FF: Miles to Go
Title: Miles to Go
Author: Ellie elliestories
Rating: PG
Spoilers: During "Fracture" (2.03)
Peter/Olivia, UST-ish, comfort
Summary: It was a long flight to Baghdad.
****
After a year with Walter, and itinerant years around the world, he'd learned to take sleep when and where he could get it. A private plane, with plenty of leg room, fully reclining seats, and a low soft engine hum was one of the better places he'd been presented with over the years. He'd dozed off somewhere over the Atlantic, his last sight Olivia's troubled face as she read through the file, again.
He didn't sleep long, because the light through the porthole windows was still dusky when he opened his eyes, one brief flutter of lashes then wide awake but still, taking in his surroundings out of old habits, so long ingrained that he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to awaken without surveying the room. Or plane, as the case might be. Olivia sat as he remembered her before drowsing, hunched with tense shoulders over a pile of paperwork, strewn across two folding tray tables, which were more spacious here than on any plane he'd seen. A cup of coffee sat in the corner closest to him, no steam rising from the white porcelain. He feigned a wakeful stretch and stole a glance at his watch. He'd been asleep less then three hours.
"Find anything new?" She jumped a bit at his voice, which more than surprised him. Olivia was not one to miss things, and certainly not a person rousing five feet away from her.
Her deep sigh was more than frustration, and she tilted her head back to rest against the caramel leather seats, gazing up at the blank curve of the plane's roof. "No."
"Did you get any sleep? We've got a while to go yet, if you want me to look over it while you take a nap." Though she would never admit it, it was obvious her lack of sleep went back much further than this flight. He wondered if she'd had a full night's sleep since leaving the hospital.
She shook her head, one thin strand of hair uncharacteristically falling in to her face and catching in the collar of her rumpled blouse. She looked...disheveled, and it was a good look on her. "No, that's all right. I'm not tired." The shadows under her eyes, unconcealed by makeup, said otherwise.
He let his head bob down, not quite a nod, still watching her, studying the tight line of her shoulders and the white grip around an unmoving pen. "Want me to come take a look with you then?" He could at least offer her companionship, if he couldn't offer her more. The handle of her cane, hooked over the edge of her seat, caught the periphery of his vision.
After a beat of staring down at the papers sprawling before her, she sighed again, "Yes." One hand lifted half the pile off the adjacent tray table, allowing him to tilt it up and settle in next to her. Without another word, he began thumbing through the papers before him, trying to see anything that might have gone unnoticed in her prior hours of perusal. Gradually, he could feel them gravitating closer, until their shoulders brushed across the armrest.
He flipped through the papers for a few more minutes, realizing the futility and sensing her exhaustion. For a bit longer, he pretended to read, then turned to a page of her notes, hastily scrawled, sloppier than he'd ever seen her write. With his left index finger, he pointed to a particularly illegible word. "What's this say?"
"Hmm?" She looked up, a little unfocused, then down at his finger. Leaning closer, her cheek ended up resting on the curve of his right shoulder as she squinted at the yellow page. "I think it says 'unstable polymerization.'" She blinked, but her head continued to rest on his shoulder.
"Okay," he said, barely above a whisper, and nodded gently, hyperaware of the weight of her head against him. He made the most of years of practiced nonchalance to continue idly skimming through the pages, making an effort to take his time, not jostle her.
Ten minutes later, he heard her breathing level off, slow and steady, with just the slightest rumble due to the odd angle of her neck. There was part of him that wanted to wake her, maneuver her into a more comfortable position that wouldn't leave her with yet another ache when she awoke, but he decided against it. He knew how hard she'd been pushing herself, and how little sleep she appeared to be getting. It couldn't be helped, to a point, but if she was willing to let herself appear this tired, he knew she had to be ready to drop. If she could sleep, just a little, he would let her.
For half an hour, he continued flipping through the files and notes, parsing together what information he needed to find out from the physicians, when found. If his contacts cooperated, finding them wouldn't be a problem. He leaned his head back against the well-cushioned seat, feeling the vertebra in his neck pop, and sighed. Cooperation from Ahmed might be a little much to expect initially; he could hope, though, that the man could be persuaded.
