A/N : thank you so much everyone for still reading this fic. You guys rock. Thank you for the wonderful reviews, they really keep me going :)
Phillip Broyles, head of the Fringe division, was sitting on the black cushioned FBI standard desk chair, worrying about his friend and fellow agent, Olivia Dunham. She had insisted that she needed to get back to work, and he had granted her request, knowing all too well the raw need to burrow feelings and thoughts into work, numbing the mind and finding solace, at least for a few hours. He now doubted his decision to send her back so soon, knowing she would have to deal with personal matters, sooner or later. He didn't know Peter Bishop that well, but he felt the man was honorable, and would come clean with what had transpired between him and the Olivia from the other universe. It was only a matter of time. Now that he and Olivia were stuck in the lab office since two days, he feared what could happen. He knew both were responsible adults, capable of dealing with whatever was thrown their way, but the situation they were both stuck in was unprecedented.
His corded phone rang, his secretary since long gone home wouldn't filter the calls. Slowly, he picked the cradle up, listening.
"This is Broyles." His voice forced respect. The phone call was made from the hospital front desk by an agitated nurse.
"Agent Broyles? This is nurse Galloway, from the central hospital. A man just checked himself in, asking for you specifically. I'm sorry to disturb you at such a late hour, but he wouldn't let us examine him until he had spoken to you." Rubbing his forehead, he sighed.
"How did you have my number?" She explained that she had called 911, asking to be put in contact with him; the person whom she'd talked to had finally agreed when he had heard the symptoms the unknown man was presenting.
"He has trouble breathing, his skin has an unusual pink coloration, and he keeps saying he's going to die without the proper treatment. Do you know what's going on, sir?" Recognizing the symptoms, he informed the nurse he would be at the hospital as soon as possible, bringing his team with. As he drove toward the Bishops' house, he called Astrid, knowing she was staying with Walter, asking for them to be ready to be picked up. Half an hour later, they were all in a secluded examining room.
"I am special agent Broyles. You have requested to see me, I hope for you it is important." Broyles stood at the end of the bed where the man currently lied, while Walter and Astrid examined him. Soon enough, the diagnostic was announced by Walter.
"Cyanide poisoning." Walter smiled, taking his rubber gloves off. "Do you have an antidote kit?" he asked the nurse. She nodded and quickly went to get one, quickly treating the patient. Walter turned to Astrid, asking for candy from the machine he had spotted in the hallway. She went with him, leaving Broyles and the working nurse with the patient.
"Alright, now that you have what you asked for, I'm listening. Who are you, and what do you know?" The young man looked frightened, wincing as an IV was put into his left arm, his right hand already handcuffed to the bed.
"My name is Andrew Boyett." The missing brother, Broyles mused. "My brothers were working on a project, and I don't know why, or how, but one day I came home and found them dead."
"Mister Boyett, don't insult me with your lies. I have neither the time nor the desire to prolong this meeting, so you either tell me the truth now, or I'll have you brought into custody for interrogation."
The young man admitted he was the one who had moved his three older brothers to an abandoned house in the suburbs, trying to hide the bodies. The four of them lived in the family house, together, since their parents death the previous year. Being 20 years old at that time, his brothers had taken care of him, but he had soon dropped school and found a job, helping them pay the bills. Pretending being tired, he didn't tell more to Broyles, who had no choice but to order a guard at the boy's door until morning.
The medical staff wasn't worried for Andrew's recovery, so Broyles, Astrid and Walter left the hospital at the beginning of the night, planning on going back in the morning. Broyles had to interrogate him, and Walter wanted to run a few other tests on him, with Broyles' consent. Astrid, of course, had no choice but to assist him.
Meanwhile, in the Harvard lab office, Peter and Olivia were trying to find arrangements for the night.
"Are you sure this couch isn't convertible?" Peter nodded for the third time, sighing.
"Look, I'll take the chair." Olivia refused to let him sleep on the desk chair, however comfortable he wanted her to believe it was.
"Peter, can't we just share the couch?" His eyebrows rose, a smirk forming on his lips. "I mean, we could just sit or sprawl on half of it..." she said unconvincingly. She wasn't keen on spending the night sitting, trying to get a few hours of sleep at most.
"Okay, I sprawl, you lie down. You can even use me as your pillow." He smiled, trying to have her agree to his plans. He was tired, he would sleep even if he had to stand up. She, on the other hand, would have more trouble to rest, if he referred to the previous night. Sighing, she reluctantly agreed, grabbing the blanket that laid heedlessly on the back of the seat.
Taking his shoes off, he propped them on a chair, pillowing his head on his folded coat. She discarded her shoes as well, took off her jacket, placing it carefully on the back of a chair, before joining him on the sofa, sitting awkwardly near him.
"Come on, I won't bite". He tapped on his shoulder, his arm along the top of the couch, creating an inviting human pillow. Extending her legs, she cushioned her head on his chest, not admitting to herself that she did like his closeness.
"Good night, Liv." he whispered, turning the light off with the nearby switch. "Night, Peter." she couldn't help but wonder if it had been that easy for them, to fall in each other arms. If it would have been so simple, were she the one who had came back. She couldn't help to hope that, someday, it could be that simple between them again.