Dreams and Reality
Clear, bright sunlight filtered through the window curtains of her bedroom. His eyes, with their blue and green nuances held her still while he undressed her. First, her shirt, followed by her pants. Lastly, everything else. He was meticulous about it, careful.
She slid his towel from around his waist as his hands cupped her face and he kissed her. Her pulse quickened, the anticipation building.
He lowered her onto the bed, never breaking eye contact. The touch of his skin was warm on her own.
Her eyes flew open. It was still dark outside. She rolled onto her side, a hand going up to her forehead. Always the same dream, a replay of that bright morning. It now seemed so long ago.
It wasn't anyone's fault, really. The occasion had never quite materialized again. Walter was keeping Peter busy with research and experiments. Broyles had asked Olivia to assist one of the other divisions in a case, while they waited on their own.
Olivia didn't mind the extra work. It did, however, mean that she saw less of Peter.
It was a Thursday, a little less than a week since last the last time she had seen him when he called her cellphone.
"Dunham speaking."
"Olivia, it's Peter."
"Hi."
"What are you doing tonight?"
She hesitated. "Um..."
"Fantastic. I've made dinner reservations at Le Resto for 7 pm. I'll be the devilishly handsome man with the red rose. Do you need directions?"
"I know where it is."
"Great! See you there." Click. Just like that. She sighed and went back to her magazine. The words on the page looked like foreign hieroglyphs.
He was at the bar. The leather jacket was gone, replaced by a gray shirt and a tailored black blazer. A smile brightened his eyes. Olivia resisted the urge to stare.
She did, however, notice the meaningful looks an attractive brunette was giving him from across the bar. The woman's eyes narrowed as Olivia approached.
The rose in his hand was crimson red, it's color standing in contrast with its surroundings.
"Good evening, Olivia."
He was close now, intoxicating. He took her hand, bringing it to his lips. Then, with deliberate slowness, he held out the rose in front of him. "For you."
She took the flower from him, feeling ridiculously feminine in the black dress she was wearing.
She put the rose on the table next to the cutlery as soon as they were seated. It looked less formidable here, where the light was dim. A small candlelight flickered in the middle of the table.
"Peter," she began, eying the red petals of the stem, "Why are we here?"
"What do you mean?" He looked right at her, his face a mask of pure curiosity. He was hiding something.
"Is there something you wanted to talk about?" She kept her tone neutral, calm. Her pulse was higher than it should have been, her mind buzzing with possibilities, most of which made her want to crawl under a rock and never come out. Something was wrong.
The wine came before the food. He tasted it. "There is, actually."
She stayed very still. Time seemed suspended, dependent on his every word.
"I have reason to believe that Lugovick will contact me again, soon."
"But he hasn't yet?"
"No." He paused. "When he does, you know what I'll have to do."
"Go undercover. We've been over this."
"Right, well, I wanted to have some time with you alone before it all begins."
She nodded, knowing there was more. "Why?"
"If things don't go as planned - "
She shot him a look. On its own accord, his hand went toward her own, his fingertips touching her skin.
"If things don't go well," he continued, "And I'll have to switch on my contingency plans, there's a very good chance that you and I won't see each other for a very long time."
This was the point in the conversation where she was supposed to agree with him and tell him it was part of the job. Everyone went through it. "What are you saying?" was the only thing she managed to get out.
"I just wish we had more time."
Her game face was back on. She smiled at him, unfolding her hands. "Nothing will happen, Peter."
"Maybe," he shrugged, "But you never know." Tonight, it seemed, the sharpness of his gaze was blunted. He was laid back, resigned from fighting with the world. There was something still breathtaking about him, even without the attitude.
At the end of the evening, they went back to her apartment. Although Peter Bishop was not love for Olivia, that night she knew that he probably could have been.
The moonlight filtered through the curtains, illuminating his skin as she traced the valleys of his muscles with her fingers. His eyes were closed, although he wasn't sleeping.
"Olivia?" he breathed out, his voice raspy, the residues of pleasure still lingering in his body.
She kissed his shoulder, letting her hand rest on his chest.
"What is this?" he asked.
She knew what he was talking about. "I don't know. Attraction?"
He thought about it. "Nothing more?"
She shook her head. "It doesn't feel like love."
He did not say anything more. Eventually, his breathing evened out while he fell into a deep sleep. She counted the beats of his heart under her palm for a long time before she did the same.
Thick, gray smoke was everywhere. Olivia struggled to stand up. She couldn't go anywhere, because she couldn't see. The smoke made her throat hurt and her eyes water. She took a few steps forward, trying to get her bearings. She looked down at her feet, recognizing the pattern on the cement. She was in a familiar plaza.
There was thunder overhead. Big, heavy raindrops landed on the top of her head, then her shoulders and her feet until she was drenched. The rain made the smoke go away leaving behind a dark, colorless world.
The sound of the falling droplets obscured any noise other than her footsteps. She could see now, even through the dim light. The clouds above were a dark gray.
A bolt of lighting illuminated her surroundings, then ground-splitting thunder seemed to stir the trees. Right in front of her, in the very middle of the plaza lay a lone figure.
Olivia broke into a sprint, the heavy rain getting in her eyes as she sped forward. Her stomach lurched violently when she got close enough to identify the figure. A pool of blood was beside him, its rich, dark red the only color in this dim, colorless world. His eyes were closed, his face serene. He looked so young.
