A/N : good news, this chapter is longer than usual! I hope you guys will like it.
Previously on Quarantined : Peter fell on his knees, trying to loosen the collar of his shirt. Breathing heavily, he fell onto the floor, suffocating.
Olivia panicked and stood, immobile, a few feet from Peter. Finally, her brain clicked, her former marine training kicking in and she rushed to his side, loosening his collar and helping him lie on his back. She grabbed his head and put his chin up, clearing his airway.
"Come on, take deep, slow breaths". She placed her hand on his chest, feeling him weaken, his lungs filling less and less with oxygen. His eyes were closed, his arms limp on the ground. She was loosing him. She couldn't afford to lose him, not before clearing the air between them. Not ever.
She moved next to his head and grabbed his jaw, before blowing air into his lungs. She saw his chest expand, felt his breathe come out of him, but he wasn't breathing back in by himself. She kept the mouth-to-mouth she'd been taught to years beforehand, during her rookie training. She never thought she'd ever need it.
Olivia checked for his pulse, feeling it after several attempts; it was weak and irregular, his heart beating less and less strongly.
"No, don't you dare!" she felt tears burn the back of her eyes, refusing to let them fall. She insufflated more air into his lungs, pressing onto his chest to wake his heart up. "Come on, Peter, you're stronger than this!"
She redoubled her efforts, getting dizzy, her arms aching, her fingers numb against his chest. She wouldn't stop, not until he came back to her. She needed him, even if she refused to admit it.
"Damn it, Peter, breathe!" She formed a fist with her hand, hitting him above his heart, mimicking an electroshock. She hit him once, twice, and suddenly he took a deep breath, his hand reflexively moving to his torso, coughing. Olivia laughed through her tears, letting her head fall on his chest before checking for his pulse once again.
It was stronger than mere seconds before, his lungs now filling by their own. The problem was, he wasn't conscious yet, and his airway seemed blocked, a whistling sound coming out of his throat. Keeping a hand on him, she grabbed her phone and called Astrid, whom she hoped was with Walter. She quickly explained what had happened to the young agent, who passed the phone to Peter's father. He advised to help him using the oxygen supply sitting in the hallway, if it was still there – or maybe he had moved it to the storage room at the far end of the lab, he couldn't remember.
Not wanting to let Peter alone for more than a few seconds, Olivia rushed to get the item, keeping herself from inhaling the presumably poisoned atmosphere, and ran back to him. She quickly put the oxygen mask on his mouth and nose and turned the tap on the bottle, filling the it up. Several minutes passed, Walter still on the phone, waiting to hear whether his son was going to make it or not. He was, for once, extremely calm, Olivia noted. She reassured him when she noticed the whistling sound disappearing, Peter breathing more regularly, his pulse stronger.
"I think it worked, Walter." She couldn't see him but imagined him bouncing in the middle of the FBI lab, with a speechless Astrid at his side.
"Thank you, agent Dunham, for saving my son's life." Olivia smiled at that, promising to keep Walter updated about Peter's condition, before hanging up. She tried to move Peter to the couch, where he could lie more comfortably. His eyes opened when she lifted him, and he bought his hand to his face, feeling the oxygen mask. She laid him back on the floor and crouched near him, smiling.
"Welcome back." He made an attempt to speak, only to have Olivia shake her head. "Don't talk. You…" she sighed. Not wanting to get upset over his reckless behavior in the lab, she helped him walk to the couch, rolling the bottled oxygen and placing it near the foot of the furniture.
"Here, get some rest. If you need anything, I'm here, okay?" he nodded weakly, his eyes already closing. She sat near him, watching his sleep, making sure he was alright. It had been a close call. With her job, she was used to dealing with critical situations; she had lost partners, friends, and her former lover because of it. She had always dealt with this downside of being an FBI agent, figuring out it was a sacrifice they all had to make for the country. For their universe.
But even though she knew she could lose anyone, at anytime, she wouldn't accept that that person could be Peter, someday. Not only wasn't he a government agent, but she had been the one to drag him back to the States. She was somehow responsible for his well-being, for his safety, even though he claimed he was a big boy who could take care of himself.
Sighing, she brought her hand to his head, softly stroking his hair, observing him. He looked exhausted, deeply worn out. Of course, his ordeal with his nearly death had drained his body out of energy. But behind that, he looked like he hadn't had a decent night of sleep in weeks. She had noticed his stubble was longer than she remembered – but then, maybe he had decided to go for a change while she was over there; while she, the other Olivia, had shared her life with him. His eyes looked different, too; not only for the constant darkness underlying them, but for the ghosted look he supported. He tried to hide it, but she knew him too well to not see through his facade.
