Will I Ever Know

Olivia looked around her apartment, trying to find something else to scrub. She did not have so much free time very often, so when she did, there were chores to be done. Her skin was pruning from her own perspiration inside the yellow gloves. She brushed away a stray strand of hair with the back of her wrist. There were beads of sweat on her forehead.

The Russian was now in Eastern Europe, lost in some Slavic country. The Interpol people were confident that they would find him soon, which meant it would take them at least another week.

Peter had been busy contacting this man's known associates, with Olivia listening in somewhere close. There had not been any real danger yet. None of those people were 'squeaky clean,' but Peter was good at not raising red flags. Now that all the interviewing was over, Olivia had nothing to do except sit around and worry about what was coming next. Frankly, she wasn't into sitting around.

Her cell phone ran, but the water from faucet in the bathroom obscured the noise. She let the sink fill with water, then dumped the rag she had been using to scrub the shower walls in it. She let the grime diffuse a little into the water before she scrubbed it clean, put it to dry, then let the water drain.

The door bell rang, but she was flushing away some extra hairs she had spotted down between the sink and the toilet.

She felt more than heard the thunderous pounding on her front door. The walls around her seemed to vibrate.

"Olivia Marcy Dunham, open this door or I'll - "

"You'll what?" she asked while she swung open the door and removed the cleaning gloves at the same time. "Bash the door open? Hardly your style, isn't it? You forgot to bring your pick-locks again?"

He stared at her for a moment before his brain caught up with what was happening. "You don't answer your phone anymore?" He pushed past her, not waiting for an invitation. "I thought you were dead or something." A line was forming between his eyebrows. He put a hand there, to smooth it away. "Jesus, Olivia..."

"As you can see, I'm fine."

"Yes, yes you are. Which means I can now be angry at you and myself for freaking out like this."

She shot him a skeptical look. "Do you want a drink?"

He shook his head. "I don't think that would be the proper substance for what I'm feeling right now."

The hair at the back of her neck prickled and her senses were alert. She knew how to spot danger when it knocked on her door. Even if it smelled like Peter Bishop. "You need a drink."

She pulled out a bottle of liquor from the top cabinet in the kitchen and poured him a double.

"Who keeps whiskey next to the parsley jar?"

"People who live in apartments."

"Or those with no respect for the fine methods of - "

She stuck a baby carrot in his mouth to shut him up. He bit down on it, the sound of him chewing filling the room. He made a face as he swallowed. "Whiskey and carrot. Ugh. Was that really necessary?"

Even from across the kitchen island she could smell the leather jacket and the cool breeze cologne he was wearing. The alcohol in her own glass touched her lips, but she did not open her mouth to let it in. Now was not the time for that.

"So what are you doing here?"

Blue eyes that maybe were green looked at her. Normally, she was good at reading people. His expression was indecipherable.

"I came to say 'hi'."

She would have laughed. For some reason, it was amusing how disparately she had hoped he would do just that. "Hi?"

"Yup."

Her window was open. The sound of the trees swaying filtered through the silence that now filled the room.

He looked undecided, as if he had had an idea in his head, but now it didn't seem so clear. He kept his eyes on some space in front of him while his thumb drew circles on the glass. He was easier to figure out when their eyes did not meet.

"Walter is in one of his singing phases again. He's warbling Wagner at the top of his lungs and to be honest, he was never my favorite composer."

Olivia nodded. "I hope DiGiorno's good enough for you. You can stay here tonight, if you don't feel like going back to the hotel room."

His involuntary expression of relief told her that this visit had absolutely nothing to do with her.

"I appreciate it Olivia, thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. I haven't even put the pizza in the oven."

He poured himself another drink while she unwrapped the frozen bread, careful not to let any of the ingredients fall out. "Can I ask you something?" he inquired.

"Sure."

"How did it start, with you and John? I mean, when did you know that he was what you wanted?"

"I'm not sure. I think the minute he walked into the office, sat down at the desk opposite mine and said 'Hello, partner." I wasn't attracted to him like that, at the time. It was the way his face changed, when he looked at me. Like he was sure, even before he knew me, that I would be good at my job. It made me feel like that's really who I was, someone who always knew what to do. Of course, that did not turn out to be so true."

She put the pizza in the over, then pressed a few buttons for the right settings. "So there you have it."

He was silent for a minute. "The dynamics between law enforcement partners... sometimes it completely eludes me. You form a bond, two complete strangers, in an environment that by its nature strives to break bonds - to get to the truth, for justice, whatever."

