A/N : I had some trouble writing characters' feelings, so any remark or advice will help me ;)
Walter and Astrid had successfully extracted tobacco and cyanide from all of the victims' blood. The symptoms Olivia and Peter were a match to light cyanide poisoning, albeit not similar. Olivia had been less intoxicated than Peter, suffering from headache, dizziness and hallucinating - as she had confirmed on the phone to Walter a few minutes earlier. Peter, more severely poisoned, had almost died, and probably would have, if Olivia hadn't saved his life.
Walter inquired about Gene's well being again, sparkling Olivia's curiosity.
"She seems fine, from what we can see from here. She had plenty of food and water yesterday, and she's been mooing from time to time, so I guess all is right." Walter smiled, both glad to hear his pet was still alive, but more importantly, that his theory was correct.
"Olivia, have you and Peter been eating the pastries from the fridge? " The FBI agent concurred. "Those were Gene's food supplement." Frowning, Olivia listened intently. "She wouldn't take her B12 vitamins the usual way, so I had to lure her into taking them. I filled the pastries with a chemical replacement, hydroxocobalamin." Walter explain, proud of his subterfuge. Olivia didn't know how to answer.
"So Gene's blood is pumped with it, that's why she's alright." Peter tentatively approached Olivia, wanting to know what his father was talking about. Understand his attempt, she hit the speaker button on her phone, sharing the conversation.
"What about these cravings I've had for sugar? Are they remotely related?" she asked, her phone now laid on the desk, both Peter and Olivia sitting on the furniture.
"Oh, there is indeed a theory about glucose lessening the effects of cyanide poisoning, but nothing has been proved yet. Perhaps your body naturally craved what could help it?" Not knowing what to answer, Olivia stood awkwardly near the desk, occupying herself with the victims' files, dreading the moment when Peter and her would be facing each other again. Peter finished the phone call with his father, listening to his advices before hanging up.
He looked at her, not knowing what to say, or do. "Astrid is calling Broyles, to let him know what's going on. Walter think it's better if we stay here until the FBI has cleared the lab from the cyanide." Nodding, she carefully made a pile with the files, before moving to rearrange the pencils in their holder.
Sighing, annoyed by her behavior, Peter let himself fall on the couch and rubbed his eyes, trying to find the right words. "Look, I know you don't want to finish this conversation." She looked up through her bangs, which were peskily in front of her eyes again. "Can we at least be friends? Or try to? I don't want to lose what we had before..." He cringed, not liking how words were pouring out of his mouth before he could think them through.
Sighing, Olivia sat at the far end of the couch, glancing at him. "I understand what you tried to say, earlier." She frowned. "Well, I think I do. I don't hate you, Peter." She shook her head and turned toward him, facing him. "I don't want to hate you, even if right now I don't want to be with you the way I wanted to a few months ago." She took a deep breathe. "I don't know if we'll ever go back to the easy friendship we had, but I don't want to lose that, however hard it is right now." Peter nodded, relieved that she wasn't completely shutting him off her life. "When I said I didn't want to be with you-"
"It's okay, Liv." He cut her off. He would take whatever she gave to him, however small it was. "Peter..." she shook her head, wanting him to let her finish. "I don't want to be with you, even as a friend, for now. It's hard enough to work together, so let's just settle on being partners, okay?" Peter world's crumbled; he had expect her to reject him, to ask for him to stop working for the Fringe division, or for her to be transferred. He had guessed that being as devoted to the job as she was, she would find a way to make it past through the resentment she felt toward him. But never had he imagined to be working with her, without sharing more than the case. Without going for a drink after a hard day at work. Without working on a case over a pizza at her place. Without calling her at random hours just to hear her voice, pretending to need some intel or advice. He pushed his palms into his eyes, seeing stars behind his eyelids, feebly trying to the shut the world out.