The Space Between (fic)
Title: The Space Between
Fandom: Fringe
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Peter/Olivia
Word Count: ~2800
Spoilers: Through the end of S2.
Summary: Post S2-finale fic. There's always something keeping them apart.
Disclaimer: I don’t own the fabulous show of Fringe. And the fact that the title shares the name of a song by the Dave Matthews Band is coincidental (great song though). No copyright infringement intended!
A/N: Written for the op_ficathon for greyslostwho. Her fantastic prompt was "It's harder for him to come to terms with the scars than it is for her." I tried to do it justice. A big thanks to my beta holycitygirl for making the structural changes that make this fic read so much better. Eternal gratitude couldn't make up for all that she does for me.
It starts inanely enough.
Walter is rattling on about some chemical formula, Astrid is organizing the supplies and groceries she just bought (including a particular brand of raspberry-flavored popsicles that Walter finds "absolutely delightful”), Peter is tinkering with an old car radio, and Olivia is finishing up some paperwork from their latest case.
But, ever since Peter’s return, the inane has tended to escalate.
What starts as a “Hey Walter, you mind turning it down a notch?” somehow ends with Peter storming out of the lab and Walter wringing his hands and looking after his son with worry.
“I’ve upset him again, haven’t I?” Walter cries, and Olivia bites back a sigh and merely nods, her eyes flicking to the door through which Peter had just exited.
She barely has time to lock eyes with Astrid before she is heading towards it -- towards Peter -- the junior agent’s voice ringing strong and reassuring behind her, “Now Walter why don’t you help me with these popsicles…”
~*~
It’s harder for him to come to terms with the scars than it is for her.
Both of theirs run deep, all the way back to their childhoods, but she guesses that right now his are more raw -- cut with the precision of deliberate betrayal.
She’d been betrayed also, of course, but his betrayal of her had been unwitting. Initially, this had done nothing to soothe her. Her eyes had burned at the thought of him touching her, even laughing with or smiling at her. The fact that they hadn’t actually slept together had been a hollow comfort, overshadowed by the knowledge that she had been replaced and he hadn’t known. He hadn’t figured it out sooner.
In some ways it would be easier to hold onto that anger still, but the anger inevitably causes her more pain.
And she no longer wants to feel pain. She just wants to lessen his.
~*~
Olivia doesn’t say anything at first, just sits there and mimics his posture, her eyes settling on the lake in front of them. She waits patiently for him to adjust to her presence, intensely aware of her intrusion, of the way he’d tensed ever so slightly as she’d approached.
When she notices him glance at her in the corner of her vision, she takes it as her signal to speak. Eyes still on the water, she remarks, “You’re allowed to be angry at him, you know. Nobody expects you to get over it anytime soon.”
As expected, his answer is laced with sarcasm. “I get to be mad at the man who kidnapped me from my biological parents, effectively lied to me about it well into my adult life, and started a chain of events that has led two universes to be at war with one another. Thanks for the permission, sweetheart. I really appreciate it. And here I was feeling guilty about the whole thing.”
If he notices that he’s called her “sweetheart,” he gives no sign. She thinks he doesn’t, is pretty sure he’s so wrapped up in his anger that the term must’ve slipped. He hasn’t called her that since they first took Walter out of St. Claire’s, and this time she’s pretty sure she does like hearing it. Her reasons are neither romantic nor sentimental. Rather, his snarky use of the term reminds her that he still knows how to be rude to her.
She doesn’t think she can stand his (and everyone else’s) excessive concern for her feelings any longer. She’s pretty sure that soon she’ll have to resort to threats. For now, she hopes honesty will suffice.
“You’re allowed to be angry at me, too,” she tells Peter, finally turning to look him straight in the eye, knowing that this is what he needs to hear, that if he needs permission to be angry at anyone, it’s her.
~*~
He’s been careful with her, so careful with her, ever since she got back. The guilt he feels compounds the sting of his life having been a carefully concealed lie, one perpetuated by everyone he loved and trusted until it could no longer be denied.
