A/N: All I can say is that I reeeeeaally apologise for the long wait between this chapter and the last. RL kind of kicked me in the butt and left me internetless for a while. I do hope you enjoy this one and as always, THANK YOU SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO MUCH for all your amazing comments and reviews :)
Unexpectedly and secretly, the giant heartbeat enters out being, so that we scream
~ Rainer Maria Rilke
Chapter 8: Heartbeat
...
There's something strangely mesmerising about the three-dimensional logo bouncing around on her computer screen. She watches as it lands and swerves, her mind pleasantly fuzzy and distracted.
"Anything good on TV?"
The sound of the voice drags her attention away from the standard FBI screensaver and towards the door of her office where Charlie stands with an amused smirk.
"You know if you keep this up, you're gonna have me wondering if Bell had you replaced with one of his shifter things."
She removes her glasses and raises her brow curiously. "Keep what up?"
"That…thing you're doing with your face." Charlie comes in and unceremoniously plops down on the chair opposite her desk. "It's like…an upturn of your lips. If I didn't know you better, I'd call it a smile." He looks at her teasingly and she tries to suppress the urge to grin.
"Ha. Ha," she says, struggling to maintain a poker face.
"I'm serious, Liv." Charlie's dark eyes take on a sombre shade. "You look good. I like seeing you smile."
This time, she allows the warmth she's feeling inside to take over and her face softens. "Thanks, Charlie," she says softly.
He looks as if he's about to say more, but then shakes his head barely perceptively and stands up. "Uh, Farnsworth wanted me to remind you that we're all going for drinks this evening. Apparently Kent's divorce just came through."
She puckers her lips almost disapprovingly. "And we're celebrating that?"
"Hey, we gotta get our kicks somewhere." He shrugs a shoulder, "besides, he's buying the first round, so…" He watches her with curiosity. "If you've got other plans, Livvy…"
"I don't," she says quickly, then glances at the date on her monitor. "I don't."
"Okay." He gives her one last appraising glace before standing up. "I meant what I said," he mutters softly. "It's good to see you smiling."
She nods and ducks her head, self-conscious under his scrutiny.
Once he leaves, Olivia deflates somewhat. She's been back at work for just under a week. A week of catching up on overdue reports, case files and strategy meetings. A week of nodding to co-workers in greeting, a week of pleasantries and thin-lipped smiles. A week of private moments when she felt so giddy, so light-headed that she wondered if she'd somehow been dosed with something.
But the cause of her new-found euphoria isn't a mystery, though she has difficulty admitting it, even to herself.
It's been four days since she's last seen him. It was Tuesday when he disappeared sometime between making popcorn for the movie and telling her about one of the cases he remembered working on with her. Something about a substance called Osmium. She has no recollection of anything to do with floating bodies. He was halfway through his tale when it just went quiet. And then he was gone. Again.
She's grown accustomed to it. This phantom coming and going, the loneliness that settles once he's gone, the excitement that spreads at the sound of his voice.
After Walter's stroke, after she discovered Peter to be his son, after they kissed, she felt ripped open and utterly exposed. She'd never before been so dependent on another human being for comfort. Yet even the word comfort seemed to fall short. It was more than that. Being around Peter filled something inside of her. He healed something she hadn't even realised was wounded.
That night, on the couch, she had leaned towards him, expecting a repeat of their previous kiss, but there was no hunger or desperation. His mouth was gentle, soothing and she found herself sighing into him as if being enfolded. And then his lips were on her forehead in a kiss that told her not about lust, but about protection and safety and Olivia allowed herself to be protected. And when Peter's arms had come around to cradle her, she closed her eyes and for the first time in forever, falling asleep was easy.
When she woke up, he was gone and two days later, at two am, his low voice filled her apartment as he flicked on the coffee-maker and hummed a Frank Sinatra tune that sounded vaguely familiar. And so it went on. Sometimes, she'd come home, and he'd be there, sometimes he'd show up while she was sleeping or reading or doing performing some other mundane activity and he'd pull her out of her obscure thoughts and make her laugh. Once, he'd just arrived and walked into the bathroom while she was reaching for a towel to wrap around her still-wet body. He murmured an apology and turned around, but she caught the way his eyes lingered for just a moment and she couldn't help but wish he had stayed.
They didn't kiss again. Touching was limited as well. It was as if he was waiting for her to approach him, yet she didn't, she couldn't take that step, not when she wasn't sure if she was going to wake up next to an empty space.
They talked though. They talked about everything. He told Olivia about his childhood, his memories and what he remembered of her. She could tell he was selective with his information, but she didn't push. They had time, she told herself, even when it felt like a lie.
It's nearing 6pm when Astrid knocks on her office door before making her way towards the chair that a surprising number of people have been occupying of late.
It's funny, Olivia muses as the younger woman makes herself comfortable, how they went from co-workers to friends without the typical bonding rituals of the twenty-something female. There were no shared stories over apple martinis or the borrowing of shoes. Instead, she taught the younger agent how to pull a trigger without blinking and kept her company as she dissected worms for Walter. Saving universes tended to bring people together she supposed.