She was deeply hurt when Peter had told her what had happened during her missing time. She had tried to play it cool, saying she understood, arguing that it didn't change anything between them. She had managed to keep a strong face the first day, loosing it only in the privacy of her apartment; she had snapped at him the second day, avoided talking to him when it wasn't necessary for the investigation. Finally, as Barrett was arrested, as she had listened to the crazy maniac, the walls she had safely built fell, her guarded masquerade broken down.
As she sat there, on the rusty garden chair, weepingly pouring her heart our to Peter, she had see how hurt he was, too. She couldn't avoid the look in his reddening eyes; he had to have known that by telling her the truth, he was taking the chance to lose her. But she was slowly starting to appreciate him being honest with her, and not let her live through another lie. Peter was one of the rare people she could trust blindly, despite what had happened between them. He had had the nobility to take the shot for what the other her had done, even if in the end, he was just as much of a victim as she was.
Olivia's ringing phone interrupted her thoughts. She cursed and fumbled in her pocket, trying to answer it before Peter woke up. Hitting the answering button, she watched him stir in his sleep, hopefully not arousing. She walked to the far end of the room, talking softly.
"Dunham." It was Walter, inquiring about his son.
"Agent Dunham, I am sorry to disturb you, but could you check on Peter for me?" She assured him that he was fine and currently resting on the couch.
"Oh, well, that is good. What I am asking for however, is for you to run a few tests for me, as I cannot do them myself." Olivia frowned and went back to Peter, sitting near his legs.
"Alright, what do you want me to do?" She did as asked; his skin looked normal, but she couldn't remember whether it was pinker when Peter had fallen to the ground or not. His pulse seemed strong and regular, his breathing somehow rapid but nothing alerting, the oxygen mask still helping him. Finally, she grabbed the medical flashlight from the desk, cursing internally for waking Peter up so harshly.
"Peter?" she shook his shoulder gently, waiting for him to rouse. "Come on, open your eyes." He did as asked and she quickly apologized before lighting the offending object straight toward his eyes, watching the pupils react.
"They seem big." She told Walter. Nodding she moved the light in and out of his vision, gauging his eyes' reaction. "I'm not sure, Walter. His pupils react, just not so much." Peter frowned and took the oxygen mask off, trying to sit up. Olivia put her hand on his chest, forcing him to stay down on the couch.
"Liv, what's going on?" She asked Walter to hang on while she summarily explained to Peter Walter's theory. "He thinks he might have an idea of what killed the victims, and what poisoned us; but to be certain, we have to check each other and describe the symptoms as best as we can."
Peter nodded and help his hand, palm up, to Olivia, silently asking her to pass him the phone. "Walter? Yes, I'm okay." He listened to his father's ramblings, quickly stopping him. "Look, whatever it is you think it is, what are the symptoms?" Peter listened intently, trying to memorize the details through his foggy brain. "Walt, slow down, would you? Let me check Olivia." He put the phone on his lap, Walter's voice filtering through the speaker.
Her eyebrows rose on her forehead, wondering what was going on. Before she could react, Peter had sat down and grabbed the penlight from her hand, flashing it to her eyes, observing her pupils react, his right hand on her cheek to keep her head steady. Humming, he then checked her carotidal pulse, and finally placed the back of his hand on her upper chest, checking her breathing, waking goose bumps on her skin as his hand glided on her body.
Placing the phone back on his ear, he dropped his other hand on her leg, unconsciously stroking it. Blushing, she tried to concentrate on what Peter was saying to his father. "-so everything seems to correspond, even though she seems to be doing better." He looked at her, noticing the pink color of her cheeks, knowing it wasn't due to the poisoning at all. His hand stopped moving, resting on her leg, while he finished his conversation. "Okay, call us back when you have something new."
"So?" Olivia cleared her throat and busied herself with the oxygen mask and bottle, avoiding to look at Peter.
"So, Walter thinks he knows what's going on. He's running a few tests and will call us as soon as he knows what it is. In the meanwhile, he advises us to eat the pastries from the fridge and drink soda or any sweet drink."
Neither of them knew what to think about Walter's mysterious recommendation. He hadn't told them what was his guess, not wanting to alarm them unnecessarily, so they agreed to do as he had said, and got ready for dinner, putting the food out of the fridge and setting it on the desk.