Olivia/Peter fanfic (post-Finale): In Reverse (XIV)
A/N: This is part XIV...aka the wedding XD
Previous parts: I. // II. // III. // IV. // V. // VI. // VII. // VIII. // IX. // X. // XI. // XII. // XIII.
IN REVERSE
XIV.
Olivia is being oddly quiet today.
Admittedly, she is not the most talkative woman to begin with, but there is quiet and quiet.
Peter can lie to himself and pretend that happiness is the reason behind her demeanor, that she feels so happy it's rendering her speechless…but he knows her, and he has learned the hard way to recognize happiness in her. He knows how she in facts tends to open up a lot more easily when she feels particularly joyful and uncharacteristically optimistic; he knows all of her silences, too.
Even though there definitely is a soft glow around her today, he can tell that her silence is linked to pain, a low and quiet kind of pain.
She still speaks when the time is right, though, when asked if she promises to affirm him, respect him, and care for him during times of joy and hardship, to commit herself to share her feelings of happiness and sadness as long as they both shall live, for example. She looks at him as she answers; her eyes are soft, and so is her smile, and she tells him more with that look than these two words ever will, looking almost serene for a fleeting instant.
Isn't it what they've been doing for years, after all?
"I do," she says, and though he has always known her to be an assertive woman, she has never sounded more sure of anything.
His touch is slightly shaky when he slides the golden ring on her finger, but when he looks up at her, she's smiling reassuringly and lovingly. When they are officially declared 'husband and wife', his index finger curls up under her chin and he leans in to kiss his bride, feeling her smile widening against his lips as she presses her palm upon his drumming heart.
My wife, he thinks, and if Astrid hadn't already been doing enough crying for everybody present in the room, he might have shed a tear or two himself. He learns that day that there is nothing quite like marrying the love of your life to make a romantic at heart like him feel elated for at least two or three weeks, he guesses.
And maybe it simply makes a less romantic woman very quiet, he thinks, as she keeps on being exceedingly silent for most of the day.
He's not worried that she's regretting her choice. If anything, he has given her plenty of opportunities to 'back off' during the four months that have followed his proposal, as work seemed to constantly forced them to postpone the ceremony's date; every time he had told her that they didn't have to get married if she had changed her mind, she had rolled her eyes and said something along the lines of 'If I didn't know better, I'd think you're the one who's getting cold feet.'
What worries him is the simple fact that she has something to be distressed about, today. Sure, their life hasn't exactly been easy these past few years, and she has too many reasons to be upset about, but he wishes he could just make her forget it all, at least for one day…or one night, at that point.
It is just the two of them, now, back in their apartment; they are still all dressed up, though definitely less neatly than they were ten hours ago. Despite the civility of it all, Olivia had surprised everybody by wearing a white dress, instead of any light color she could have chosen. It's simple and quite plain, nothing fancy at all, but she looks beautiful. She has even let Astrid and Ella do something complicated with her hair, something braid-ish that involved flowers, but she took those out hastily, pointing out the fact that she didn't want to look like a decorated table. He's not one to brag, but he guesses he doesn't look too bad himself in his suit.
Though by now, all he really wants to do with these clothes is get them off their skins within the hour, and she knows it. She offers him a knowing look when he hands her a glass of champagne.
"Are you trying to get me drunk?" she asks with a smile, accepting the glass, before touching his with hers.
"I don't need to get you drunk anymore, honey," he answers cheerfully as she drinks. "You are now legally obligated to have intercourse with me."
This causes her to spit some of her champagne back into her glass, and he loves that her smile is brighter than it has been all day; she seems generally more relaxed, too. He leaves her standing there with her champagne for a minute to go put some music on. Though everybody in this world now uses Ipods and other highly advanced technology, he's still very fond of Walter's old music player and wide collection of vinyl. The one he puts on tonight is nothing new, though, and he turns around to watch her face as the first notes of a vaguely yet intimately familiar song fill the room.
She tilts her head, before shaking it slowly, still smiling as he makes his way back to her.
"Are you afraid I'm going to turn you down tonight?" She's amused and he loves it. "You don't need to pull out the big guns, Peter, I want to enjoy my wedding night, too."
He chuckles, taking the glass off her hand and putting it down with his on the table to free his hands, before turning back to her: he slides his arms around her waist, and she wraps hers around his neck. When their bodies are appreciatively closer, he whispers in her ear:
"This song brought us good luck in the past, I thought it was appropriate."