Yet the lies hadn’t ended in this universe. The other one had plenty to tell, enough to drive him back here, but not before inserting another falsehood into his life.
She can’t help but sigh just to think of it. Two Walters and two Olivias, each one as deceptive as the other. Did the existence of a double somehow make duplicity a given? She can't say. All she knows is that there is a cruel irony to the fact that there is one person who hadn’t lied to Peter and he had been forced to leave her behind. Meanwhile, his other mother is long gone, unable to endure the weight of her guilt any longer.
Peter has not spoken to her about either of his mothers, not since their hasty conversation on the way to the opera house to meet Walter and Bell, on the night that changed everything. He’d tried to mention his reunion with his birth mother nonchalantly, but Olivia could tell it pained Peter to speak of her. At the time, she’d been too nervous and focused on getting them back to truly console him -- thinking she’d have an opportunity to do so later.
She hadn’t, of course. Walternate had made sure of that. He’d made sure of a lot of things.
The thought is enough to make her shiver involuntarily. It’s still so easy to slip back into that darkness, the immeasurable torment of loneliness disrupted only by unpredictable experiments and interrogations. All of her bruises and scars have faded, but she feels like she might be doomed to live forever in that tiny cell -- trapped in mind if not in body.
Nowhere is this more painfully clear than in the following fact:
She still misses Peter.
~*~
“You’re allowed to be angry at me.”
She can see he’s a little taken aback, not expecting her to broach this particular issue, but he recovers smoothly with a wry smile. “I know that, Olivia. I do realize I’m allowed to be angry at whoever I want to be.”
“Then, why aren’t you?” she counters.
“You know why,” he retorts quickly, and Olivia is tempted to just let it be, understanding his reluctance to discuss this, as normally she’s the one unwilling to open up.
“Peter,” she breathes, letting his name hang in the air between them, both an endearment and a plea.
~*~
He’s with her physically, of course. He’s pretty much always there, especially in the beginning when he’d been very reluctant to leave her side.
But she feels his absence in the concerned but remote way that he treats her. He doesn’t joke with her anymore. His smiles are always strained, hiding some hurt behind them.
It had taken Peter nearly two years to reveal the story of his mother’s suicide. But now he doesn’t talk to her about either of his mothers or his fathers or about anything of real significance. Initially, she thought he’d just been trying to spare her feelings. She knows now that -- like everything in their lives -- there’s a lot more to it than that.
There’s still a distance between them, one even worse than when they were stuck in two different universes. Then, at least, it was the laws of physics keeping them apart. Now, the gap feels self-imposed.
And Olivia is pretty sure she has no Cortexiphan-enhanced abilities to help her bridge it.
~*~
She misses Peter.
~*~
He sighs and says quietly, “She was a lot like you, you know.” It’s followed by a quick glance in her direction, as Peter tries to gauge her reaction to him bringing up the other Olivia. They’ve talked about her before, of course, but it had been in the beginning -- just once -- and entirely too painful. It was almost unavoidable to not bring her up again, but somehow they've managed to keep any references to a minimum, and Peter has never talked about her like this. About what he thinks of this other Olivia, rather than just the basic facts of what had happened while she was here.
Olivia can feel something in her stomach tense in apprehension. She doesn’t want to hear this, finds herself fearful of hearing Peter compare her to her alternate, suddenly recalling why not talking about things has always been such an appealing option. But then she reminds herself that Peter has pushed aside his own feelings long enough on her account, and so she gives him a small nod to let him know he can continue.
He looks back out onto the water, and his voice is strained as he says, “Not the same, of course, but close enough for anyone who didn’t know better. Similar determination, similar ability to get the job down, similar sense of humor when it came down to it, although she was more likely than you to crack a joke, especially at what seemed the most inappropriate of times. But the differences were there too. Clear as day, once I bothered to look for them. She was less burdened, lighter, and I…I ignored it. I rationalized it away, thinking, it was because of me, it was because of your confession and the kiss.”
