A/N: I am officially less than 2 weeks away from being free. Aka done with student teaching. I have missed writing soooo much, you have no idea. I'm starting my new fringe rewatch as soon as I'm done, let's hope the muse will come around and destroy my soul. Also, this happened because I watched a video about Olivia being her BAMF self, and it gave me feels.

SELF-PRESERVATION

Anyone who had ever spent more than five minutes around Olivia Dunham knew that her sense of self-preservation was virtually nonexistent. She made that clear on a daily basis.

When faced with a dangerous situation, if that dangerous situation involved protecting random innocents or righting some imaginary wrong, the fact that it also happened to be potentially deadly never fazed her in the least.

The stupidest thing someone could therefore ever do was fall in love with her. Peter was well aware of that –had been for a ridiculously long time, yet there he was. Completely fucked.

Once again, he had missed the big of the confrontation, only catching up to her on its tail end. To his defense, he had taken a pretty bad blow to the head, and unlike her, he was not immune to pain and dizzy spells. He arrived just in time to see the last round of their fight, his instincts immediately torn between staying somewhat hidden behind a car and jumping in to help her.

He quickly accepted the fact that he had better stay half-concealed, his aching skull a good reminder that he couldn't do much with his bare hands. If he jumped in now, he would probably end up dead, both sides having guns and not being afraid to use them.

Each blow Olivia took pained him more than the throbbing at the back of his head, but each blow she furiously returned filled him with dark satisfaction. Despite his concern, he always loved watching her in action; she was a skilled fighter, she knew where to hit and how to use her momentum or her enemies' to inflict damage.

Less than a full minute after he joined the scene and cowered behind cover, she fired the last shot, the bullet piercing the shapeshifter's forehead in typical Dunham fashion.

In the seconds that followed, the sound of her labored breathing dominated their surroundings. By the time he'd jogged to her, moments later, she was already standing back up, hissing as her left hand reached for her right shoulder.

"Fuck," she breathed out.

This was not a sign of bewilderment at the way things had escalated –or fallen apart– in the past seven minutes. This was not an expression of her pain either, even though she was obviously hurting, her recently healed shoulder having taken another hard blow.

No, she was disappointed, cursing at herself. Again, typical Dunham fashion. Peter was not surprised.

Irritated? Most certainly, but surprised? Ha ha.

Everything always turned into a freaking crusade in Olivia's mind, there was no in between. Capturing a live shapeshifter had become one of her main goals these past few weeks, especially since Charlie, and while he commanded her for her unwavering determination and unrelenting stubbornness, if she could just stop getting herself almost killed every five minutes, he would appreciate it.

She was bleeding, again, bruises already blooming on the pale skin of her face, her temple scratched, hair and clothes equally disheveled. Even though she was still holding on to her shoulder with a pained, frustrated grimace, Peter did not ask her if she was okay. As he watched her glare at the shapeshifter on the ground, chest still heaving, he knew it would be pointless.

"Should I even bother calling in some EMTs?" he offered anyway, not even trying to conceal the sarcastic notes from his voice.

Her expression changed slightly, her scowl turning into pursed lips as she finally met his eyes.

"What for?" she asked with a hint of annoyance, letting go of her shoulder at last to wipe off her nose, marking the back of her hand with a trail of fresh blood. "He's dead."

Peter shook his head a little, his turn to scowl at her. "Never mind," he sighed, defeated.