As they start spinning slowly to the music, cheek to cheek, it's her turn to chuckle. "You're attributing what happens that night to a song? If you ask me, you should thank the alcohol I brought."
He presses a kiss behind her ear, smiling foolishly. "Let's be honest here, we both know it was my charm alone that got you in my bed."
She lets out another soft chuckle against his neck, and a few seconds pass before she says: "Actually, I think it was mostly due to me deciding to try and be happy, for once." Though her voice is graver, he can still hear her smile.
He tightens his embrace, breathing her in as they sway slowly on the spot, getting lost in the melody as much as in the feel of her, one of her arms now wrapped around his waist, her other hand buried in his hair. But he eventually pulls away slightly so he can look at her, and even though she smiles softly at him, he knows something is still bothering her.
"Why do I get the feeling that you are not that happy at the moment, then?"
She frowns and stops their dance, pursing her lips in a confused smiled, her fingers sliding down from his hair to the back of his neck. "Of course I am happy," she says softly. "I just married you."
This earns her a soft, tender kiss, which could easily have turned into something else, but he leans his forehead against hers instead, staring intently at her as he makes them move slowly again. "What is it, then?"
She doesn't deny it; they are past denying anything by now. They are simply generally really good at pretending the worst never happened, for both their sanity. Close as they are, he feels her shrug more than he sees it.
"I don't know." She says eventually, lowering her gaze. "It's just that…I've never been a romantic woman, you know? But I can't lie. When you're a girl, from the moment you're born, you're practically brainwashed into thinking about love, and marriages, and how…perfect everything is supposed to be on that special day."
It's his turn to frown and stop their movements, straightening up again so he can take a better look at her face. She's blushing slightly now, as if almost ashamed of admitting this. Her smile is gone, too.
"You do know that I wasn't opposed to a white wedding, right?" he asks then, because they have discussed it, and he had told her that if she wanted to get married in a church, he would be more than fine with it; she had been the one suggesting that they should just do a civil ceremony with their closest friends.
Her hand moves to his face, cupping his cheek, and she smiles quite sadly. "I know," she says with another tilt of head. "It's not what I mean." He keeps on staring at her, waiting for her to go on, and she sighs, giving in. " I don't care about…the church, or the expensive fluffy dress, or even about the vows. It's more about…" She does that thing with her mouth again, averting her eyes and shaking her head slightly. "It's more about the people who are supposed to be sitting on the benches, you know? I feel like…too many people were missing today, people who deserved to be here."
And as she says these words, her eyes briefly dart to what he knows is the guestroom's door behind his back. A guestroom that almost became something else, once. But her gaze doesn't linger there, bringing her eyes back to his, and he feels a familiar pang in his chest as he stares at her, feeling the weight of her words. The line is back between her eyes, that little line that automatically appears whenever she's upset, even when she tries her best not to show it. Slowly, he leans his forehead against her again and starts spinning them around, just as slowly.
"Do you know why I asked you to marry me?" He asked then, and the corners of her mouth twitch a little; they both know he didn't exactly ask her.
"Because I was vulnerable and emotionally drained, and you knew I was less likely to turn you down?" She's trying to sound casual, and failing spectacularly, because she remembers that day as well as he does, and there really is nothing funny about it. He decides to ignore her answer.
"I asked you because I thought…'It can't get worse than this'."
She makes another face. "That's nice, Peter. Perfect reason to propose to a woman."
"I'm serious," he says, and his voice is low and almost stern; she offers him a smile that is almost apologetic, nuzzling his nose with hers, fingers ruffling the short hair on the back of his head.
"I know," she whispers, and he knows that she's just trying to forget about it all, about what happened four months ago, and before that, and before that…she's trying to forget, and so is he, but ultimately, they both know they will never forget.
It still shapes them, their life together and who they are, in so many ways, no matter how painful it is. Again, they are usually good at ignoring it all, at pretending that they are fine, just fine, because they're still here, together, and they can go through it all, one day at a time. But today is a special day.
He doesn't want her memories of this day to be filled with regrets and 'what ifs'.
"These past few years have been…really hard, on both us. As individuals, and as a couple," he says eventually, his voice now the only sound in the room; the song has ended, and they have unconsciously stilled too, solely focused on one another. "It's been hard on the entire planet, too, of course, but we both know that what really matters ultimately is our daily life, our personal world, because we're human, and humans have this limited perception on things. We suffer through hard times and…loses. But you said it yourself. 'We still have each other.'"
As he speaks, his fingers have instinctively found their way back to her face, nails grazing her cheek as her eyes steadily get shinier and shinier.
