FF: Nowhere To Be But Here
Title: Nowhere To Be But Here
Author: Ellie elliestories
Rating: PG13
Summary: Five drinks shared by Peter and Olivia.
Notes: These are old, set at a point in the tale that seems hard to remember in the fabulous dystopia of S5. But I'm dusting off and sharing anyway, because the dystopia has made me want to write again.
****
The first Christmas working together--she could not quite call it their first Christmas--Walter had insisted on having a party. Having no home in which to host a party, the lab had made do. It had been a few days since she'd had reason to see them, with cases quiet and consults unnecessary. There had been a few status updates from Astrid, still getting details of a smoothly running lab under her belt, but she'd not made the trek out to Cambridge herself that week.
It had been Walter himself who'd called to invite her, announcing his plan for a "small festivity" to celebrate. He'd begun a spiel about the unlikelihood of Christ's actual birthday being in December, but recognizing the traditional importance of the season, when she'd cut him off and accepted, just to end the conversation.
There was tinsel swooped across the lab when she arrived, twinkling in the light of colorful, old-fashioned holiday bulbs that she felt sure were more of a fire hazard than a mark of festivities. A quick glance around the lab revealed Astrid, with a spring of holly tucked into her hair, passing Walter a flashing neon-colored star, while Peter sat, looking bored, on top of a ladder by a tall, scraggly pine. The cow seemed to be sporting antlers, and guarding a large punchbowl, whose contents Olivia did not want to ponder too closely.
"Happy holidays," she greeted them, feeling a bit awkward and non-celebratory.
"Agent Dunham!" Walter waved the neon star at her, then pointed to Peter with it. "Get her some eggnog, son!"
Peter looked, if not eager to do Walter's bidding, at least happy to spring down from the ladder and leave the decorating assistance to Astrid. "Eggnog?" He gestured to a pitcher sitting in a bowl of dry ice.
She glanced between the pitcher and Gene. "Is it safe?" she whispered.
He shrugged and grabbed two glasses. "As safe as anything can be in this lab." He poured, then carefully grated a bit of fresh cinnamon on top of each, before offering one to her. She couldn't help but smile as she took it.
Taking a tentative sip, she gasped. "That's got quite a kick."
"You didn't ask about that." He took a long swig of his, and shrugged again. "Not bad." After the first drink, he seemed in no hurry to finish, lingering beside her. She could feel him watching her out of the corner of his eye, as she pulled out one of the lab stools and sat, watching Astrid secure the gaudy flashing star to the top of the tree, under Walter's precise direction.
*
They still had two hours of driving between them and Boston, and she was not happy to be sitting at the edge of a crepuscular parking lot, waiting for Walter and Peter. It had, of course, been Walter who'd insisted on stopping, wanting a celebratory milkshake for wrapping up the case. It hadn't mattered that it was February, or that they'd all been up since four in the morning.
The wind was cold as it tugged at the edges of her coat, slipping between cuff and glove, pushing her firmly against the car door. Her hat and the whistle of the wind nearly muffled the footsteps of Peter and Walter, as they crossed the gravel parking lot. Walter's step had a bit more spring than usual, and in his hand was an enormous styrofoam cup, the lid of which revealed a noxious pink hue not to be found in nature. She wrinkled her nose.
"All set?" She reached for her door handle, sliding back into the driver's seat and the residual warmth of the vehicle.
As Peter settled into the passenger seat, one hand extended in her direction, offering her a cup. She looked at it warily, noting the lack of straw and thin ribbon of steam rising from it. "Walter's the only person who'd order a strawberry milkshake in the dead of winter. I got us coffee."
She accepted the offered cup and took a tentative sip. It was just short of scalding, and had less sugar than she'd prefer, but it would keep her awake for the rest of the drive. "Thanks."
Peter tipped his own steaming cup towards her, something like a smile tugging at his lips.
*
She surveyed the empty space, looking at the mess remaining, and was glad cleaning up was someone else's problem for once. Her part had been done, and these shoes were killing her, and she wanted nothing more than to go home and wash this makeup off her face and curl up in bed, so she could go in and write up her incident report tomorrow. Halfway across the room, as she was thinking of how comfortable her slippers would feel, Peter materialized at her side, stopping her in her tracks.
"I thought you and Walter had left."
"Astrid took Walter. He was getting cranky. They wanted a few more details from me, but my services are no longer required. So." He flourished two champagne flutes, tilting them in her direction.
She looked at them, raising a brow. "I'm working."
"You were leaving. And after the work you did, I hardly think a little celebration is out of line."
Taking one of the proffered flutes, she gulped half down in one swallow, then remembered why she didn't particularly care for champagne. With an owlish blink, she looked at him. "How were you planning on getting home?"
He took a more delicate sip from his own glass, and looked, she had to admit to herself, rather debonair. "I was hoping you might help with that."
With a sharp nod, she agreed, and prepared to down the rest of her drink, but his voice stilled her glass on her lips. "Slowly. It's better slow, and a little chilled. C'mon." She wasn't sure how or why, but she was suddenly out on the terrace, now cleared of hors d'oeuvres and party guests. Peter tugged her down on a bench next to him, facing out to the darkened grounds, where somewhere a fountain trickled, barely discernible over the rattle and hum of the forensics team. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend there was still a party ongoing.
