying to convince him of her innocence, "I just wanted to lie down for this conversation... I make my best decisions horizontally," the teasing tone of her voice not helping convince him that she is indeed innocent.
He smiles widely, "sure," he responds, cheekily, "just don't fall asleep down there."
"Do you know who you are talking to?" She asks, "I am a natural insomniac... I wouldn't dare fall asleep," she says as a sly smile creeps across her face.
...
Soon, she is tracing through new memory after new memory, eyes closed and the back of her head on his legs, slightly tilting toward his stomach so she can look up at him every once in a while. He has sunk into the couch, his hips shifting toward the edge such that he isn't fully sitting up anymore. His head is low enough to rest back on the couch cushion comfortably as a pillow.
Silence stretches between their conversations, pulling out old memories one at a time, together.
"When I first came back, and you wanted nothing to do with me, I used to have these incredibly vivid dreams... every night," he starts, breaking the silence. Neither of them move, or acknowledge the pain in his voice. He remembers when she first told him those same words, just 3 days after his sudden appearance.
Walter had visions of you... you didn't know you were doing that? ... And you were in my dreams, almost every night.
"I didn't know that," she says quietly, thinking back to her own constant state of confusion when waking up to realize that it was, in fact, just a dream. That seems so far away now, especially with new memories crowding every corner of her mind.
"Yeah," he confirms, his voice just above a whisper. His head is still leaning back on the upper couch cushion, but his eyes are open now - studying the texture of the paint on the ceiling.
"What did you dream of?" she asks intently. She rolls over slightly into him so she can reposition herself to look up at him, but his gaze stays fixed above. She can feel his chest and stomach expanding with each breath he takes. He is calm, relaxed, but she knows him now. She knows that there is still that hint of fear, doubt, distrust in himself. How could he recount the dreams of his Olivia to this Olivia and not be concerned that he was in the right place, with the right person?
Her head moves slightly as he takes a deep breath before starting, "it was usually us... just living our normal lives together. And, I mean that was just it - we were together."
"But?" she asks, sensing his hesitation.
"But, by the end of every dream, whatever it was, you would tell me you didn't want to be with me... or that we couldn't be together... or that I didn't belong here."
He continues after a moment of silence, "it was the same plot over and over again, just different details or circumstances. Honestly, now that I think about it, it's quite like the days after you came back from the other side. I had all these memories of you, or a version of you, and well, you're Olivia, so why wouldn't I be thinking about you constantly?"
She laughs lightly, just enough for a small smile to form.
"Except this time around was probably worse, or I guess more vivid. Because they were based on real memories, real experiences with you. So by the end it would all come crashing down and I'd just wake up in a panic," he finishes, trying to shrug off the intensity of some of his dreams.
"I'm sorry," is all she says. She's not sure if two people could say that to each other more often than they do, for things that aren't necessarily either of their faults.
That gets him to lift his head off the couch. He looks down at her with the same look in his eyes she has seen so many times before: don't blame yourself, Liv.
"I'm not," she says smiling, answering to his unspoken comment. "I'm not, I promise," she emphasizes when she sees the sarcastic yet accusatory squint of his eyes and tilt of his head, questioning the truth to her statement. She continues, "It just... it must have been miserable, that's all. I mean it's been 24 hours for me and you see how well I've handled that, I can't imagine 3 months," she says laughing. "But I'm curious, what were they about?" she asks before quickly clarifying, "only the part before you realized you were dreaming. I want to know what was going through your head. Or what you wanted for us... for our future... subconsciously, I guess."
He smiles, meeting her eyes again and each time he does, she feels as if she could crumble at his very touch, collapsing into him.
"Umm... let me think," he starts, "ok, well we were at the cabin at Reiden lake, just you and me. And it was just a normal weekend getaway."
He pauses, laying his head back on the couch while attempting to remember the details, "it was autumn and the leaves were changing. I remember walking toward the house and thinking I was alone, and then hearing another set of footsteps behind me crunching through the leaves that had fallen. So I turned around," he takes a breath, and slightly shrugs, as if her entering his dreams was almost casual... which at that point, strangely it was, for him, "and you were just there," his shoulders fall to a relaxed position as he finishes his sentence.
"My first feeling was shock, or surprise, like I wasn't expecting you to be there. Or I didn't think that we'd be allowed a chance to actually be together. And then very quickly we just became... us. It was as if the chemicals in my brain required to conjure up this dream couldn't produce anything without you in it, you just had to suddenly show up," he says, teasing her. Then, more seriously, "it was like I physically needed you there to be able to dream at all." He realizes as he says these words out loud for the first time, how ridiculous he sounds. But, he figures she's got a lot more unknown chemistry going on in her brain so of all people, she would understand.