"It's about a common goal, a single driving force. The hostility around is what strengthens the bond. Both individuals grow strong because of it. Why do you think this partner thing was instituted? The unity is stronger than the individual."

He waved a hand in dismissal. "Kay, kay I get it."

"You asked."

"One thing I don't get, though, is how come you grew so attached to me. Everything in your nature probably tells you that I am not who you'd like to think I am. Yet you resist that instinct, even if you put your own feelings at risk. You see, after everything I've seen you do, I know you can force yourself to think in black and white terms. In fact, I'm willing to bet that's how you think most of the time."

"Is that so?" She didn't like it, the way he was taking her apart.

"I wonder if I'll ever know."

"Know what?"

"What you're really thinking."

"When it comes to you or Walter, I've learned that an honest answer to a direct question can save me from a lot of uncomfortable experiments."

He got off the stool he was sitting on and walked around the island until he was on the other side. "So if I asked you something, you'd answer truthfully?"

Why was it that while he was reading her like an open book, she could not get a single line off of the expression on his face? A hint of a smile was on his lips. She had to keep him talking, find out what he was up to.

"What is it you want to know?"

"I might be wrong about this, so feel free to correct me any time, but last time I mentioned our little incident in the car you turned... cryptic."

"Did I?" She did her best to backtrack. "I thought that conversation ended well."

"I'm pretty sure there's something you're not telling me." He put a hand up. "Don't even try to lie out of that one. You see," as he said this, he put a hand on the counter beside him while inching closer, "it wasn't the kiss that gave you away. You were too in control. Before that, the way you held me... I've never known anyone to need me like you did then. For the life of me, Olivia, I can't figure out why. What could have possibly set that off?"

He was getting close, both physically ad metaphorically. On anyone else, his gestures would have seemed threatening. She could have reached, with her left hand, for one of the steak knives. They were close. If he would have been thinking about them too, he would have glanced in their direction. Baby-blue maybe green eyes kept her in a trance-like state as he got close enough to touch.

"I just didn't like the look of the Russian. He rattled me a little."

"So the real reason is important enough to lie for.

Damn.

"I really don't think you'd want to know."

He raised an eyebrow. He actually seemed curious. "Why not?"

"If I know you at all," she began, then gave him an intense look of her own, challenging him to prove her wrong, "You are either going to run, or you will..." she paused, feeling the bitter taste of her own words, "Despise me for putting you in what to you will be an impossible situation."

She could almost hear the alarm bells tun on in his head. He shifted his weight to evenly distribute it on both his legs. "Try me."

She took a tentative step towards him. The scent of his leather jacket was strong. He did not move as she slid it off his shoulders and tossed it on a nearby stool. He simply watched, alert.

"Olivia?"

She smiled. Sure, it was a bad idea, but Peter was a bad boy. No girl could resist that.

She was so close now that she could feel his breath on her hair. She raised herself on the tips of her toes and kissed him. He inhaled, slowly, through his nose. His eyes closed and he bent down, just a little, to make up for the height difference. He tasted of whiskey. It drove her mad, wanting more.

His hands were on her, pulling her close, pressing her body against his. "Olivia?" he breathed between kissed, but did not stop.

She breathed out a "What?" without pulling away.

He guided her to the nearest wall and held her there. "You're driving me insane, you know that?"

"Really?" She nibbled on his upper lip, enjoying her newfound power. It took him some time to recover.

"Did you really think I would want to run away from this? From you?" His arms were around her waist.

She shrugged. "This is going to get complicated. I know you run from complicated, so..."

"Complicated? You do realize that there's a very good chance that you won't like me at all once you get to know me. Then you'll see how very uncomplicated it will be to forget all about me and move on. But," he paused for another kiss, "If that doesn't happen, then I'll consider myself the luckiest man in the world. There is nothing complicated about that."

Her stomach, on its own accord, began doing some sort of jumping jack activity while she thought of a proper response and came up empty. In the end, she just nodded. "I think I need to get the pizza out of the oven."

They ate in a comfortable silence, sitting close at the table. Afterward they switched from whiskey to red wine and began to talk. He told her about Walter and the numerous insane things he was doing at the lab. She told him about her childhood with her sister, what life was like before Fringe and how she had spent her military days.

They were on the couch, the TV droning on in the background, when her eyelids began to droop. Maybe she had managed to exhaust herself after all. His fingers were playing with her hair while the wine set a pleasant buzz in her brain. She felt herself slipping and before she knew it, her head rested on his shoulder as she dozed away.