Fic: Still Got Time
Can't stop writing Fringe fic!
Title: Still Got Time
Author: Mack the Spoon
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Takes place in the Blackverse future seen in “The Day We Died”, but a few years after the Machine and before the events of the episode.
Summary: In the future, Olivia can control her powers, and she and Peter are married. This is a glimpse into how those things may have developed.
Disclaimer: I don't own Fringe or its characters.
Author's Note: Thanks to namarie24 for the edits.
~~~~~~
If someone had asked her about her abilities at that point, Olivia could have honestly said that she'd mostly forgotten about them. They were generally out of sight, out of mind, unless conditions were right for her to be seeing the glimmer. Since making it possible for Peter to use the Machine, she had come to accept that she had these talents, but they still hadn't been much of a factor in her daily life. Besides being faintly unnerved by them, she still didn't feel that she knew how to use them well enough to bother trying. Perhaps if she'd still been working with Walter... but Walter Bishop had been tried by the United Nations in a special war crimes court, convicted, and sentenced to spend the rest of his life in solitary confinement, so he wouldn't be giving her advice or encouragement about anything anytime soon. Not a day went by in which Walter's fate didn't weigh on them.
But she wasn't thinking about Walter or her abilities that afternoon. She and Peter (now Agent Bishop of the recently-formed Fringe Division) were tracking a vortex forming near Winter Hill. The evacuation had been started, and their team's calculations had shown that it should be a small event. Olivia waited outside the quarantine line while Peter placed the amber canister, breathing a little easier when she saw him exit the building and start toward her.
“This is Agent Dunham,” she said into her radio. “Do we have final confirmation on successful evac of the building?” The agents around the perimeter radioed in their affirmative replies. “All right, we're activating the canister. Countdown initiated now.” She pressed the button.
“So,” said Peter, as they watched the numbers tick down, “you want to go somewhere nice for dinner?”
Olivia shot him a quick, surprised smile. “What's the occasion?”
“Nothing special,” he said. “I just thought we could use a little break. And I know vacation's going to be out of the question for who knows how long, so how about it?”
“It sounds nice,” she said. “Where were you thinking?”
“I-” he started, then his eyes widened. “Olivia, something's wrong.” He nodded at the counter, then gestured to the monitoring equipment they had brought, where a worried agent was scanning and re-scanning the screen.
She saw it immediately. “The canister must have malfunctioned. The disturbances are still there, all over the place.” She took out her radio again. “This is Dunham. It looks like we've got a malfunctioning canister. Fringe event is not contained.”
Peter was already getting another one from the van. “I guess it was too much to hope that we'd gotten all the bugs worked out on this system.”
Olivia nodded, already planning who she'd be speaking to about this. “But this is no minor glitch. Be careful, Peter. The vortex has gotten worse.”
“I know,” he said. “See you in a minute.”
She updated the team on Peter's actions, and found herself waiting again for him to reappear from the building, which was now beginning to groan from the structural strain. He reported the new canister's placement, and then there was an especially violent tremor and the radio cut out. “Agent Bishop? Peter, what happened? Are you all right?”
The front door of the building opened a second later and he came out. “I'm fine,” he said into the radio, for the benefit of the team. “Just got knocked off my feet.”
Another tremor punctuated his words, and the windows of the building exploded, sending a hail of broken glass down toward him. “Look out!” she called - and then noticed that something larger than a piece of glass had been thrown out of one of the windows and it was heading straight toward Peter.
She didn't have time to think about it. The part of her mind that she'd used to turn off the Machine was suddenly active, and she knew exactly how to shield him from the debris. The danger was over in a few seconds, although it took Peter a moment to get up from where he had been crouching to protect himself. Hardly able to realize what had just happened but remembering what needed to be done, Olivia fumbled for her radio and turned it on. “Second canister is in place. We're activating it now.” She suited actions to words.
That was enough motivation for Peter to move to join her behind the quarantine line. “Olivia... I should have been hit by that falling glass - or hit by something, at least. But nothing touched me.” He shot her a penetrating look. “That was you, wasn't it?”