Her eyes are still closed, but she can feel him looking at her now. Out of habit, or pure lack of self control, he moves his hand to stroke the ends of her hair splayed across his lap. They enjoy the silence of the moment as his fingers drift toward the stray hairs falling across her face. He lightly smooths the hairs as he tucks them behind her ear.
Her stomach is in knots. The soft touch of his fingertips on her forehead and cheek are tempting beyond her control. His movement stills as the little self control he has left takes over. He's crossed his own line, again, and she knows he's mentally punishing himself for doing so. She feels him shift lower onto the couch and rest his head back on the upper cushion once again.
"and... um," he starts hesitantly, unsure how to continue the conversation and move past his self proclaimed indiscretion, "you grabbed onto me, linking arms while we started walking toward the house. And... I don't know, I used to hate that place, you know that, but I was there with you and it was just easy. Just like how you made me feel like this place - Boston really, was my home all those years ago..." he pauses, "And we spent the weekend there. And that's it," he finishes.
She smiles, eyes still closed, knowing that there is more to it that he's not telling her. But she decides not to push him, she's already done enough to accelerate their relationship that day. Then, to her surprise, she feels his breath catch as if he wanted to start speaking, but decided not to.
"What?" she asks, her curiosity mounting.
"Nothing... nothing, I just haven't thought about that for a while," he sighs, "it just became easier to store them in a place where I couldn't... or wouldn't think about them. I mean, you know me and vivid dreams," he huffs, half chuckling half exacerbated, "I really thought I was with you... and to have that taken away was..."
"Difficult," she says, finishing his sentence for him and knowing that 'difficult' doesn't even begin to explain how he felt about them. She wants to ease his pain now though, even if that means simply letting him skip having to explain himself, for once.
He nods, but doesn't speak again. She can tell he is still lost in the feeling of her being taken from him, right at the end of one of his dreams, "so that was one of the good ones? Just us, living our lives together," she asks, trying to change his thought pattern.
He knows she can read right through him. He laughs lightly, "yes, what can I say... I'm a simpleton. It was just good to see what our future could hold."
After a few moments of silence, she breaks her own promise to not push their relationship onto him, or rush him. After all, she is Olivia Dunham, determined to get what she wants. And if one thing is clear, she wants Peter.
"So what did it hold?" she asks, "Our future?" not letting him get off too easily.
He laughs and looks down at her again, "you know, maybe it would be better for me to just not be with any version of Olivia Dunham... then I wouldn't have someone interrogating me all the time."
She teases back, "well based on previous experience I would say the likelihood you'd act on that statement is very low."
They both chuckle softly and then their laughing fades as they realize the seriousness of what they are about to discuss, or admit.
"I want to know," she continues, her voice softening, "I want to know because I've thought about that too... or at least I have memories thinking about it."
He still doesn't respond so she tries again, "I know you're not telling me everything."
He chuckles in defeat, "See? Interrogation. Absolute interrogation."
She smiles up at him, "well, you know where the door is," she says referencing his earlier comment, then continues to half threaten to kick him out... just like she's done so many times before, "if you're going to talk the talk of not being with any Olivia Dunham, then you better walk the walk." The words come out so easily, so sarcastically that once again, he is unable to fathom the thought of there possibly being another version of his Olivia out there. This had to be her.
"You are insufferable," he says, trying to hide the relief that has spread across his body - every muscle telling him that this is his Olivia and he can lay out his soul to her. "Fine," he continues, "we kept walking to the house and as I unlocked the door and held it open for you, I turned back and looked at you... fully... for the first time."
He pauses, still dumbfounded how she got him to admit these intimate details, "and... turns out we were there for that weekend for a specific reason," he meets her eyes directly now, something she knows he has been trying to avoid the entire afternoon, "you were pregnant."
Her eyes widen slightly and her pupils dilate. She quickly tries to act casual, but her physical reaction was not quite conservative enough to hide the fear coursing through her veins. Fear of motherhood, yes. But honestly now, it's the fear of losing him, because ultimately, she wants what he wants. Even if she can't admit it. Or listen to him talk about it.