"So yeah, there you were, vulnerable and emotionally drained. And I thought, 'It can't get worse than this, but we're still here.' And I still want to be here for you ten years from now. I wanted you to marry me because there was absolutely no reason why you shouldn't marry me and be mine. I wanted you to be mine to the rest of the world, too. Because you're all I've got, Olivia."
When he finally stops talking, she is quiet alright. She simply stares at him for what feels like the longest time, that line deeper as her beautiful face contracts with the strength of whatever feelings he has created within her; he hopes they are mostly positive feelings.
Her eyes are definitely watery now, but she doesn't cry. She even manages a smile, before she starts shaking her head softly against his, and her voice is slightly hoarse when she speaks. "You know, I wish I had your way with words, at times."
He's smiling too, now, just as softly. "What do you mean?"
She shrugs again. "Well, whenever you're feeling particularly inspired, you come up with those great, wonderful speeches. It's quite beautiful, to be honest. And it's hard to deny you anything, afterwards."
He thinks briefly that she's not too bad with words herself; not bad all, actually. They both have issues when it comes to expressing their feelings, and while he tends to ramble for a few minutes before getting to the point, Olivia is straight forward.
She doesn't open up often, and yes, she might not be as romantic as he is, but when she wants to let him know how she feels, she hits the spot right away. Even thought it was a few years back, now, he still remembers her vividly; red hair and despair written all over her face, wearing her heart on her sleeve.
'Because you belong with me,' she had said.
She definitely has a way with words, too.
He could point it out to her, make her realize just how much power her words have on him…but he thinks better of it. She seems lighter already, her hand now moving slowly but decidedly over his back, in a quiet promise of what is to come tonight.
And so he lets it go, choosing to dissipate the tension a bit. "Well, I wish I had your aim, so I guess we really complete each other."
But letting herself be smothered by the intensity of what she is feeling has always rivaled with his romantic self, so she doesn't exactly let it go. She closes her eyes, then, and she looks both serene and overwhelmed as her fingers tighten their hold on his nape, her other hand tracing soft patterns on his back, and she lets out a deep sigh, her breath warm and comforting on his lips.
My wife…he thinks again.
And again, and again, and again.
"Yeah…we really do," she eventually murmurs.
(November 2015)
TO PART XV
Previous parts: I. // II. // III. // IV. // V. // VI. // VII. // VIII. // IX. // X. // XI. // XII. // XIII.
IN REVERSE
XIV.
Olivia is being oddly quiet today.
Admittedly, she is not the most talkative woman to begin with, but there is quiet and quiet.
Peter can lie to himself and pretend that happiness is the reason behind her demeanor, that she feels so happy it's rendering her speechless…but he knows her, and he has learned the hard way to recognize happiness in her. He knows how she in facts tends to open up a lot more easily when she feels particularly joyful and uncharacteristically optimistic; he knows all of her silences, too.
Even though there definitely is a soft glow around her today, he can tell that her silence is linked to pain, a low and quiet kind of pain.
She still speaks when the time is right, though, when asked if she promises to affirm him, respect him, and care for him during times of joy and hardship, to commit herself to share her feelings of happiness and sadness as long as they both shall live, for example. She looks at him as she answers; her eyes are soft, and so is her smile, and she tells him more with that look than these two words ever will, looking almost serene for a fleeting instant.
Isn't it what they've been doing for years, after all?
"I do," she says, and though he has always known her to be an assertive woman, she has never sounded more sure of anything.
His touch is slightly shaky when he slides the golden ring on her finger, but when he looks up at her, she's smiling reassuringly and lovingly. When they are officially declared 'husband and wife', his index finger curls up under her chin and he leans in to kiss his bride, feeling her smile widening against his lips as she presses her palm upon his drumming heart.
My wife, he thinks, and if Astrid hadn't already been doing enough crying for everybody present in the room, he might have shed a tear or two himself. He learns that day that there is nothing quite like marrying the love of your life to make a romantic at heart like him feel elated for at least two or three weeks, he guesses.
And maybe it simply makes a less romantic woman very quiet, he thinks, as she keeps on being exceedingly silent for most of the day.
He's not worried that she's regretting her choice. If anything, he has given her plenty of opportunities to 'back off' during the four months that have followed his proposal, as work seemed to constantly forced them to postpone the ceremony's date; every time he had told her that they didn't have to get married if she had changed her mind, she had rolled her eyes and said something along the lines of 'If I didn't know better, I'd think you're the one who's getting cold feet.'