He trails off, and she thinks he’s done, but then he laughs, a mocking laugh and she doesn’t think she’s ever heard such derision in his tone before when he says, “How pompous of me, right? To think that one kiss from me could change how haunted you’d always been, to think ‘Oh, this is what Olivia is like when she’s happy.’ But of course I could think that, because it turns out I don’t know you half as well as I thought I did. I let her deceive me, Olivia. I let it happen again. And the worst part is that I failed you in the process.”
“You didn’t…” Olivia feels herself start, but Peter’s voice is hard as he cuts her off.
“Olivia,” he says, his eyes sharp as he forces her to look at him, “I failed you. You don’t know what it was like for me the first time,” and at her eyebrows furrowing in confusion, he continues, softer, “I never told you what it was like to see you crash through that windshield, to see you lying motionless on that hospital bed and me having to say my goodbye, thinking this was it -- you were dead, Fringe Division was dissolved, and it was all over.”
“Fringe Division was dissolved? But you told me…” and at the look in his eyes, she understands. Looking back, she thinks she should’ve known he was lying to her, but then there’d been more pressing things to think about at the time.
“But it wasn’t over because you woke up, and you said something, you said…”
“Einai kalytero anthropo apo ton patera toy,” the words coming to her like from a dream, “not Latin but Greek…of course.”
“Of course,” Peter smiles, eyes crinkling, his first genuine smile in the conversation and Olivia can feel her heart lighten in response. “A code between my mother and me, and when you said it, after what happened to you, I took it as this unspoken code between us too.”
“Keep your people close, take care of the people you care about,” Olivia says, remembering, and feeling comprehension start to dawn.
“I didn’t understand the first time. About the shape-shifters and the other universe and what kind of danger you were in. But this time, I should’ve known, I should’ve at least been more wary.”
“You had a lot of other things on your mind, with Walter and your mother and everything…” murmurs Olivia, discovering in that moment just how much she wants to ease his guilt, how much his pain awakens an ache in her own heart.
“That’s no excuse and you know it,” Peter counters and any response she can think of only sounds foolish, so she stays silent.
“Be a better man than your father, that’s all I had to do. I can’t change what Walter did to you as a child, but the Secretary…I could have prevented him. I should have prevented him.”
Olivia can see Peter’s knuckles tighten in anger, and before she knows it, she’s reached out her own hand to touch the top of his.
It takes her back to a time when he had done the same to her, on this very bench, and the memory strengthens her resolve.
“I won’t let you blame yourself for what your fathers did to me. For not knowing it was me right away, sure. But you don’t get to carry their burden. You shouldn’t have to, not with what they did to you too. And I can hate the two of them all I want for what they did to me, think about how so much better my life might have been, but -- in the end -- well…they gave me you.”
Olivia can feel her throat tightening at her words, at Peter’s eyes fixated on her face, and she has to grip the edge of the wooden bench to go on, “I still mean what I said back there, you know, even after everything. Alternate mes and vengeance-bent fathers and just everything…I don’t regret what I said.”
She can feel tears pricking the back of her eyes, and she has to look down and away from him if she wants to keep it together, but it isn’t long before she feels his fingers on her chin, forcing her to look straight into his eyes, at the compassion lying so freely there, “Hey…”
The tenderness of his gaze is almost enough to make her think that all is forgiven, but they’ve been through too much for her to really believe it.
“But you have to be mad at me. It doesn’t mean anything if you’re not mad at me.”
“I’m mad at you,” Peter responds, but he’s smiling as he says it, and Olivia lets out at a shaky laugh as she swipes at her teary eyes.
“Peter, I mean it. I lied to you. I lied to you and you left.”
Her words, a reminder of her blatant dishonesty, are enough to snap him back to seriousness.