Next to her, she could feel the warmth radiating off Peter on this cool evening, but kept her eyes closed as she took a sip from the glass.
*
In the dim light of the bar, she could barely discern the color of the liquid in the glass Peter sat in front of her. The table wobbled a bit as he sat down across from her, a glass and stack of battered playing cards squared in front of him. She swirled the alcohol in the glass for a moment, looking at his hands on the table and not at him, before closing her eyes and drinking half the whisky in one swallow.
Placing the half-empty glass on the table in front of her, she cocked one brow in Peter's direction. Even she wasn't sure if it was an invitation or a challenge, but he merely sipped from his own glass, and began dealing cards, their damasked green backs looking sickly and stained. She looked down at the five cards fanned in front of her, before slipping them to the edge of the table and picking them up, carefully shielding them as her gaze arced across the symbols on the worn edges.
Peter took a long draft of his own drink before picking up his own cards. She watched him give them a quick glance, then return them to the table. He raised a brow at her. "What do you want?"
She slipped two cards out of the hand, and slid them to the middle of the table. "Two."
He nodded, and dealt two cards of the top of the deck to her, their fingers brushing as she took them from him. He paused for a moment, before trading out one of his own cards. When he picked up his hand again, she saw the flicker of a smile at the corner of his lips. She hid her own by finishing her drink.
*
When she returned to the room, Peter was still curled where she'd left him, arm stretched across the open bed where her body had been. She sat the two coffee mugs down on the table next to her alarm clock, and crawled back into bed facing him. As the mattress shifted under her weight, so did he, rolling onto his back and breathing deeply. She watched his bare chest rise and fall, and the wrinkle of his nose before his eyes flickered open.
"Is that coffee?"
"It is."
He growled something that may have been thanks, or may have been pleasure, but was quickly upright in bed, reaching across her for a mug. Slumping back against the headboard, he downed half of it in one swift gulp. A slower sip followed, and he seemed to slouch a bit more, his bare hip brushing her shoulder. "Today is Sunday."
She smiled, as much at the question as at the whorl of hair spiraling up from his forehead. "It is." She nestled a bit closer to him, closing her eyes and savoring a sip of her own coffee to cover her smirk.
"We've got nowhere to be but here."
"Nowhere I'd rather be." Indulging herself for a change, she closed her eyes and rested her temple against his flank, savoring the warmth and nearness.
****
Author: Ellie elliestories
Rating: PG13
Summary: Five drinks shared by Peter and Olivia.
Notes: These are old, set at a point in the tale that seems hard to remember in the fabulous dystopia of S5. But I'm dusting off and sharing anyway, because the dystopia has made me want to write again.
****
The first Christmas working together--she could not quite call it their first Christmas--Walter had insisted on having a party. Having no home in which to host a party, the lab had made do. It had been a few days since she'd had reason to see them, with cases quiet and consults unnecessary. There had been a few status updates from Astrid, still getting details of a smoothly running lab under her belt, but she'd not made the trek out to Cambridge herself that week.
It had been Walter himself who'd called to invite her, announcing his plan for a "small festivity" to celebrate. He'd begun a spiel about the unlikelihood of Christ's actual birthday being in December, but recognizing the traditional importance of the season, when she'd cut him off and accepted, just to end the conversation.
There was tinsel swooped across the lab when she arrived, twinkling in the light of colorful, old-fashioned holiday bulbs that she felt sure were more of a fire hazard than a mark of festivities. A quick glance around the lab revealed Astrid, with a spring of holly tucked into her hair, passing Walter a flashing neon-colored star, while Peter sat, looking bored, on top of a ladder by a tall, scraggly pine. The cow seemed to be sporting antlers, and guarding a large punchbowl, whose contents Olivia did not want to ponder too closely.
"Happy holidays," she greeted them, feeling a bit awkward and non-celebratory.
"Agent Dunham!" Walter waved the neon star at her, then pointed to Peter with it. "Get her some eggnog, son!"
Peter looked, if not eager to do Walter's bidding, at least happy to spring down from the ladder and leave the decorating assistance to Astrid. "Eggnog?" He gestured to a pitcher sitting in a bowl of dry ice.
She glanced between the pitcher and Gene. "Is it safe?" she whispered.
He shrugged and grabbed two glasses. "As safe as anything can be in this lab." He poured, then carefully grated a bit of fresh cinnamon on top of each, before offering one to her. She couldn't help but smile as she took it.
Taking a tentative sip, she gasped. "That's got quite a kick."
"You didn't ask about that." He took a long swig of his, and shrugged again. "Not bad." After the first drink, he seemed in no hurry to finish, lingering beside her. She could feel him watching her out of the corner of his eye, as she pulled out one of the lab stools and sat, watching Astrid secure the gaudy flashing star to the top of the tree, under Walter's precise direction.