What worries him is the simple fact that she has something to be distressed about, today. Sure, their life hasn't exactly been easy these past few years, and she has too many reasons to be upset about, but he wishes he could just make her forget it all, at least for one day…or one night, at that point.
It is just the two of them, now, back in their apartment; they are still all dressed up, though definitely less neatly than they were ten hours ago. Despite the civility of it all, Olivia had surprised everybody by wearing a white dress, instead of any light color she could have chosen. It's simple and quite plain, nothing fancy at all, but she looks beautiful. She has even let Astrid and Ella do something complicated with her hair, something braid-ish that involved flowers, but she took those out hastily, pointing out the fact that she didn't want to look like a decorated table. He's not one to brag, but he guesses he doesn't look too bad himself in his suit.
Though by now, all he really wants to do with these clothes is get them off their skins within the hour, and she knows it. She offers him a knowing look when he hands her a glass of champagne.
"Are you trying to get me drunk?" she asks with a smile, accepting the glass, before touching his with hers.
"I don't need to get you drunk anymore, honey," he answers cheerfully as she drinks. "You are now legally obligated to have intercourse with me."
This causes her to spit some of her champagne back into her glass, and he loves that her smile is brighter than it has been all day; she seems generally more relaxed, too. He leaves her standing there with her champagne for a minute to go put some music on. Though everybody in this world now uses Ipods and other highly advanced technology, he's still very fond of Walter's old music player and wide collection of vinyl. The one he puts on tonight is nothing new, though, and he turns around to watch her face as the first notes of a vaguely yet intimately familiar song fill the room.
She tilts her head, before shaking it slowly, still smiling as he makes his way back to her.
"Are you afraid I'm going to turn you down tonight?" She's amused and he loves it. "You don't need to pull out the big guns, Peter, I want to enjoy my wedding night, too."
He chuckles, taking the glass off her hand and putting it down with his on the table to free his hands, before turning back to her: he slides his arms around her waist, and she wraps hers around his neck. When their bodies are appreciatively closer, he whispers in her ear:
"This song brought us good luck in the past, I thought it was appropriate."
As they start spinning slowly to the music, cheek to cheek, it's her turn to chuckle. "You're attributing what happens that night to a song? If you ask me, you should thank the alcohol I brought."
He presses a kiss behind her ear, smiling foolishly. "Let's be honest here, we both know it was my charm alone that got you in my bed."
She lets out another soft chuckle against his neck, and a few seconds pass before she says: "Actually, I think it was mostly due to me deciding to try and be happy, for once." Though her voice is graver, he can still hear her smile.
He tightens his embrace, breathing her in as they sway slowly on the spot, getting lost in the melody as much as in the feel of her, one of her arms now wrapped around his waist, her other hand buried in his hair. But he eventually pulls away slightly so he can look at her, and even though she smiles softly at him, he knows something is still bothering her.
"Why do I get the feeling that you are not that happy at the moment, then?"
She frowns and stops their dance, pursing her lips in a confused smiled, her fingers sliding down from his hair to the back of his neck. "Of course I am happy," she says softly. "I just married you."
This earns her a soft, tender kiss, which could easily have turned into something else, but he leans his forehead against hers instead, staring intently at her as he makes them move slowly again. "What is it, then?"
She doesn't deny it; they are past denying anything by now. They are simply generally really good at pretending the worst never happened, for both their sanity. Close as they are, he feels her shrug more than he sees it.
"I don't know." She says eventually, lowering her gaze. "It's just that…I've never been a romantic woman, you know? But I can't lie. When you're a girl, from the moment you're born, you're practically brainwashed into thinking about love, and marriages, and how…perfect everything is supposed to be on that special day."
It's his turn to frown and stop their movements, straightening up again so he can take a better look at her face. She's blushing slightly now, as if almost ashamed of admitting this. Her smile is gone, too.
"You do know that I wasn't opposed to a white wedding, right?" he asks then, because they have discussed it, and he had told her that if she wanted to get married in a church, he would be more than fine with it; she had been the one suggesting that they should just do a civil ceremony with their closest friends.
Her hand moves to his face, cupping his cheek, and she smiles quite sadly. "I know," she says with another tilt of head. "It's not what I mean." He keeps on staring at her, waiting for her to go on, and she sighs, giving in. " I don't care about…the church, or the expensive fluffy dress, or even about the vows. It's more about…" She does that thing with her mouth again, averting her eyes and shaking her head slightly. "It's more about the people who are supposed to be sitting on the benches, you know? I feel like…too many people were missing today, people who deserved to be here."