“I was mad at you. More mad at Walter most days, but you too. I guess I just figured that you…you wouldn’t lie to me. Not about something like that, having to do with me. You’d hold back what you were feeling all the time, deny your own pain, but that…that was something you should’ve told me Olivia.”
“I know,” she responds, feeling small, “I should’ve told you right away, or done it when I realized Walter wasn’t going to…I just, I was scared and I was selfish and I…” wasn’t prepared to lose you, Olivia thinks, but she can't bring herself to repeat the words. It’s petty, but she’s never liked admitting that Nina Sharp is right -- even if the woman isn’t present to hear it.
“Didn’t want to ruin our odd little family unit?” asks Peter, filling in the blanks for her, ever patient about the things she could just never bring herself to say. “You know, you and Walter, between the two of you it was the first time I’d stayed in one place for a very long time. And I guess…” and Olivia can see his throat constrict as he stumbles over the words, “I guess I’m still a little angry at you, you’re right. Mostly Walter again, but you too. Walter wasn’t entirely unexpected, but you…”
“You trusted me,” Olivia says, wanting to clear the space between them. “I don’t expect you to trust me like you once did, not right now. But you don’t have to tiptoe around my feelings all the time because you feel responsible. I just,” Olivia pauses, unsure how to go on, “I know it wasn’t easy making the decision to come back here. So I guess what I’m trying to say is…you’re not alone here.”
“Why do I feel like I’m getting déjà vu?” Peter remarks, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Probably because you’re in line with your own destiny,” Olivia can't help but reply, recalling another one of their many conversations.
“Exactly where I’m supposed to be,” Peter responds, his eyes intent on her face, causing Olivia to feel warm all over.
You belong with me, she thinks again, and knows that -- even if things aren’t perfect between them -- he thinks it too.
“Come on,” Peter says, rising from the bench and stretching his hand out to her, “we better go save Astrid. Walter probably thinks I'm half-way across Massachusetts by now.”
“Probably,” Olivia agrees, taking his hand in hers, and squeezing.
Fandom: Fringe
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Peter/Olivia
Word Count: ~2800
Spoilers: Through the end of S2.
Summary: Post S2-finale fic. There's always something keeping them apart.
Disclaimer: I don’t own the fabulous show of Fringe. And the fact that the title shares the name of a song by the Dave Matthews Band is coincidental (great song though). No copyright infringement intended!
A/N: Written for the op_ficathon for greyslostwho. Her fantastic prompt was "It's harder for him to come to terms with the scars than it is for her." I tried to do it justice. A big thanks to my beta holycitygirl for making the structural changes that make this fic read so much better. Eternal gratitude couldn't make up for all that she does for me.
It starts inanely enough.
Walter is rattling on about some chemical formula, Astrid is organizing the supplies and groceries she just bought (including a particular brand of raspberry-flavored popsicles that Walter finds "absolutely delightful”), Peter is tinkering with an old car radio, and Olivia is finishing up some paperwork from their latest case.
But, ever since Peter’s return, the inane has tended to escalate.
What starts as a “Hey Walter, you mind turning it down a notch?” somehow ends with Peter storming out of the lab and Walter wringing his hands and looking after his son with worry.
“I’ve upset him again, haven’t I?” Walter cries, and Olivia bites back a sigh and merely nods, her eyes flicking to the door through which Peter had just exited.
She barely has time to lock eyes with Astrid before she is heading towards it -- towards Peter -- the junior agent’s voice ringing strong and reassuring behind her, “Now Walter why don’t you help me with these popsicles…”
~*~
It’s harder for him to come to terms with the scars than it is for her.
Both of theirs run deep, all the way back to their childhoods, but she guesses that right now his are more raw -- cut with the precision of deliberate betrayal.
She’d been betrayed also, of course, but his betrayal of her had been unwitting. Initially, this had done nothing to soothe her. Her eyes had burned at the thought of him touching her, even laughing with or smiling at her. The fact that they hadn’t actually slept together had been a hollow comfort, overshadowed by the knowledge that she had been replaced and he hadn’t known. He hadn’t figured it out sooner.