Beside him, Olivia shifted slightly, sighing in her sleep, coming to rest more heavily against him. Her face had lost a few of the worry lines that had been deeply creasing her face during her waking hours of late. He slouched down in the seat a bit, making her awkward position a bit easier on both of them, and closed his eyes. It was a long flight to Baghdad, yet, and he thought it would probably be wiser to get his rest now, as experience had taught him there was little respite to be had in that city. They would need to be vigilant during their stay there, because it was not merely the inherent danger of the place that could cause them trouble.
He also knew that she would be embarrassed to wake and find herself slumped against him, and if he was asleep when she woke, they could both pretend it had never happened. They had gotten good at that, though it was bound to catch up with them eventually. Not this trip, though, he thought, when there were bigger issues to be dealt with. Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the scent of her, and allowed himself to drift off again, feeling her safe against his side, a hand on the armrest just brushing against his ribs.
When she woke, he did too, and felt her shift away immediately, with a creak of leather, the crumpling of papers, and a few gasping breaths. He kept his eyes shut and breathing steady, maintaining the appearance of sleep. Olivia remained quiet, taking a few slow deep breaths, and he shifted in the seat, seeking a more comfortable position in which to 'sleep.' He gave himself fifteen more minutes of this, long enough for her to pull herself together and pretend nothing had happened, if she wanted.
Keeping his breathing steady, he listened as she rose, moved around the cabin, returning with a clattering bit of ceramic and strong scent of coffee. It was as good a pretension to wake as any, he thought, and took a deep whiff, letting his eyes blink open, focusing on the cup on the tray table, not the unsteady hand wrapped resting lightly beside it. "Mmm, that smells good. Sorry, I must have dozed off." He shook his head and rose, heading for the beverage station himself.
"Reading the same thing repeatedly and finding nothing new will do that."
Checking his watch as he poured the coffee, he played along, and said, "Hopefully we'll have something new to go on in a couple hours."
"Hopefully," she echoed, beginning to read one of the journal articles again. She did look a bit less tired, he thought. Cup in hand, he returned to the seat beside her, and they spent the remaining hour of the flight in silence.
****
Author: Ellie elliestories
Rating: PG
Spoilers: During "Fracture" (2.03)
Peter/Olivia, UST-ish, comfort
Summary: It was a long flight to Baghdad.
****
After a year with Walter, and itinerant years around the world, he'd learned to take sleep when and where he could get it. A private plane, with plenty of leg room, fully reclining seats, and a low soft engine hum was one of the better places he'd been presented with over the years. He'd dozed off somewhere over the Atlantic, his last sight Olivia's troubled face as she read through the file, again.
He didn't sleep long, because the light through the porthole windows was still dusky when he opened his eyes, one brief flutter of lashes then wide awake but still, taking in his surroundings out of old habits, so long ingrained that he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to awaken without surveying the room. Or plane, as the case might be. Olivia sat as he remembered her before drowsing, hunched with tense shoulders over a pile of paperwork, strewn across two folding tray tables, which were more spacious here than on any plane he'd seen. A cup of coffee sat in the corner closest to him, no steam rising from the white porcelain. He feigned a wakeful stretch and stole a glance at his watch. He'd been asleep less then three hours.
"Find anything new?" She jumped a bit at his voice, which more than surprised him. Olivia was not one to miss things, and certainly not a person rousing five feet away from her.
Her deep sigh was more than frustration, and she tilted her head back to rest against the caramel leather seats, gazing up at the blank curve of the plane's roof. "No."
"Did you get any sleep? We've got a while to go yet, if you want me to look over it while you take a nap." Though she would never admit it, it was obvious her lack of sleep went back much further than this flight. He wondered if she'd had a full night's sleep since leaving the hospital.
She shook her head, one thin strand of hair uncharacteristically falling in to her face and catching in the collar of her rumpled blouse. She looked...disheveled, and it was a good look on her. "No, that's all right. I'm not tired." The shadows under her eyes, unconcealed by makeup, said otherwise.
He let his head bob down, not quite a nod, still watching her, studying the tight line of her shoulders and the white grip around an unmoving pen. "Want me to come take a look with you then?" He could at least offer her companionship, if he couldn't offer her more. The handle of her cane, hooked over the edge of her seat, caught the periphery of his vision.