And as she says these words, her eyes briefly dart to what he knows is the guestroom's door behind his back. A guestroom that almost became something else, once. But her gaze doesn't linger there, bringing her eyes back to his, and he feels a familiar pang in his chest as he stares at her, feeling the weight of her words. The line is back between her eyes, that little line that automatically appears whenever she's upset, even when she tries her best not to show it. Slowly, he leans his forehead against her again and starts spinning them around, just as slowly.
"Do you know why I asked you to marry me?" He asked then, and the corners of her mouth twitch a little; they both know he didn't exactly ask her.
"Because I was vulnerable and emotionally drained, and you knew I was less likely to turn you down?" She's trying to sound casual, and failing spectacularly, because she remembers that day as well as he does, and there really is nothing funny about it. He decides to ignore her answer.
"I asked you because I thought…'It can't get worse than this'."
She makes another face. "That's nice, Peter. Perfect reason to propose to a woman."
"I'm serious," he says, and his voice is low and almost stern; she offers him a smile that is almost apologetic, nuzzling his nose with hers, fingers ruffling the short hair on the back of his head.
"I know," she whispers, and he knows that she's just trying to forget about it all, about what happened four months ago, and before that, and before that…she's trying to forget, and so is he, but ultimately, they both know they will never forget.
It still shapes them, their life together and who they are, in so many ways, no matter how painful it is. Again, they are usually good at ignoring it all, at pretending that they are fine, just fine, because they're still here, together, and they can go through it all, one day at a time. But today is a special day.
He doesn't want her memories of this day to be filled with regrets and 'what ifs'.
"These past few years have been…really hard, on both us. As individuals, and as a couple," he says eventually, his voice now the only sound in the room; the song has ended, and they have unconsciously stilled too, solely focused on one another. "It's been hard on the entire planet, too, of course, but we both know that what really matters ultimately is our daily life, our personal world, because we're human, and humans have this limited perception on things. We suffer through hard times and…loses. But you said it yourself. 'We still have each other.'"
As he speaks, his fingers have instinctively found their way back to her face, nails grazing her cheek as her eyes steadily get shinier and shinier.
"So yeah, there you were, vulnerable and emotionally drained. And I thought, 'It can't get worse than this, but we're still here.' And I still want to be here for you ten years from now. I wanted you to marry me because there was absolutely no reason why you shouldn't marry me and be mine. I wanted you to be mine to the rest of the world, too. Because you're all I've got, Olivia."
When he finally stops talking, she is quiet alright. She simply stares at him for what feels like the longest time, that line deeper as her beautiful face contracts with the strength of whatever feelings he has created within her; he hopes they are mostly positive feelings.
Her eyes are definitely watery now, but she doesn't cry. She even manages a smile, before she starts shaking her head softly against his, and her voice is slightly hoarse when she speaks. "You know, I wish I had your way with words, at times."
He's smiling too, now, just as softly. "What do you mean?"
She shrugs again. "Well, whenever you're feeling particularly inspired, you come up with those great, wonderful speeches. It's quite beautiful, to be honest. And it's hard to deny you anything, afterwards."
He thinks briefly that she's not too bad with words herself; not bad all, actually. They both have issues when it comes to expressing their feelings, and while he tends to ramble for a few minutes before getting to the point, Olivia is straight forward.
She doesn't open up often, and yes, she might not be as romantic as he is, but when she wants to let him know how she feels, she hits the spot right away. Even thought it was a few years back, now, he still remembers her vividly; red hair and despair written all over her face, wearing her heart on her sleeve.
'Because you belong with me,' she had said.
She definitely has a way with words, too.
He could point it out to her, make her realize just how much power her words have on him…but he thinks better of it. She seems lighter already, her hand now moving slowly but decidedly over his back, in a quiet promise of what is to come tonight.
And so he lets it go, choosing to dissipate the tension a bit. "Well, I wish I had your aim, so I guess we really complete each other."
But letting herself be smothered by the intensity of what she is feeling has always rivaled with his romantic self, so she doesn't exactly let it go. She closes her eyes, then, and she looks both serene and overwhelmed as her fingers tighten their hold on his nape, her other hand tracing soft patterns on his back, and she lets out a deep sigh, her breath warm and comforting on his lips.
My wife…he thinks again.
And again, and again, and again.
"Yeah…we really do," she eventually murmurs.
(November 2015)
TO PART XV