She took a deep breath and nodded. “I could see... I think it was a part of the window frame, and it was coming right at you.” She realized that her voice sounded unsteady and cleared her throat.
“Hey, I'm fine,” said Peter gently, putting a hand on her arm. “Thank you.”
The same tech from before, who looked like he had been studiously trying to avoid overhearing them, spoke up just then. “Agent Dunham, Agent Bishop, readings indicate that the vortex has been successfully sealed.”
Olivia turned and looked at the monitor, confirming for herself. “Good.” She passed on the news to the rest of the team. “All right, let's all get back to the office. And if anyone has any ideas about why that first canister didn't work, I want to see it in your reports.”
She got into her own SUV, with Peter next to her in the passenger seat, and they headed back toward what had formerly been the Boston federal building.
“So,” said Peter. “Are you all right?”
She frowned. “Of course. I'm not the one who almost had a building explode on top of my head.”
“I know,” he said. “But you used your abilities. Usually, that's been pretty tied up with strong emotions for you. So I'm asking, are you all right?”
“I'm okay. I think I'm more than okay. You're safe,” she said, giving him a quick smile, “and I think I'm getting a better handle on how my abilities work.”
“Really?” Peter said. “That's great.” He grinned at her. “Especially if it leads to you saving my ass even more often.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him, another small smile on her face. “All in a day's work.”
“But seriously, Olivia, do you think that means you'll be able to have more control?”
“Maybe.” She stared off in front of her, remembering when there would have been another Bishop in this vehicle. “I wish Walter were here. He'd be able to help me figure out what I should do next. How to practice, what the implications are.”
Peter was silent for a moment, and she glanced over to see his expression, equal parts anger and sadness, as always when the talk turned to his father. “Yeah.” He sighed as they pulled to a stop at their destination. “I think you'll be able to work something out, though. I've never known you to fail, once you make up your mind on something.”
She smiled again, although this time it was tinged with her own sadness. “That's what Walter told me, right before the Machine.”
“And what do you know?” said Peter, light tone only somewhat forced, as he got out and closed the door. “He was right.”
She shook her head. Even though she was Special Agent in Charge of her own Fringe team now, and there had been talk of her moving up even further if Broyles ended up in politics (as it seemed like he might), she was not used to the increased attention she had been getting since this all started. And she had never been quite sure she deserved the absolute confidence in her that people like Walter and Peter - and even William Bell - insisted on offering.
“Hey,” Peter said, breaking into her musings. “What do you think about Italian for tonight?”
“Sure,” she said. “But meanwhile, I've got to see if anyone has any excuses for the amber not working today.”
“Don't beat anyone up too badly. I'll get you my report soon,” he promised.
~~~~~~
By the time Olivia had received her team's reports, Peter's included, and had gone through them, it was already past 5:30. But there had been no enlightenment as to the cause of the amber malfunction - everyone appeared to have done the proper checks beforehand. She sighed, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and opened a file on her computer to make notes on the various people with whom she needed to pursue the issue. The next time, it could be at the scene of a more serious Fringe event, and a few seconds' delay could be disastrous.
She was focused enough that it took her a moment to notice that someone was standing in the doorway of her office. “Peter. What's up?”
He laughed softly. “Olivia, it's almost six o'clock. Look, I know whatever you're doing is important, but I made reservations for 7:00 and I thought you might want to go home first.”
She finished one last line, then looked up again and heard the last words he'd spoken. “You made reservations? Before or after you even asked me if I wanted to go out tonight?”
“Before,” he admitted. “At several different restaurants, just in case you didn't want Italian.”
She huffed out a breath, then stood up and rolled her neck to get rid of the kinks. “Fine. We'd better get there in time for one of those, so at least one won't be unhappy with us.”
“Oh, I called the others,” Peter said. “I did it as soon as we got back, so they probably even had time to fill those spots.”
She gave him a look. “You obviously had this planned for a while. If you needed a break earlier, you could have just told me.”
He smiled. “No, tonight should be just fine.”
