Our Girl - PG-13
Title: Our Girl
Fandom: Fringe
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Disclaimer: Fringe belongs to FOX, not me
Pairings: Olivia/Peter/Astrid
Word Count: 375
Notes: Coda to "Snakehead". Inspired by this image.
“So how’s our girl?” Peter said, shutting the apartment door behind him. Olivia and Astrid were curled together on the couch, Astrid’s head pillowed on Liv’s thigh.
Astrid cracked an eye. “I’ve been better, but you look like you’ve done two rounds with Mike Tyson.” Olivia made a noise that might have been a chuckle if she weren’t so sleepy. Instead, it came out as more of a snort.
He felt like it too, but he skipped the whining and settled for sinking down on Astrid’s ugly-as-sin-but-extraordinarily-comfortable plaid couch and taking a pull from the half empty beer on the coffee table. Still cold and there wasn’t any lip gloss on the mouth of the bottle, so Olivia’s then. “One of the Triad thugs who tortured me was sporting one hell of a shiner-I’m guessing that’s your work.” He reached over and ran a hand through Astrid’s tight curls. Her skin was warm beneath his fingertips, and he let them trail slowly across her face, careful of the blossoming bruises. She had a cut near her hairline, held together by a butterfly bandage, mostly hidden by the dark curls.
“Unlike a certain person on this couch, I am an FBI agent,” Astrid said. “Went through Quantico and everything.”
Liv made another one of her little snorts and took her beer back, finishing it off in one long pull. Peter watched her elegant throat work as she swallowed. She’d shot the bad guy today. She usually did. That’s how it was supposed to work-Astrid stayed with Walter and helped handle the grotesque lab work details while Peter ran all over creation and got the shit kicked out of him, and then Olivia swooped in and saved the day.
Maybe that’s why the sight of Astrid lying bloody on the lab room floor had him so freaked out even hours later. “Walter reminded me that it’s been a year since we took him out of St. Claire’s.” He slump farther down in his seat, letting the couch tip him against Olivia even as it threatened to consume him. “Guess that makes this an anniversary of sorts. We should celebrate.”
Astrid reached a hand over her head and patted blindly at his leg. “How ‘bout tomorrow?”
Fandom: Fringe
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Disclaimer: Fringe belongs to FOX, not me
Pairings: Olivia/Peter/Astrid
Word Count: 375
Notes: Coda to "Snakehead". Inspired by this image.
“So how’s our girl?” Peter said, shutting the apartment door behind him. Olivia and Astrid were curled together on the couch, Astrid’s head pillowed on Liv’s thigh.
Astrid cracked an eye. “I’ve been better, but you look like you’ve done two rounds with Mike Tyson.” Olivia made a noise that might have been a chuckle if she weren’t so sleepy. Instead, it came out as more of a snort.
He felt like it too, but he skipped the whining and settled for sinking down on Astrid’s ugly-as-sin-but-extraordinarily-comfortable plaid couch and taking a pull from the half empty beer on the coffee table. Still cold and there wasn’t any lip gloss on the mouth of the bottle, so Olivia’s then. “One of the Triad thugs who tortured me was sporting one hell of a shiner-I’m guessing that’s your work.” He reached over and ran a hand through Astrid’s tight curls. Her skin was warm beneath his fingertips, and he let them trail slowly across her face, careful of the blossoming bruises. She had a cut near her hairline, held together by a butterfly bandage, mostly hidden by the dark curls.
“Unlike a certain person on this couch, I am an FBI agent,” Astrid said. “Went through Quantico and everything.”
Liv made another one of her little snorts and took her beer back, finishing it off in one long pull. Peter watched her elegant throat work as she swallowed. She’d shot the bad guy today. She usually did. That’s how it was supposed to work-Astrid stayed with Walter and helped handle the grotesque lab work details while Peter ran all over creation and got the shit kicked out of him, and then Olivia swooped in and saved the day.
Maybe that’s why the sight of Astrid lying bloody on the lab room floor had him so freaked out even hours later. “Walter reminded me that it’s been a year since we took him out of St. Claire’s.” He slump farther down in his seat, letting the couch tip him against Olivia even as it threatened to consume him. “Guess that makes this an anniversary of sorts. We should celebrate.”
Astrid reached a hand over her head and patted blindly at his leg. “How ‘bout tomorrow?”