She still hasn't responded, so he takes that as a sign to break the silence, "See, there was a reason I didn't tell you," he says shyly, afraid of the repercussions of his admission. Hell, even though it could be his Olivia, it wouldn't matter. Any version of her would freak out regardless, but not be quite so good at trying to hide it. In fact, maybe this is another sign that it is her, he laughs, thinking to himself.
"No," she says, stuttering, but smiling, trying to find the right words, "no... um... it's ok." That's the best she can come up with in these circumstances.
He gives her another chance to keep talking, or ask another question about the dream, but she doesn't. His heart rate starts to rise and the comfort he had so easily sunk into is slowly dissipating out of his muscles and into the couch cushions. He feels stiff, yet he also feels like he's sinking into a deep abyss of couch cushion... and self despair.
"It's getting late," he starts after the silence stretches on for too long, attempting to change the topic and avoiding any deeper conversation on that matter... or any more conversation, period. "Maybe I should go," he starts, and just as quickly as the despair hits, fear comes coursing through his entire nervous system and his heart drops as he feels her sit up off his lap almost immediately, staring at him from the other end of the couch.
Fuck. He really shouldn't have told her.
But to his surprise, she opens her mouth confidently and with no hesitation, saying, "first of all, it's 6 pm. While this day may feel like an eternity, it is not, in fact, late" she smiles, then continues, "so why don't you stay?"
"Olivia," he sighs, "I told you, I need certainty," she starts to argue back, but he cuts her off, "and while this afternoon has made a lot of progress on that, it's still just too fast. I... I can't... yet."
"So then how will you get this certainty?" she asks, "at some point, you are just going to have to make a decision on your own. It's not like someone will come knocking on your door to say 'this is your timeline, I am certain of it.'"
He chuckles and shakes his head, "you know that's not what I'm asking for." She looks down, her hands folded in her lap, "I know... but can't we just be friends tonight? Grab dinner or something? No funny business, I swear," she says, smirking.
"Oh, so now you're friend zoning me?" his staple sarcasm oozing out of every word.
She playfully punches him in the arm before responding, "yes, that is exactly what I am doing."
Once the laughter settles, she continues more sincerely, "Peter, what you said about it being our decision, making it together... I want what you want," she brings back the words he remembers ever so vividly from the first night she wanted to be with him again, and his attention is fully focused on her next words, "so I think it would be good to keep talking."
Time has not quite caught up to him; he sits in the memory of their first time together, unable to click back into the conversation.
And what do you think we should do about that?
She tries to pull him out, "but actually, can I ask you something?"
He blinks and shakes his head a little, startled at her words because he was zoned out... or zoned into his memory. He re-comprehends the question in his head, and finally responds "of course," smiling gently, but with obvious worry in his voice.
"Would you mind sleeping here again?" she asks sheepishly, and before he can protest, she continues, "I know it's asking a lot... and I'm sorry. I don't want to put you in this position. But... I just need to know that you haven't left, for good," her voice is solemn, "I just need one night knowing that you're still here, because honestly I am fucking exhausted and I know I won't sleep a minute if I'm lying there, thinking of you in that god damned twin bed of yours, and just wondering what you're thinking."
"So you'd rather have me lay on your couch, wondering what I'm thinking from 10 feet away?" he asks somewhat sarcastically and somewhat seriously.
"Yeah," she nods, "I never said it was logical."
He smiles, "And I won't be held prisoner or hostage after tonight?"
"No, Peter," she says with some annoyance in her voice, but then it shifts to sadness, "I meant what I said earlier today, in the lab when I told you that I want you to be able to go home... even if that home isn't necessarily this timeline."
He looks at her and simply can't form words at this moment. He gives her a curt nod of approval and she knows immediately he won't leave tonight, no matter how uncomfortable it makes him. She smiles shyly, thanking him.
"So..." she starts, slight sarcasm in her voice trying to recover their light conversation "shall we order Damianos?"
And what else could he do in this painfully ironic moment other than laugh.
...
Not a moment of silence has filled the air since their mutual agreement to be just friends for the night. Their old habits of leaning into each other, brushing the other's leg, or grabbing their arm gently, come back full force as they physically and emotionally relive the first 3 years of their relationship. The meaning in their looks and the adoration in their words is beyond obvious, and she wonders if it was in fact this obvious back then. Based on Walter's ability to pick up on it, when he can't pick up on something as obvious as a cow being in the lab, tells her yes.
The laughter subsides for the first stretch of silence of the evening, and Peter takes the clear opportunity to look at his watch: 9:48 PM.
"Umm," he starts cautiously, "I think I am going to get ready for bed now."