As it turned out, they got to the restaurant at 7:08, but the staff seemed quite calm about it. In fact, their waiter brought them a bottle of wine with their bread, and insisted it was on the house. “That's... surprisingly nice of them,” Olivia said, taking a sip after he had left with their orders. “And this is very good.”
“Yeah, well, he probably just thinks you're hot,” Peter said.
She smiled, ducking her head. He had strongly approved of her choice of evening wear, a dark blue dress that he said reminded her of the first time he'd ever seen her in a dress, back when they were still trying to work through the awkwardness following her time Over There. He'd told her that it had been a major highlight of that small period of his life. She'd admitted in turn after a moment that she'd enjoyed the sight of him in a tux, as well.
Olivia felt herself relaxing, the wine warming her from the inside. “You never know, it could be because he thinks you're hot,” she pointed out, laughing at the expression that came over his face in response.
They chatted lightly until their orders came, and Olivia had to agree that a little break was definitely a good idea. She told Peter so, with a sigh of pleasure after her first bite of ravioli. “Thanks for the suggestion. Or ambush, as the case may be.”
“You're welcome,” he said. He took a bite of his chicken fettuccine, but unlike her, he seemed keyed up, barely noticing his food.
“Are you sure you're okay, Peter?” she asked after a moment. “It's not something about what happened at work today, is it?”
“No, it's nothing,” Peter said, a bit too quickly for her tastes, but then he smiled again, and it seemed genuine enough. They spent a few more minutes eating. Peter asked if she had come up with any answers about the canister from that afternoon, but talk soon turned away from work, which Olivia preferred.
After a lull, Peter spoke again, in a would-be casual tone. “Oh, so remember earlier at the house, when I was complimenting your dress?”
She looked at him. “What, are you fishing for more thanks now?”
“No, no, hear me out,” said Peter. She nodded, still wondering where this was going. “Well, there's one thing I neglected to say. I still absolutely think you look wonderful in that dress, but I also think there's something missing from your outfit.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Really,” he said, standing up and moving to her side. When he got down on one knee next to her, Olivia thought she might stop breathing. He pulled a small box out of his pocket and opened it. “I'd like to suggest you wear this with it. Olivia Dunham, will you marry me?”
She finally gasped in a breath, and took the ring from his hand, slipping on her finger, where the simple yet elegant diamond glittered in the low lighting of the room. “Yes,” she said, voice barely audible. She cleared her throat and repeated it, louder. The surrounding tables broke out into cheers and applause, and Olivia looked up, blushing but unable to keep from grinning. She looked back at the ring, and then at Peter, who was standing up now.
“Did I surprise you?” he asked, bending down to speak into her ear.
She shivered. “You did.” She pulled him into a quick kiss. She wanted it to be longer, but it was too public of a place.
He smiled at her, then returned to his seat. He stretched his hand out to take hers, newly-adorned. The last of their food sat forgotten. “I'd been thinking about how to do it. I think the idea is you're supposed to do something that brings back memories of how you first met, or your first date, or something. But I thought it might just tip you off if I suggested we go to Baghdad.”
She laughed. “Plus, we probably couldn't get government funding for the trip this time.”
“And I guess I could have made you come with me back to Walter's old lab so we could recreate the first time I saw you in only your underwear,” he added, with another grin.
She rolled her eyes. “I'm glad you scrapped that idea, too. I'm not exactly pining away for another chance to go back in the tank.”
It was his turn to laugh. “I thought not. And our first kiss?” He watched her shake her head, and he squeezed her hand gently. “Not an option either. But I haven't forgotten what you said to me. This just makes it official.”
She nodded, swallowing the lump that formed in her throat at the sweetness in his words. “Good. Because I still mean it.”
“Good,” echoed Peter. “Now you're stuck with me.”
Their waiter approached discreetly at that moment. “Excuse me. Would you two like some dessert to celebrate the occasion? It would also be on the house.”
Olivia turned a mock glare on Peter. “Did you tell them you were proposing? Is that why the wine was complimentary?”
He only smiled, then turned back to the waiter. “We'll take the tiramisu.”
“Perfect,” said the waiter. “And congratulations to you both.”