In some ways it would be easier to hold onto that anger still, but the anger inevitably causes her more pain.
And she no longer wants to feel pain. She just wants to lessen his.
~*~
Olivia doesn’t say anything at first, just sits there and mimics his posture, her eyes settling on the lake in front of them. She waits patiently for him to adjust to her presence, intensely aware of her intrusion, of the way he’d tensed ever so slightly as she’d approached.
When she notices him glance at her in the corner of her vision, she takes it as her signal to speak. Eyes still on the water, she remarks, “You’re allowed to be angry at him, you know. Nobody expects you to get over it anytime soon.”
As expected, his answer is laced with sarcasm. “I get to be mad at the man who kidnapped me from my biological parents, effectively lied to me about it well into my adult life, and started a chain of events that has led two universes to be at war with one another. Thanks for the permission, sweetheart. I really appreciate it. And here I was feeling guilty about the whole thing.”
If he notices that he’s called her “sweetheart,” he gives no sign. She thinks he doesn’t, is pretty sure he’s so wrapped up in his anger that the term must’ve slipped. He hasn’t called her that since they first took Walter out of St. Claire’s, and this time she’s pretty sure she does like hearing it. Her reasons are neither romantic nor sentimental. Rather, his snarky use of the term reminds her that he still knows how to be rude to her.
She doesn’t think she can stand his (and everyone else’s) excessive concern for her feelings any longer. She’s pretty sure that soon she’ll have to resort to threats. For now, she hopes honesty will suffice.
“You’re allowed to be angry at me, too,” she tells Peter, finally turning to look him straight in the eye, knowing that this is what he needs to hear, that if he needs permission to be angry at anyone, it’s her.
~*~
He’s been careful with her, so careful with her, ever since she got back. The guilt he feels compounds the sting of his life having been a carefully concealed lie, one perpetuated by everyone he loved and trusted until it could no longer be denied.
Yet the lies hadn’t ended in this universe. The other one had plenty to tell, enough to drive him back here, but not before inserting another falsehood into his life.
She can’t help but sigh just to think of it. Two Walters and two Olivias, each one as deceptive as the other. Did the existence of a double somehow make duplicity a given? She can't say. All she knows is that there is a cruel irony to the fact that there is one person who hadn’t lied to Peter and he had been forced to leave her behind. Meanwhile, his other mother is long gone, unable to endure the weight of her guilt any longer.
Peter has not spoken to her about either of his mothers, not since their hasty conversation on the way to the opera house to meet Walter and Bell, on the night that changed everything. He’d tried to mention his reunion with his birth mother nonchalantly, but Olivia could tell it pained Peter to speak of her. At the time, she’d been too nervous and focused on getting them back to truly console him -- thinking she’d have an opportunity to do so later.
She hadn’t, of course. Walternate had made sure of that. He’d made sure of a lot of things.
The thought is enough to make her shiver involuntarily. It’s still so easy to slip back into that darkness, the immeasurable torment of loneliness disrupted only by unpredictable experiments and interrogations. All of her bruises and scars have faded, but she feels like she might be doomed to live forever in that tiny cell -- trapped in mind if not in body.
Nowhere is this more painfully clear than in the following fact:
She still misses Peter.
~*~
“You’re allowed to be angry at me.”
She can see he’s a little taken aback, not expecting her to broach this particular issue, but he recovers smoothly with a wry smile. “I know that, Olivia. I do realize I’m allowed to be angry at whoever I want to be.”
“Then, why aren’t you?” she counters.
“You know why,” he retorts quickly, and Olivia is tempted to just let it be, understanding his reluctance to discuss this, as normally she’s the one unwilling to open up.
“Peter,” she breathes, letting his name hang in the air between them, both an endearment and a plea.