After a beat of staring down at the papers sprawling before her, she sighed again, "Yes." One hand lifted half the pile off the adjacent tray table, allowing him to tilt it up and settle in next to her. Without another word, he began thumbing through the papers before him, trying to see anything that might have gone unnoticed in her prior hours of perusal. Gradually, he could feel them gravitating closer, until their shoulders brushed across the armrest.
He flipped through the papers for a few more minutes, realizing the futility and sensing her exhaustion. For a bit longer, he pretended to read, then turned to a page of her notes, hastily scrawled, sloppier than he'd ever seen her write. With his left index finger, he pointed to a particularly illegible word. "What's this say?"
"Hmm?" She looked up, a little unfocused, then down at his finger. Leaning closer, her cheek ended up resting on the curve of his right shoulder as she squinted at the yellow page. "I think it says 'unstable polymerization.'" She blinked, but her head continued to rest on his shoulder.
"Okay," he said, barely above a whisper, and nodded gently, hyperaware of the weight of her head against him. He made the most of years of practiced nonchalance to continue idly skimming through the pages, making an effort to take his time, not jostle her.
Ten minutes later, he heard her breathing level off, slow and steady, with just the slightest rumble due to the odd angle of her neck. There was part of him that wanted to wake her, maneuver her into a more comfortable position that wouldn't leave her with yet another ache when she awoke, but he decided against it. He knew how hard she'd been pushing herself, and how little sleep she appeared to be getting. It couldn't be helped, to a point, but if she was willing to let herself appear this tired, he knew she had to be ready to drop. If she could sleep, just a little, he would let her.
For half an hour, he continued flipping through the files and notes, parsing together what information he needed to find out from the physicians, when found. If his contacts cooperated, finding them wouldn't be a problem. He leaned his head back against the well-cushioned seat, feeling the vertebra in his neck pop, and sighed. Cooperation from Ahmed might be a little much to expect initially; he could hope, though, that the man could be persuaded.
Beside him, Olivia shifted slightly, sighing in her sleep, coming to rest more heavily against him. Her face had lost a few of the worry lines that had been deeply creasing her face during her waking hours of late. He slouched down in the seat a bit, making her awkward position a bit easier on both of them, and closed his eyes. It was a long flight to Baghdad, yet, and he thought it would probably be wiser to get his rest now, as experience had taught him there was little respite to be had in that city. They would need to be vigilant during their stay there, because it was not merely the inherent danger of the place that could cause them trouble.
He also knew that she would be embarrassed to wake and find herself slumped against him, and if he was asleep when she woke, they could both pretend it had never happened. They had gotten good at that, though it was bound to catch up with them eventually. Not this trip, though, he thought, when there were bigger issues to be dealt with. Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the scent of her, and allowed himself to drift off again, feeling her safe against his side, a hand on the armrest just brushing against his ribs.
When she woke, he did too, and felt her shift away immediately, with a creak of leather, the crumpling of papers, and a few gasping breaths. He kept his eyes shut and breathing steady, maintaining the appearance of sleep. Olivia remained quiet, taking a few slow deep breaths, and he shifted in the seat, seeking a more comfortable position in which to 'sleep.' He gave himself fifteen more minutes of this, long enough for her to pull herself together and pretend nothing had happened, if she wanted.
Keeping his breathing steady, he listened as she rose, moved around the cabin, returning with a clattering bit of ceramic and strong scent of coffee. It was as good a pretension to wake as any, he thought, and took a deep whiff, letting his eyes blink open, focusing on the cup on the tray table, not the unsteady hand wrapped resting lightly beside it. "Mmm, that smells good. Sorry, I must have dozed off." He shook his head and rose, heading for the beverage station himself.
"Reading the same thing repeatedly and finding nothing new will do that."
Checking his watch as he poured the coffee, he played along, and said, "Hopefully we'll have something new to go on in a couple hours."
"Hopefully," she echoed, beginning to read one of the journal articles again. She did look a bit less tired, he thought. Cup in hand, he returned to the seat beside her, and they spent the remaining hour of the flight in silence.
****