*
They still had two hours of driving between them and Boston, and she was not happy to be sitting at the edge of a crepuscular parking lot, waiting for Walter and Peter. It had, of course, been Walter who'd insisted on stopping, wanting a celebratory milkshake for wrapping up the case. It hadn't mattered that it was February, or that they'd all been up since four in the morning.
The wind was cold as it tugged at the edges of her coat, slipping between cuff and glove, pushing her firmly against the car door. Her hat and the whistle of the wind nearly muffled the footsteps of Peter and Walter, as they crossed the gravel parking lot. Walter's step had a bit more spring than usual, and in his hand was an enormous styrofoam cup, the lid of which revealed a noxious pink hue not to be found in nature. She wrinkled her nose.
"All set?" She reached for her door handle, sliding back into the driver's seat and the residual warmth of the vehicle.
As Peter settled into the passenger seat, one hand extended in her direction, offering her a cup. She looked at it warily, noting the lack of straw and thin ribbon of steam rising from it. "Walter's the only person who'd order a strawberry milkshake in the dead of winter. I got us coffee."
She accepted the offered cup and took a tentative sip. It was just short of scalding, and had less sugar than she'd prefer, but it would keep her awake for the rest of the drive. "Thanks."
Peter tipped his own steaming cup towards her, something like a smile tugging at his lips.
*
She surveyed the empty space, looking at the mess remaining, and was glad cleaning up was someone else's problem for once. Her part had been done, and these shoes were killing her, and she wanted nothing more than to go home and wash this makeup off her face and curl up in bed, so she could go in and write up her incident report tomorrow. Halfway across the room, as she was thinking of how comfortable her slippers would feel, Peter materialized at her side, stopping her in her tracks.
"I thought you and Walter had left."
"Astrid took Walter. He was getting cranky. They wanted a few more details from me, but my services are no longer required. So." He flourished two champagne flutes, tilting them in her direction.
She looked at them, raising a brow. "I'm working."
"You were leaving. And after the work you did, I hardly think a little celebration is out of line."
Taking one of the proffered flutes, she gulped half down in one swallow, then remembered why she didn't particularly care for champagne. With an owlish blink, she looked at him. "How were you planning on getting home?"
He took a more delicate sip from his own glass, and looked, she had to admit to herself, rather debonair. "I was hoping you might help with that."
With a sharp nod, she agreed, and prepared to down the rest of her drink, but his voice stilled her glass on her lips. "Slowly. It's better slow, and a little chilled. C'mon." She wasn't sure how or why, but she was suddenly out on the terrace, now cleared of hors d'oeuvres and party guests. Peter tugged her down on a bench next to him, facing out to the darkened grounds, where somewhere a fountain trickled, barely discernible over the rattle and hum of the forensics team. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend there was still a party ongoing.
Next to her, she could feel the warmth radiating off Peter on this cool evening, but kept her eyes closed as she took a sip from the glass.
*
In the dim light of the bar, she could barely discern the color of the liquid in the glass Peter sat in front of her. The table wobbled a bit as he sat down across from her, a glass and stack of battered playing cards squared in front of him. She swirled the alcohol in the glass for a moment, looking at his hands on the table and not at him, before closing her eyes and drinking half the whisky in one swallow.
Placing the half-empty glass on the table in front of her, she cocked one brow in Peter's direction. Even she wasn't sure if it was an invitation or a challenge, but he merely sipped from his own glass, and began dealing cards, their damasked green backs looking sickly and stained. She looked down at the five cards fanned in front of her, before slipping them to the edge of the table and picking them up, carefully shielding them as her gaze arced across the symbols on the worn edges.
Peter took a long draft of his own drink before picking up his own cards. She watched him give them a quick glance, then return them to the table. He raised a brow at her. "What do you want?"
She slipped two cards out of the hand, and slid them to the middle of the table. "Two."
He nodded, and dealt two cards of the top of the deck to her, their fingers brushing as she took them from him. He paused for a moment, before trading out one of his own cards. When he picked up his hand again, she saw the flicker of a smile at the corner of his lips. She hid her own by finishing her drink.
*
When she returned to the room, Peter was still curled where she'd left him, arm stretched across the open bed where her body had been. She sat the two coffee mugs down on the table next to her alarm clock, and crawled back into bed facing him. As the mattress shifted under her weight, so did he, rolling onto his back and breathing deeply. She watched his bare chest rise and fall, and the wrinkle of his nose before his eyes flickered open.
"Is that coffee?"
"It is."
He growled something that may have been thanks, or may have been pleasure, but was quickly upright in bed, reaching across her for a mug. Slumping back against the headboard, he downed half of it in one swift gulp. A slower sip followed, and he seemed to slouch a bit more, his bare hip brushing her shoulder. "Today is Sunday."
She smiled, as much at the question as at the whorl of hair spiraling up from his forehead. "It is." She nestled a bit closer to him, closing her eyes and savoring a sip of her own coffee to cover her smirk.
"We've got nowhere to be but here."
"Nowhere I'd rather be." Indulging herself for a change, she closed her eyes and rested her temple against his flank, savoring the warmth and nearness.
****