Fringe fic: Five cups of coffee Peter brought Olivia
Five cups of coffee Peter brought Olivia
Peter and Olivia (with Walter, Charlie, and Astrid), PG, hints of Peter/Olivia UST, 1,800 words
a/n: Set during season 1. Except for the pilot and "The Arrival," references are to "lost casefiles" that exist only in my head. Also note, as of posting time, I've seen through episode 2x08. Thank you to my awesome beta thespatz.
Summary: Peter knows Olivia doesn't need him looking after her. But he keeps doing it anyway.
One
The first time he brought Olivia a cup of coffee it was a courtesy, but after the first time, the second time, the third time, or maybe it was the fourth time, Peter started to feel like if he didn't, maybe she wouldn't get one herself. She'd do that thing where she sat with her fingers pressed against her temples and if anyone caught her rubbing her eyes tiredly she'd straighten up and blink and pretend she wasn't exhausted, but she wouldn't stop to put some sugar and a hot drink into her system.
There was nothing rational about it. Olivia didn't need Peter looking after her. For one thing she could beat him up -- she reminded him of Susan Willis from the third grade, who was really pretty and who punched Peter in the nose once for a reason he could no longer remember although he thought there was a watermelon-scented magic marker involved. For another thing, Olivia was very smart and good at her job and had a high level of related technical training, so he was pretty sure she could operate a coffee machine. She could find her way to Peet's or Starbucks.
He found her in the hallway near Walter's lab the first time, her head lowered, long hair messily gathered up, tired slump to her shoulders. When he offered her the cup of coffee, her absorption in the files broke in a way that made him feel like he was pulling her up from under water.
So maybe it was totally irrational, but after a while, Peter began to feel he'd better keep doing it.
* * *
Two
"All twelve victims ordered the same sandwich at the same deli between the hours of two and three on consecutive days and they were all found turned..." Olivia wrinkled her nose. "...inside out." She hit a computer key and the gruesome images scrolled by.
"Oh god," said Peter. "I just ate." Sometimes Olivia and Walter were two of a kind, with their seemingly limitless capacity to stare at mangled, dismembered, altered, mutated, twisted, gnawed, or otherwise violated flesh without gagging.
"Ew," Astrid said quietly, glancing at the screen before she went back to washing Ernlenmayer flasks.
"A complete spontaneous inversion of the epidermal layer." Walter rubbed his hands together. "Incredible. Of course the really important question is, what kind of sandwich?"
Olivia pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger. "Corned beef on rye. With mustard. Why?"
"Oh, because it...hm, on rye with mustard. That sounds good." Walter turned away and got that look in his eye that meant he was about to ask Astrid to call for take-out.
"Walter?" Peter stepped into his path. "The type of sandwich the victims ate?"
"For the method of ingestion of the poison that caused this. If it was some sort of salad -- macaroni, whitefish, chicken -- it could have been added at various stages of the process. A special batch, perhaps. Or someone from the outside slipped the substance in. If it was lunch meat, but no other customers who ate that sandwich that day were infected, then it may have been more specific and targeted at certain people, chosen ahead of time. Whoever did this would have to apply the poison directly to the sandwich."
Olivia punched a few more keys. "I can check and see if they were regulars at the deli."
To the best of Peter's knowledge, she'd been up since five on this, and they'd both been at the warehouse with Charlie until at least two a.m. last night. He hadn't seen her eat anything.
Peter leaned his elbow on the counter next to where Olivia was working. "You hungry?"
"Nope," she said, gaze on the computer screen. There were shadows under her eyes.
Half an hour later, he put a slice of pizza on the counter next to her elbow and nudged her shoulder with the edge of a coffee cup. "Here," he said. No way was Peter letting Walter actually order deli food, not after the grossness they'd been looking at, and even pizza seemed really wrong, but it would do.
Olivia ignored the pizza but took the coffee. She never said anything about the amount of sugar or milk, or whether he picked hazlenut or vanilla or some other flavor. This one was mocha, and Peter had put in extra sugar.
As she sipped at the coffee, Olivia's face softened.
* * *
Three
Peter was really glad he'd managed to remain conscious, in part because watching Olivia take out the five perps was the most incredible thing he had ever seen -- and Peter had been all over the world, he had seen some stuff.
Kick to the stomach on the first one, grabbing the gun of the second, using it to pistol whip the third, shooting the fourth in the leg. The fifth managed to grab her and slammed her against the metal table but Olivia flipped him to the ground. She had her gun trained on the only one left standing when Charlie finally rushed in with the cavalry.
"You okay?" Olivia asked Peter, sounding only a little out of breath as she undid the straps holding him to the chair. She held her wrist awkwardly, using only the fingers of her right hand to free him.
"Yeah," he said, which was true. "Hey, Agent Francis --" Peter held up his now newly freed arm and gestured. "I think Agent Dunham here is in need of medical attention."
