She slowly nodded her head, not being able to tear away from his gaze.

Relax.

She can do that.

Still staring into him she thought over the silence. His eyes reminded her of the earth—comforting, nurturing, and placid. It scared her to think of the unique bond they shared; it was almost unnatural. Little did she know that he was just as scared of their connection. He was terrified of the union he shared with her—of the magnetic pull to always be sure she was safe, content, and close by.

"Your hand is bleeding," he stated, breaking the comfortable silence. Olivia lifted her left hand and turned it palm-face-up to have a better look at the cut. There was still dirt in it from when they pulled to the side of the road and she emptied her stomach in front of him and the whole late night I-95 traffic. Shame flooded her but she pushed it down. Repression was her middle name.

"I must have torn it open when I was washing up," she spoke softly, still a little disorientated from being drunk and sitting on Peter's bed under such circumstances.

Peter smiled at her, glad she was finally opening up and speaking. "Well, why don't you change into these," he placed the soft, flannel pants and long thermal shirt unto her lap, "and then we'll clean it up."

He noticed the fear and apprehension in her eyes and quickly spoke again. "It's way too late for either of us to be driving. Besides, I'm sure you'll agree that you'd sleep better here tonight." When he heard her chuckle he continued, "I mean you practically fell asleep as soon as your head touched the mattress."

He watched as her eyes twinkled with mirth. She smiled at him and he felt himself glow. He stood as she headed for the bathroom once more.

Peter turned around from where he was sitting on the bed to get a good look at her. "They fit beautifully," he noted with a sly grin.

Olivia stood in the doorframe arms circling her waist, trying to hide the fact the clothes weren't a good fit. Peter took notice that she had combed her hair and had tucked it behind both ears.

"Don't look so uncomfortable in my comfortable clothes!" he smiled and patted the bed, motioning for her to have a seat. Again, she smiled strangely and sat cautiously next to him.

"I found some Band-Aids and ointment. Lord knows I'll need them with Walter's experiments creeping into the house—the kitchen especially. I've learned to always study my breakfast, before I bite into it."

Olivia felt some of the tension leave her as he took her hand to clean the cut and make her smile with his witty sense of humor. Olivia smiled until a thought crossed her mind. Just how many girls did he speak this softly to?

"What?" Peter asked, noticing the change in her demeanor.

Olivia shuttered through a smile, "nothing. It's fine."

Peter stared at her thoroughly. "Are you sure I'm not hurting you?"

Olivia had to laugh. He was very good at being this Peter…this caring, soft spoke Peter. Without permission the image of the grizzly man at the bar, grazing her body, whispering fake sweet-nothings, flashed through her.

Olivia quickly pulled back her hand from Peter's grasp. He was just about to put the Band-Aid on. "I don't want to do this…I can't be here," she sobbed. Tears threatened to brim over and make a mockery out of her. The last thing she wanted to do was cry in front of him. Needless to say Peter was incredulous.

"Hey," he reached out and cupped her cheek like he had in the past. Like always, it instantly soothed her. He watched as her eyes closed and tears fell. "Tell me what's wrong," he whispered.

After a few tries, she found her voice over the sobs, "I…"

"What?" he urged her on.

Just then there was a knock on the door from an unwanted guest. There stood Walter in the doorframe, musty maroon robe, wool socks and all, holding a glass of water and a small goody bag of drugs. A silent Uh-Oh crossed Walter's mind. He instantly felt guilty for intruding. He had a passing thought that this was becoming a habit.

"I'm sorry. I thought Agent Dunham—Olivia, could use a late night cocktail of NSAIDs and pain killers. I figured that the alcohol didn't work…" he trailed off, fidgeting with his feet.

That was it. That sent her over the edge. Peter closed his eyes when a loud sob escaped Olivia.

Ladies and gentlemen, my father…