~*~
He’s with her physically, of course. He’s pretty much always there, especially in the beginning when he’d been very reluctant to leave her side.
But she feels his absence in the concerned but remote way that he treats her. He doesn’t joke with her anymore. His smiles are always strained, hiding some hurt behind them.
It had taken Peter nearly two years to reveal the story of his mother’s suicide. But now he doesn’t talk to her about either of his mothers or his fathers or about anything of real significance. Initially, she thought he’d just been trying to spare her feelings. She knows now that -- like everything in their lives -- there’s a lot more to it than that.
There’s still a distance between them, one even worse than when they were stuck in two different universes. Then, at least, it was the laws of physics keeping them apart. Now, the gap feels self-imposed.
And Olivia is pretty sure she has no Cortexiphan-enhanced abilities to help her bridge it.
~*~
She misses Peter.
~*~
He sighs and says quietly, “She was a lot like you, you know.” It’s followed by a quick glance in her direction, as Peter tries to gauge her reaction to him bringing up the other Olivia. They’ve talked about her before, of course, but it had been in the beginning -- just once -- and entirely too painful. It was almost unavoidable to not bring her up again, but somehow they've managed to keep any references to a minimum, and Peter has never talked about her like this. About what he thinks of this other Olivia, rather than just the basic facts of what had happened while she was here.
Olivia can feel something in her stomach tense in apprehension. She doesn’t want to hear this, finds herself fearful of hearing Peter compare her to her alternate, suddenly recalling why not talking about things has always been such an appealing option. But then she reminds herself that Peter has pushed aside his own feelings long enough on her account, and so she gives him a small nod to let him know he can continue.
He looks back out onto the water, and his voice is strained as he says, “Not the same, of course, but close enough for anyone who didn’t know better. Similar determination, similar ability to get the job down, similar sense of humor when it came down to it, although she was more likely than you to crack a joke, especially at what seemed the most inappropriate of times. But the differences were there too. Clear as day, once I bothered to look for them. She was less burdened, lighter, and I…I ignored it. I rationalized it away, thinking, it was because of me, it was because of your confession and the kiss.”
He trails off, and she thinks he’s done, but then he laughs, a mocking laugh and she doesn’t think she’s ever heard such derision in his tone before when he says, “How pompous of me, right? To think that one kiss from me could change how haunted you’d always been, to think ‘Oh, this is what Olivia is like when she’s happy.’ But of course I could think that, because it turns out I don’t know you half as well as I thought I did. I let her deceive me, Olivia. I let it happen again. And the worst part is that I failed you in the process.”
“You didn’t…” Olivia feels herself start, but Peter’s voice is hard as he cuts her off.
“Olivia,” he says, his eyes sharp as he forces her to look at him, “I failed you. You don’t know what it was like for me the first time,” and at her eyebrows furrowing in confusion, he continues, softer, “I never told you what it was like to see you crash through that windshield, to see you lying motionless on that hospital bed and me having to say my goodbye, thinking this was it -- you were dead, Fringe Division was dissolved, and it was all over.”
“Fringe Division was dissolved? But you told me…” and at the look in his eyes, she understands. Looking back, she thinks she should’ve known he was lying to her, but then there’d been more pressing things to think about at the time.
“But it wasn’t over because you woke up, and you said something, you said…”
“Einai kalytero anthropo apo ton patera toy,” the words coming to her like from a dream, “not Latin but Greek…of course.”
“Of course,” Peter smiles, eyes crinkling, his first genuine smile in the conversation and Olivia can feel her heart lighten in response. “A code between my mother and me, and when you said it, after what happened to you, I took it as this unspoken code between us too.”
“Keep your people close, take care of the people you care about,” Olivia says, remembering, and feeling comprehension start to dawn.
“I didn’t understand the first time. About the shape-shifters and the other universe and what kind of danger you were in. But this time, I should’ve known, I should’ve at least been more wary.”