Muttering something into his wrist comm, Charlie hurried over.
"Dunham? Not you?"
Peter stood up, and the room spun only a little. "No, I'm good. But I think Agent Dunham's wrist got injured during the fight."
"It's nothing." Olivia's jaw went tight. "Just needs an ice pack, or something."
"Uh-huh," said Charlie, in a voice that said someone had tried to sell him that bridge before.
A short while later, Olivia sat on the back step of the ambulance while an EMT wrapped her wrist. The woman finished, gathered up her kit, and left them. Peter sat down next to Olivia.
It was a chill, rainy day, bleak as only Massachusetts could be bleak. Olivia's shoulders twitched beneath the blue FBI windbreaker. Someone had given one to Peter as well -- not that it was doing much good. He wanted to get indoors, he wanted food, he wanted sleep. Getting abducted was very exhausting (even if this wasn't nearly as scary as that thing that had happened to him in Uzbekistan two years ago, or what John Mosley had done to him).
He handed Olivia a cup of coffee, his shoulder brushing hers. She curled the fingers of her uninjured hand around the warmth. While the rain kept drizzling down, for a moment he felt her lean against him.
* * *
Four
The notes from the unsub were spread all over the rug in Olivia's apartment, written on pale blue 3x5 cards in her neat capital letters. She'd used a black sharpie marker and had put the date of each disappearance in the upper right-hand corner.
"This feels like cramming for a test in college," Peter said, sitting on the floor with his back against the couch. "I mean if I, you know, ever actually studied."
Olivia slid down from the couch to sit next to him, wearing jeans and an old sweatshirt. She lifted her glasses to rub the bridge of her nose. "This guy is driving me nuts." Her bare foot kicked one of Peter's discarded sneakers against the leg of the coffee table, which they'd pushed aside to make room for all the note cards. "How many more people are going to vanish before I figure out his stupid pattern?"
She rested her forehead on her knees, her face hidden from him.
Peter was pretty sure it would be inappropriate to start massaging the tense muscles at her shoulders and the base of her neck. Really inappropriate. Even if he asked first. If he asked, she might give him some kind of stare and then there would be awkwardness and despite the urgency of the case, he'd enjoyed this evening. It was up there with some of his better ones. Olivia had even cooked, which was astonishing, but not as astonishing as getting to actually watch her eat a meal and laugh when he made a stupid joke.
She was beautiful when she laughed.
He got to his feet. "You want more coffee?"
Yawning, Olivia raised her head. "Yeah."
It was past midnight and they both had several cups of coffee in them already. Peter went into her kitchen and did his impression of that old Folger's Crystals ad, secretly brewing decaf this time. He added a lot of milk and sugar, hoping she wouldn't notice the difference, and that she might get some sleep later.
* * *
Five
It was a long drive from Boston, MA up to the tiny town in Vermont. Walter kept singing "Buffalo Gal" for reasons that completely escaped Peter, but then he'd given up trying to figure out why his father did certain things.
"Walter, please, sing something else, okay?"
For the next thirty minutes, Peter and Olivia were treated to Walter's quietly muttered rendition of "It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World" instead.
After about ten minutes of quiet, Walter hunched forward between the front seats, the device balanced on his knees, held in a tight grip. "Agent Dunham, perhaps we should go...faster. We don't want the entire town to vanish into thin air again."
Olivia drove the way she worked -- eyes on the road ahead, and at the moment, even more over the speed limit than they'd already been doing for the past hour and a half.
"And if we get pulled over for a ticket, or wind up in a horrible accident, we'll definitely get there too late. Relax, Walter, we have until tomorrow." Peter caught Olivia's gaze in the rear-view mirror.
She slowed a fraction, then gave him a wry, lopsided grin before her concentration went back on the road.
"The town is like Brigadoon," Walter said wonderingly, sitting back again.
They took a rest stop, and while Walter was taking care of business, Peter bought three cups of coffee. He put Walter's on the picnic table and handed another cup to Olivia.
The trees were bright red and gold, and Olivia turned her face up into the sunlight like she hadn't seen it in a while, closing her eyes a moment before she started to sip her coffee.
There was a town to save. Peter didn't think he should be enjoying the stillness and waiting so much, but he did.
~end
Peter and Olivia (with Walter, Charlie, and Astrid), PG, hints of Peter/Olivia UST, 1,800 words
a/n: Set during season 1. Except for the pilot and "The Arrival," references are to "lost casefiles" that exist only in my head. Also note, as of posting time, I've seen through episode 2x08. Thank you to my awesome beta thespatz.
Summary: Peter knows Olivia doesn't need him looking after her. But he keeps doing it anyway.