"Are you still coming tonight?" Astrid asks casually, but Olivia picks up on the hopefulness in her tone.
"Between you and Charlie, do I really have a choice?" she asks wryly.
The younger agent ducks her head with a laugh. "We're just – it'll be good for you," Astrid says, changing the track of wherever her sentence was going.
When Olivia smiles back at her, there's genuine affection in her eyes.
"Have you heard anything about Walter recently? I haven't been to see him since he got released from the hospital." Astrid says softly and Olivia's face falls slightly.
"Elizabeth says he's doing better," she says with a nod. "He uh, apparently refuses speech-therapy because he's convinced that he can rework the synapses in his brain himself, so-"
Astrid rolls her eyes. "Well, at least he's still Walter."
Olivia idly runs her finger along her desk. "Yeah," she mutters. Since Peter, everything's changed. Everything she knows to be true isn't. It's a difficult concept to wrap her mind around. She's not even sure if he's right. Perhaps he's the one with the false memories. But the hole she's been living with for as long as she can remember seems to tell her otherwise. It's strange how the mere presence of another human being has rerouted her entire internal mapping. Her fundamental core is in question.
"Olivia, are you okay?" Astrid breaks her out of her thoughts and she nods.
"I'm fine. I'll see you later?"
It seems to be what she wants to hear, because the younger agent smiles and stands up. "You know the place, right? Opposite the old Rosencrantz building."
Olivia thinks for a moment. The pub doesn't sound familiar, but she's sure her GPS will find it.
...
The place isn't hard to find. Finding parking along the sleet-ridden Boston streets proves slightly more challenging and Olivia is grateful for the warmth that envelopes her once she steps into the pub. She's come straight from the office, having resisted the temptation to go home first. If he was there, she knows she wouldn't have left. How do you tell someone who crosses universes for brief periods just to see you that you've made other plans?
She immediately spots Astrid at the bar, chatting to Kent who looks like he's already had one drink too many. She remembers how excited he was, barely three years before when he announced his engagement. Now it was all crumbling around him. The impermanence of life never fails to rattle her.
She holds up her hand in a brief wave to Astrid and makes her way to the other side of the bar. Looking around, the place suddenly seems more familiar than she'd initially thought, though she's certain she's never been in this particular pub before. She supposes in terms of décor and ambience they all look alike. Her double bourbon arrives swiftly and she takes a welcome sip of the dark liquid.
"I would have picked you for a more of a vodka girl." She turns to her left, where Lincoln Lee is watching her with an admittedly disarming grin. "Or…woman." His brow furrows slightly. "Is girl offensive? I mean, I wouldn't want to offend…" he trails off somewhat sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck.
She returns his smile in kind and glances at the Budweiser in his hand. "I would not have picked you for a beer…guy."
His smile widens and she wonders what it is about him that immediately makes her feel so comfortable. Latent memories of his alternate version, she supposes. The version whose smile was just a little more roguish and whose eyes twinkled with just a little more mischief. The version who looked at her alternate like she was the most perfect thing in any of the universes. She sneaks a glance at Lincoln and realises that he's got one thing in common with his alternate. She finishes her drink in two gulps and looks back to his impressed face.
"Can I buy you another?" he asks with a certain innocence that isn't presumptuous or assuming. It's simple. And her life, she thinks desperately, could do with a dose of simple. So she nods slowly.
"Sure."
...
Olivia isn't a reckless person. She's been told, by her superiors that she's occasionally too impulsive when engaged in a mission and that she's prone to take unnecessary physical risks to acquire her targets, but she isn't reckless. Tonight however, she's feeling somewhat of the latter. She can't tell if it's the alcohol or the way Lincoln Lee's dopey grin lights up his face every time she says something remotely interesting. All she knows is that she's sitting at a table, talking to her co-worker who she is certain is flirting with her as best he knows how.
"So did you always want to be in law enforcement?" Lincoln asks, nursing his fourth beer.
"I pretty much knew that this is what I wanted to do since I was a kid," Olivia replies. She looks down and back up at him. "I can't imagine doing anything else." The first bars of the song whisper out of the jukebox in the corner of the room and Olivia feels her heart clench up. She's suddenly nauseous.
"Well, you're amazing at it," Lincoln says, looking down at her hand on the table as if he's considering reaching for it. "I mean, I've heard stories about the things you've done, cases…"
His voice trails off and all she can hear is that song, that goddamn song, as if it's been amplified through the room.
"…basically it's amazing that you're-"
"I have to go," she says suddenly, standing up so swiftly that she almost knocks the stool over in the process. Lincoln's up in a second, his hand on her shoulder to steady her and she flinches unconsciously. He notices and immediately pulls back.
"Is it—did I say something?" He's like a puppy, she thinks absently. Those eyes registering surprise and hurt.
"No." She says it firmly. "No, I'm just tired. I'm sorry, Lincoln." She manages a tight-lipped smile before walking away from him and out of the stifling pub, just as "Velvet Underground" croons the last verse of Pale Blue Eyes.