“Are you trying to get me drunk? Free wine and tiramisu?” Olivia asked, when he had departed. She already felt giddy, and she was pretty sure the alcohol had little to do with it.
He scoffed. “Getting you drunk? That would take some doing.”
“You watch it,” she retorted. “Just because I can take it better than you can.”
He raised both hands in a gesture of surrender. “And I've admitted as much to you before. But you're not going to try to convince me you don't love tiramisu. Everyone loves tiramisu.”
“I've got no complaints,” she said softly, not only referring to the dessert.
The look in his eyes told her he understood.
~~~~~~
As they were getting ready to head to the car, a thought struck Olivia and she pulled out her phone to take a picture of her left hand. She wasn't sure she could put the event into spoken words yet, so she simply forwarded the picture to her sister and her niece with the accompanying note “Big news”, fully expecting a conference call where they both demanded details.
“What was that about? Message from work?” Peter said, returning from the coat check with Olivia's sweater.
She smiled. “No, I just thought Rachel and Ella should know.” She opened the sent message and showed it to him.
He chuckled. “Well, I hope they won't insist on being on the phone with you all night. Because I was hoping the night wasn't quite over.”
“Hmm, sounds promising,” she said, moving to put her phone away. At that exact moment, her arm was jostled by another exiting patron, causing her to drop the phone. She had a moment's thought of how irritating it would be to have to find it in the crowded space at the door of the restaurant - and then she smiled and caught it before it landed, without bending down or using her hands. She felt Peter's eyes on her as she lifted it up and then stretched out a hand to take it - and then she was jostled again and it clattered to the ground anyway.
“Better luck next time,” said Peter, chivalrously finding it for her and handing it over - which just about made up for the fact that he was looking like he was trying not to smile.
Olivia sighed. “Right.” She put it away before anything else could happen.
“Seriously, though, it's a start,” he told her, expression sobering.
“It is,” she agreed. “Anyway, I'm hardly going to let that spoil my mood. I'm more interested in the rest of the night you were mentioning before.”
“Then by all means, let's get home,” Peter said. He took her hand and they headed out into the cold night air together.
End
Title: Still Got Time
Author: Mack the Spoon
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Takes place in the Blackverse future seen in “The Day We Died”, but a few years after the Machine and before the events of the episode.
Summary: In the future, Olivia can control her powers, and she and Peter are married. This is a glimpse into how those things may have developed.
Disclaimer: I don't own Fringe or its characters.
Author's Note: Thanks to namarie24 for the edits.
~~~~~~
If someone had asked her about her abilities at that point, Olivia could have honestly said that she'd mostly forgotten about them. They were generally out of sight, out of mind, unless conditions were right for her to be seeing the glimmer. Since making it possible for Peter to use the Machine, she had come to accept that she had these talents, but they still hadn't been much of a factor in her daily life. Besides being faintly unnerved by them, she still didn't feel that she knew how to use them well enough to bother trying. Perhaps if she'd still been working with Walter... but Walter Bishop had been tried by the United Nations in a special war crimes court, convicted, and sentenced to spend the rest of his life in solitary confinement, so he wouldn't be giving her advice or encouragement about anything anytime soon. Not a day went by in which Walter's fate didn't weigh on them.
But she wasn't thinking about Walter or her abilities that afternoon. She and Peter (now Agent Bishop of the recently-formed Fringe Division) were tracking a vortex forming near Winter Hill. The evacuation had been started, and their team's calculations had shown that it should be a small event. Olivia waited outside the quarantine line while Peter placed the amber canister, breathing a little easier when she saw him exit the building and start toward her.
“This is Agent Dunham,” she said into her radio. “Do we have final confirmation on successful evac of the building?” The agents around the perimeter radioed in their affirmative replies. “All right, we're activating the canister. Countdown initiated now.” She pressed the button.
“So,” said Peter, as they watched the numbers tick down, “you want to go somewhere nice for dinner?”
Olivia shot him a quick, surprised smile. “What's the occasion?”
“Nothing special,” he said. “I just thought we could use a little break. And I know vacation's going to be out of the question for who knows how long, so how about it?”