She fell to her knees, the scream she had meant to let out stuck in her throat.
Olivia awoke with a gasp. She took in deep breaths, trying to steady the heavy, fast pace of her heartbeat.
"Liv, are you ok?" a sleepy, warm voice mutter from beside her. Without waiting for an answer he slide closer and wrapped an arm around her waist.
She nodded, though she was aware he could not see her.
It took him a moment to come out of his sleep state. "Hey," he said, his words now clear, "What's going on?"
Tears slid down her face without her permission. He touched her cheek, feeling the moisture. His body tensed.
"It's nothing," she whispered, "Just a nightmare. Sorry to wake you."
He brushed away her tears with his thumbs. She knew he was looking at her, scanning for clues.
"Want to tell me what it was about?"
She shook her head. Even remembering made her want to cry again.
He seemed to understand, letting it go. He stayed close by her and began to hum a slow, melancholy tune. Eventually she drifted off into a light, dreamless sleep.
His phone rang on a Tuesday. It was Lugovick. They were to meet the next day, at 6pm at the address he gave him. The FBI was tapped into the line, so Olivia's phone rang 30 seconds after the call came through. They were both to report at headquarters.
They did not tap Peter or bug him in any way. They figured that Lugovick was probably smart enough to have Peter swept before he even said hello to him. This meeting was too crucial, so they decided not to take the risk. Lugovick was showing enough trust for Peter by inviting him to a private meeting. If Peter proved to be a fake or a Fed, obviously the deal would be off and, quite possibly, Peter would wind up shot between the eyes by a .22 magnum. Of course, there was always the possibility that Lugovick was any kind of crazy and he already knew what was going on. If that was true, then the only reason he would invite Peter anywhere outside the public eye was to off him.
So they needed Peter to be as authentic as possible. They gave him keys to his own car, something they had prepared from the beginning. The black Mustang shone under the lights of the parking lot. As Peter walked next to it, his whole stance changed, molding to match the car.
This was going to be no ride into the sunset but judging by looks alone, it sure seemed that way. Peter's lean form against the car, leather jacket over his shoulder, a pair of hot wheels to drive in. To the lot custodian next to Olivia, he probably looked like he was enjoying himself.
Olivia knew that the reason his eyes looked darker and his eyebrows were more arched was not because he was trying to be cool. It was because he had not expected this. Deep down, he never thought it would go this far.
His cologne, the one she had put on him right before they came to headquarters, was still on her fingers. She could not move. She felt rooted to the he got in the car, right after taking one last look at her, she felt as if she was turning into stone. The engine roared to life. He almost made it to the exit ramp before he put the car in reverse and stopped right in front of her. With the engine still running he got out, walked around and took her face in his hands.
"Don't you dare worry about me, do you understand?"
She nodded. Even that simple motion was painful.
He kissed her. For a moment, the rest of the world stopped existing.
He drove away quickly after that, disappearing out of the lot before she could turn her head to see him go. It was better this way.
As soon as she went back upstairs, Broyles met her by the elevators. "I need to speak to you in my office, right away."
She nodded and followed him inside.
His office was meticulously neat, as always. There was evidence that it was often used for work and brooding, but even that was neatly stacked. Despite the cleanliness, the space was not impersonal. A coffee mug sat on a coaster next to the keyboard. The couch, made of soft leather, looked like it had been used. There were pictures of friends and colleagues on the walls. One, Olivia noticed, was particularly close to his desk. It was of him and Nina Sharp, shaking hands over what looked like a contract. Olivia recognized the Massive Dynamic conference room.
"Sit down," he instructed her, settling on his own chair.
She did so, on a chair across his desk.
He put his hands together, elbows on the arm rests. He seemed to regard her for a long time before he spoke. Olivia stared back at him. She could not imagine what this was about.
"As you know, the personal lives of the agents in this division are of no concern to me. But, since you seem to be the exception to every rule there is, that is how I will play this game. What I am about to say is not to be taken as a reprimand or as any kind of advice. It's a ... concern. From a friend."
"A friend, sir?"
"As I said, the exception to every rule." Was there a ghost of a smile on his face? "It has come to my attention that you... care about Peter Bishop. Is that correct?"
Olivia kept her expression neutral. She wondered what Peter would do in a situation like this.
"Well?"
"Yes, that is correct, sir."
"I trust you realize that Mr. Bishop hasn't always been on the right side of the law. You know his file. You know what he has done. You know what he is capable of doing."
"Sir, what does this have to do with -"
He interrupted her, continuing. "His father, Walter, was the only thing keeping him here. Working for us. You may not have realized this, but Walter is becoming more and more independent with each passing day. This means that Peter's time with us may expire sooner rather than later."
Olivia had not thought of this, but she knew that Peter and Walter still had a lot of things to sort out. Peter would never take off without doing right by Walter first.
"Peter's M.O. has him as the kind who does not stay in one place for too long."
"He's been here longer than anywhere else." She pointed out.
Broyles gave her one long look. "You're right. Don't forget about this. You are too good of a person to get trapped by the likes of Peter Bishop."
Olivia could tell that he really was concerned. The stern lines on his face were softer and his head was tilted a little to the right, as if he was anxious to see how she would respond.
"Thank you sir, I appreciate it."
He dropped his chin, just a little, as she took her leave. That tight knot in her throat softened just a little.
Note: My goodness, it took me forever to post this chapter! Apologies for the delay. Thanks for the reviews so far!