“You had a lot of other things on your mind, with Walter and your mother and everything…” murmurs Olivia, discovering in that moment just how much she wants to ease his guilt, how much his pain awakens an ache in her own heart.
“That’s no excuse and you know it,” Peter counters and any response she can think of only sounds foolish, so she stays silent.
“Be a better man than your father, that’s all I had to do. I can’t change what Walter did to you as a child, but the Secretary…I could have prevented him. I should have prevented him.”
Olivia can see Peter’s knuckles tighten in anger, and before she knows it, she’s reached out her own hand to touch the top of his.
It takes her back to a time when he had done the same to her, on this very bench, and the memory strengthens her resolve.
“I won’t let you blame yourself for what your fathers did to me. For not knowing it was me right away, sure. But you don’t get to carry their burden. You shouldn’t have to, not with what they did to you too. And I can hate the two of them all I want for what they did to me, think about how so much better my life might have been, but -- in the end -- well…they gave me you.”
Olivia can feel her throat tightening at her words, at Peter’s eyes fixated on her face, and she has to grip the edge of the wooden bench to go on, “I still mean what I said back there, you know, even after everything. Alternate mes and vengeance-bent fathers and just everything…I don’t regret what I said.”
She can feel tears pricking the back of her eyes, and she has to look down and away from him if she wants to keep it together, but it isn’t long before she feels his fingers on her chin, forcing her to look straight into his eyes, at the compassion lying so freely there, “Hey…”
The tenderness of his gaze is almost enough to make her think that all is forgiven, but they’ve been through too much for her to really believe it.
“But you have to be mad at me. It doesn’t mean anything if you’re not mad at me.”
“I’m mad at you,” Peter responds, but he’s smiling as he says it, and Olivia lets out at a shaky laugh as she swipes at her teary eyes.
“Peter, I mean it. I lied to you. I lied to you and you left.”
Her words, a reminder of her blatant dishonesty, are enough to snap him back to seriousness.
“I was mad at you. More mad at Walter most days, but you too. I guess I just figured that you…you wouldn’t lie to me. Not about something like that, having to do with me. You’d hold back what you were feeling all the time, deny your own pain, but that…that was something you should’ve told me Olivia.”
“I know,” she responds, feeling small, “I should’ve told you right away, or done it when I realized Walter wasn’t going to…I just, I was scared and I was selfish and I…” wasn’t prepared to lose you, Olivia thinks, but she can't bring herself to repeat the words. It’s petty, but she’s never liked admitting that Nina Sharp is right -- even if the woman isn’t present to hear it.
“Didn’t want to ruin our odd little family unit?” asks Peter, filling in the blanks for her, ever patient about the things she could just never bring herself to say. “You know, you and Walter, between the two of you it was the first time I’d stayed in one place for a very long time. And I guess…” and Olivia can see his throat constrict as he stumbles over the words, “I guess I’m still a little angry at you, you’re right. Mostly Walter again, but you too. Walter wasn’t entirely unexpected, but you…”
“You trusted me,” Olivia says, wanting to clear the space between them. “I don’t expect you to trust me like you once did, not right now. But you don’t have to tiptoe around my feelings all the time because you feel responsible. I just,” Olivia pauses, unsure how to go on, “I know it wasn’t easy making the decision to come back here. So I guess what I’m trying to say is…you’re not alone here.”
“Why do I feel like I’m getting déjà vu?” Peter remarks, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Probably because you’re in line with your own destiny,” Olivia can't help but reply, recalling another one of their many conversations.
“Exactly where I’m supposed to be,” Peter responds, his eyes intent on her face, causing Olivia to feel warm all over.
You belong with me, she thinks again, and knows that -- even if things aren’t perfect between them -- he thinks it too.
“Come on,” Peter says, rising from the bench and stretching his hand out to her, “we better go save Astrid. Walter probably thinks I'm half-way across Massachusetts by now.”
“Probably,” Olivia agrees, taking his hand in hers, and squeezing.