“It sounds nice,” she said. “Where were you thinking?”
“I-” he started, then his eyes widened. “Olivia, something's wrong.” He nodded at the counter, then gestured to the monitoring equipment they had brought, where a worried agent was scanning and re-scanning the screen.
She saw it immediately. “The canister must have malfunctioned. The disturbances are still there, all over the place.” She took out her radio again. “This is Dunham. It looks like we've got a malfunctioning canister. Fringe event is not contained.”
Peter was already getting another one from the van. “I guess it was too much to hope that we'd gotten all the bugs worked out on this system.”
Olivia nodded, already planning who she'd be speaking to about this. “But this is no minor glitch. Be careful, Peter. The vortex has gotten worse.”
“I know,” he said. “See you in a minute.”
She updated the team on Peter's actions, and found herself waiting again for him to reappear from the building, which was now beginning to groan from the structural strain. He reported the new canister's placement, and then there was an especially violent tremor and the radio cut out. “Agent Bishop? Peter, what happened? Are you all right?”
The front door of the building opened a second later and he came out. “I'm fine,” he said into the radio, for the benefit of the team. “Just got knocked off my feet.”
Another tremor punctuated his words, and the windows of the building exploded, sending a hail of broken glass down toward him. “Look out!” she called - and then noticed that something larger than a piece of glass had been thrown out of one of the windows and it was heading straight toward Peter.
She didn't have time to think about it. The part of her mind that she'd used to turn off the Machine was suddenly active, and she knew exactly how to shield him from the debris. The danger was over in a few seconds, although it took Peter a moment to get up from where he had been crouching to protect himself. Hardly able to realize what had just happened but remembering what needed to be done, Olivia fumbled for her radio and turned it on. “Second canister is in place. We're activating it now.” She suited actions to words.
That was enough motivation for Peter to move to join her behind the quarantine line. “Olivia... I should have been hit by that falling glass - or hit by something, at least. But nothing touched me.” He shot her a penetrating look. “That was you, wasn't it?”
She took a deep breath and nodded. “I could see... I think it was a part of the window frame, and it was coming right at you.” She realized that her voice sounded unsteady and cleared her throat.
“Hey, I'm fine,” said Peter gently, putting a hand on her arm. “Thank you.”
The same tech from before, who looked like he had been studiously trying to avoid overhearing them, spoke up just then. “Agent Dunham, Agent Bishop, readings indicate that the vortex has been successfully sealed.”
Olivia turned and looked at the monitor, confirming for herself. “Good.” She passed on the news to the rest of the team. “All right, let's all get back to the office. And if anyone has any ideas about why that first canister didn't work, I want to see it in your reports.”
She got into her own SUV, with Peter next to her in the passenger seat, and they headed back toward what had formerly been the Boston federal building.
“So,” said Peter. “Are you all right?”
She frowned. “Of course. I'm not the one who almost had a building explode on top of my head.”
“I know,” he said. “But you used your abilities. Usually, that's been pretty tied up with strong emotions for you. So I'm asking, are you all right?”
“I'm okay. I think I'm more than okay. You're safe,” she said, giving him a quick smile, “and I think I'm getting a better handle on how my abilities work.”
“Really?” Peter said. “That's great.” He grinned at her. “Especially if it leads to you saving my ass even more often.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him, another small smile on her face. “All in a day's work.”
“But seriously, Olivia, do you think that means you'll be able to have more control?”
“Maybe.” She stared off in front of her, remembering when there would have been another Bishop in this vehicle. “I wish Walter were here. He'd be able to help me figure out what I should do next. How to practice, what the implications are.”
Peter was silent for a moment, and she glanced over to see his expression, equal parts anger and sadness, as always when the talk turned to his father. “Yeah.” He sighed as they pulled to a stop at their destination. “I think you'll be able to work something out, though. I've never known you to fail, once you make up your mind on something.”
She smiled again, although this time it was tinged with her own sadness. “That's what Walter told me, right before the Machine.”
“And what do you know?” said Peter, light tone only somewhat forced, as he got out and closed the door. “He was right.”