She smiles lightly, convincing herself to keep her word on the no funny business aspect of the evening, "Ok. Me too."
He looks at her, bemused by the agreeable nature of her comment. No pushback, no complaint, no counter argument, just two friends and a friendly sleepover.
He pulls her cutlery onto his plate and stacks her plate beneath his. He stands, one hand pushing on the table and the other lifting the plates. Once his chair has slid a sufficient distance for him to walk out of the table setting, he picks up his hand off the table and takes his first step toward the sink. He pauses, and instead of bringing his second hand up to hold the plates, he places it on the crown of her head, slowly smoothing her hairs down over her ear and toward the back of her neck. He leans over and places a kiss on top of her head. Her hairs tickle his nose as he breathes in her scent. Yes, it's a sign of affection, but more so a level of affection he would have been comfortable showing toward the end of their 3 year working relationship, before they started being more than friends. But it's a start.
She also knows the appreciation he feels behind this all, appreciation for her patience and understanding.
He finishes clearing the plates and glasses and starts his simple nighttime routine with ease. She loves but also hates the familiarity he has with her apartment, and how comfortable he seems to make himself at home, sleeping on the couch, like they have so many times before. She is still sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for her mind and body to settle for the night. She feels more able to relax out here, before she closes a door and puts a barrier between them, because that barrier just reminds her of exactly what she can't have.
He's gone to the toilet, grabbed a pillow and blankets from the hall cupboard and is setting up his bed, assuming she had gone into her bedroom to ready herself. He finishes and walks into the kitchen for his last item before bed, a glass of water, and sees her sitting at the table still, "Oh shit, Liv," he chuckles, "you scared me. I thought you'd be...?" He doesn't finish the sentence, but he knows the question is floating in the air.
"Yeah," she says smiling shyly, trying to hide any sense of disappointment that their night can't continue the way she wants it to, "I was just on my way," she finishes. And it's not even that she wants him, or sex, or anything physical, well she does, but that's not the point right now. There is just something about his presence that soothes her, his simple touch. As if the option to trace her foot up his leg while they're eating, or put her hand on his thigh when they're talking, is enough to light up her every nerve, physically and emotionally.
She realizes now is the time to leave, so she stands to walk out of the kitchen, but he hasn't moved from his position in the entryway. She steps toward him, taking route for her own room, behind her own closed door, intently pulling off the band aid for herself as quickly as she can. She is just passing him and extending her next leg to step into the living room when he extends his hand to catch hers as she passes.
She stops, almost in slow motion and looks back at him, Their arms extended out as the momentum of her step continued carrying her away from him. He turns out the doorway to face her and slowly pulls their hands back to his hips as he reduces the distance between them. Her hand is cradled in his, Peter, the instigator, is the one who still has control over their physical touch and connection. His hold is quite loose, but enough so that her palm does not fall away from his. Both of their sets of fingers curled in toward each other, hesitant to latch on with the vigor that they each want to.
He slides his fingers down the back of her hand, slowly releasing her from his grip. Staring down at their touching skin, standing toe to toe in the unfocused background of his view, he can feel her eyes on him. It takes quite the amount of courage and energy to lift his eyes to meet hers, "I..." he starts, and her breath catches.
He starts again, but she interrupts him, already knowing what he was going to say and preemptively shutting down his unnecessary apology, "Peter -" his eyes bore into her soul, "I know," she gives him a curt nod, showing her support and understanding of his situation.
"There is only one of you," she continues, "there will only ever be one of you, so this isn't a two-sided experience. I can try... I can think about what you might be going through, or the lack of confidence, but at the end of the day, I will never have to choose between versions of you. And that's ok. It takes time." she finishes, her last words shaking as she attempts to hold her composure.
"Liv," his voice starts shaking, "I don't know what I need," he admits, the fear and anguish pouring out of every word. He looks down again, ashamed of himself, of this situation, but mostly of the fact that he doesn't even have a definition of what it means for her to be his Olivia.
"That's ok," she repeats, "It takes time."
She steps toward him, knowing that there is nothing more they can discuss tonight, and quickly presses her palm to his chest. She raises on her tiptoes to reach her lips toward his cheek, balancing against his sturdy body with her hand against him. His eyes are still looking down, but he began to lift his head just as she approached him. As soon as he felt her touch on his cheek, his eyelids fell closed. He feels the light press of her lips against his skin and his heart aches, it physically aches. She is gone as quickly as she came, and by the time he opens his eyes she is in her room behind closed doors.