She shook her head. Even though she was Special Agent in Charge of her own Fringe team now, and there had been talk of her moving up even further if Broyles ended up in politics (as it seemed like he might), she was not used to the increased attention she had been getting since this all started. And she had never been quite sure she deserved the absolute confidence in her that people like Walter and Peter - and even William Bell - insisted on offering.
“Hey,” Peter said, breaking into her musings. “What do you think about Italian for tonight?”
“Sure,” she said. “But meanwhile, I've got to see if anyone has any excuses for the amber not working today.”
“Don't beat anyone up too badly. I'll get you my report soon,” he promised.
~~~~~~
By the time Olivia had received her team's reports, Peter's included, and had gone through them, it was already past 5:30. But there had been no enlightenment as to the cause of the amber malfunction - everyone appeared to have done the proper checks beforehand. She sighed, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and opened a file on her computer to make notes on the various people with whom she needed to pursue the issue. The next time, it could be at the scene of a more serious Fringe event, and a few seconds' delay could be disastrous.
She was focused enough that it took her a moment to notice that someone was standing in the doorway of her office. “Peter. What's up?”
He laughed softly. “Olivia, it's almost six o'clock. Look, I know whatever you're doing is important, but I made reservations for 7:00 and I thought you might want to go home first.”
She finished one last line, then looked up again and heard the last words he'd spoken. “You made reservations? Before or after you even asked me if I wanted to go out tonight?”
“Before,” he admitted. “At several different restaurants, just in case you didn't want Italian.”
She huffed out a breath, then stood up and rolled her neck to get rid of the kinks. “Fine. We'd better get there in time for one of those, so at least one won't be unhappy with us.”
“Oh, I called the others,” Peter said. “I did it as soon as we got back, so they probably even had time to fill those spots.”
She gave him a look. “You obviously had this planned for a while. If you needed a break earlier, you could have just told me.”
He smiled. “No, tonight should be just fine.”
As it turned out, they got to the restaurant at 7:08, but the staff seemed quite calm about it. In fact, their waiter brought them a bottle of wine with their bread, and insisted it was on the house. “That's... surprisingly nice of them,” Olivia said, taking a sip after he had left with their orders. “And this is very good.”
“Yeah, well, he probably just thinks you're hot,” Peter said.
She smiled, ducking her head. He had strongly approved of her choice of evening wear, a dark blue dress that he said reminded her of the first time he'd ever seen her in a dress, back when they were still trying to work through the awkwardness following her time Over There. He'd told her that it had been a major highlight of that small period of his life. She'd admitted in turn after a moment that she'd enjoyed the sight of him in a tux, as well.
Olivia felt herself relaxing, the wine warming her from the inside. “You never know, it could be because he thinks you're hot,” she pointed out, laughing at the expression that came over his face in response.
They chatted lightly until their orders came, and Olivia had to agree that a little break was definitely a good idea. She told Peter so, with a sigh of pleasure after her first bite of ravioli. “Thanks for the suggestion. Or ambush, as the case may be.”
“You're welcome,” he said. He took a bite of his chicken fettuccine, but unlike her, he seemed keyed up, barely noticing his food.
“Are you sure you're okay, Peter?” she asked after a moment. “It's not something about what happened at work today, is it?”
“No, it's nothing,” Peter said, a bit too quickly for her tastes, but then he smiled again, and it seemed genuine enough. They spent a few more minutes eating. Peter asked if she had come up with any answers about the canister from that afternoon, but talk soon turned away from work, which Olivia preferred.
After a lull, Peter spoke again, in a would-be casual tone. “Oh, so remember earlier at the house, when I was complimenting your dress?”
She looked at him. “What, are you fishing for more thanks now?”
“No, no, hear me out,” said Peter. She nodded, still wondering where this was going. “Well, there's one thing I neglected to say. I still absolutely think you look wonderful in that dress, but I also think there's something missing from your outfit.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Really,” he said, standing up and moving to her side. When he got down on one knee next to her, Olivia thought she might stop breathing. He pulled a small box out of his pocket and opened it. “I'd like to suggest you wear this with it. Olivia Dunham, will you marry me?”
She finally gasped in a breath, and took the ring from his hand, slipping on her finger, where the simple yet elegant diamond glittered in the low lighting of the room. “Yes,” she said, voice barely audible. She cleared her throat and repeated it, louder. The surrounding tables broke out into cheers and applause, and Olivia looked up, blushing but unable to keep from grinning. She looked back at the ring, and then at Peter, who was standing up now.
“Did I surprise you?” he asked, bending down to speak into her ear.
She shivered. “You did.” She pulled him into a quick kiss. She wanted it to be longer, but it was too public of a place.
He smiled at her, then returned to his seat. He stretched his hand out to take hers, newly-adorned. The last of their food sat forgotten. “I'd been thinking about how to do it. I think the idea is you're supposed to do something that brings back memories of how you first met, or your first date, or something. But I thought it might just tip you off if I suggested we go to Baghdad.”
She laughed. “Plus, we probably couldn't get government funding for the trip this time.”
“And I guess I could have made you come with me back to Walter's old lab so we could recreate the first time I saw you in only your underwear,” he added, with another grin.
She rolled her eyes. “I'm glad you scrapped that idea, too. I'm not exactly pining away for another chance to go back in the tank.”
It was his turn to laugh. “I thought not. And our first kiss?” He watched her shake her head, and he squeezed her hand gently. “Not an option either. But I haven't forgotten what you said to me. This just makes it official.”
She nodded, swallowing the lump that formed in her throat at the sweetness in his words. “Good. Because I still mean it.”
“Good,” echoed Peter. “Now you're stuck with me.”
Their waiter approached discreetly at that moment. “Excuse me. Would you two like some dessert to celebrate the occasion? It would also be on the house.”
Olivia turned a mock glare on Peter. “Did you tell them you were proposing? Is that why the wine was complimentary?”
He only smiled, then turned back to the waiter. “We'll take the tiramisu.”
“Perfect,” said the waiter. “And congratulations to you both.”
“Are you trying to get me drunk? Free wine and tiramisu?” Olivia asked, when he had departed. She already felt giddy, and she was pretty sure the alcohol had little to do with it.
He scoffed. “Getting you drunk? That would take some doing.”
“You watch it,” she retorted. “Just because I can take it better than you can.”
He raised both hands in a gesture of surrender. “And I've admitted as much to you before. But you're not going to try to convince me you don't love tiramisu. Everyone loves tiramisu.”
“I've got no complaints,” she said softly, not only referring to the dessert.
The look in his eyes told her he understood.
~~~~~~
As they were getting ready to head to the car, a thought struck Olivia and she pulled out her phone to take a picture of her left hand. She wasn't sure she could put the event into spoken words yet, so she simply forwarded the picture to her sister and her niece with the accompanying note “Big news”, fully expecting a conference call where they both demanded details.
“What was that about? Message from work?” Peter said, returning from the coat check with Olivia's sweater.
She smiled. “No, I just thought Rachel and Ella should know.” She opened the sent message and showed it to him.
He chuckled. “Well, I hope they won't insist on being on the phone with you all night. Because I was hoping the night wasn't quite over.”
“Hmm, sounds promising,” she said, moving to put her phone away. At that exact moment, her arm was jostled by another exiting patron, causing her to drop the phone. She had a moment's thought of how irritating it would be to have to find it in the crowded space at the door of the restaurant - and then she smiled and caught it before it landed, without bending down or using her hands. She felt Peter's eyes on her as she lifted it up and then stretched out a hand to take it - and then she was jostled again and it clattered to the ground anyway.
“Better luck next time,” said Peter, chivalrously finding it for her and handing it over - which just about made up for the fact that he was looking like he was trying not to smile.
Olivia sighed. “Right.” She put it away before anything else could happen.
“Seriously, though, it's a start,” he told her, expression sobering.
“It is,” she agreed. “Anyway, I'm hardly going to let that spoil my mood. I'm more interested in the rest of the night you were mentioning before.”
“Then by all means, let's get home,” Peter said. He took her hand and they headed out into the cold night air together.
End