One
The first time he brought Olivia a cup of coffee it was a courtesy, but after the first time, the second time, the third time, or maybe it was the fourth time, Peter started to feel like if he didn't, maybe she wouldn't get one herself. She'd do that thing where she sat with her fingers pressed against her temples and if anyone caught her rubbing her eyes tiredly she'd straighten up and blink and pretend she wasn't exhausted, but she wouldn't stop to put some sugar and a hot drink into her system.
There was nothing rational about it. Olivia didn't need Peter looking after her. For one thing she could beat him up -- she reminded him of Susan Willis from the third grade, who was really pretty and who punched Peter in the nose once for a reason he could no longer remember although he thought there was a watermelon-scented magic marker involved. For another thing, Olivia was very smart and good at her job and had a high level of related technical training, so he was pretty sure she could operate a coffee machine. She could find her way to Peet's or Starbucks.
He found her in the hallway near Walter's lab the first time, her head lowered, long hair messily gathered up, tired slump to her shoulders. When he offered her the cup of coffee, her absorption in the files broke in a way that made him feel like he was pulling her up from under water.
So maybe it was totally irrational, but after a while, Peter began to feel he'd better keep doing it.
* * *
Two
"All twelve victims ordered the same sandwich at the same deli between the hours of two and three on consecutive days and they were all found turned..." Olivia wrinkled her nose. "...inside out." She hit a computer key and the gruesome images scrolled by.
"Oh god," said Peter. "I just ate." Sometimes Olivia and Walter were two of a kind, with their seemingly limitless capacity to stare at mangled, dismembered, altered, mutated, twisted, gnawed, or otherwise violated flesh without gagging.
"Ew," Astrid said quietly, glancing at the screen before she went back to washing Ernlenmayer flasks.
"A complete spontaneous inversion of the epidermal layer." Walter rubbed his hands together. "Incredible. Of course the really important question is, what kind of sandwich?"
Olivia pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger. "Corned beef on rye. With mustard. Why?"
"Oh, because it...hm, on rye with mustard. That sounds good." Walter turned away and got that look in his eye that meant he was about to ask Astrid to call for take-out.
"Walter?" Peter stepped into his path. "The type of sandwich the victims ate?"
"For the method of ingestion of the poison that caused this. If it was some sort of salad -- macaroni, whitefish, chicken -- it could have been added at various stages of the process. A special batch, perhaps. Or someone from the outside slipped the substance in. If it was lunch meat, but no other customers who ate that sandwich that day were infected, then it may have been more specific and targeted at certain people, chosen ahead of time. Whoever did this would have to apply the poison directly to the sandwich."
Olivia punched a few more keys. "I can check and see if they were regulars at the deli."
To the best of Peter's knowledge, she'd been up since five on this, and they'd both been at the warehouse with Charlie until at least two a.m. last night. He hadn't seen her eat anything.
Peter leaned his elbow on the counter next to where Olivia was working. "You hungry?"
"Nope," she said, gaze on the computer screen. There were shadows under her eyes.
Half an hour later, he put a slice of pizza on the counter next to her elbow and nudged her shoulder with the edge of a coffee cup. "Here," he said. No way was Peter letting Walter actually order deli food, not after the grossness they'd been looking at, and even pizza seemed really wrong, but it would do.
Olivia ignored the pizza but took the coffee. She never said anything about the amount of sugar or milk, or whether he picked hazlenut or vanilla or some other flavor. This one was mocha, and Peter had put in extra sugar.
As she sipped at the coffee, Olivia's face softened.
* * *
Three
Peter was really glad he'd managed to remain conscious, in part because watching Olivia take out the five perps was the most incredible thing he had ever seen -- and Peter had been all over the world, he had seen some stuff.
Kick to the stomach on the first one, grabbing the gun of the second, using it to pistol whip the third, shooting the fourth in the leg. The fifth managed to grab her and slammed her against the metal table but Olivia flipped him to the ground. She had her gun trained on the only one left standing when Charlie finally rushed in with the cavalry.
"You okay?" Olivia asked Peter, sounding only a little out of breath as she undid the straps holding him to the chair. She held her wrist awkwardly, using only the fingers of her right hand to free him.
"Yeah," he said, which was true. "Hey, Agent Francis --" Peter held up his now newly freed arm and gestured. "I think Agent Dunham here is in need of medical attention."
Muttering something into his wrist comm, Charlie hurried over.
"Dunham? Not you?"
Peter stood up, and the room spun only a little. "No, I'm good. But I think Agent Dunham's wrist got injured during the fight."
"It's nothing." Olivia's jaw went tight. "Just needs an ice pack, or something."
"Uh-huh," said Charlie, in a voice that said someone had tried to sell him that bridge before.
A short while later, Olivia sat on the back step of the ambulance while an EMT wrapped her wrist. The woman finished, gathered up her kit, and left them. Peter sat down next to Olivia.
It was a chill, rainy day, bleak as only Massachusetts could be bleak. Olivia's shoulders twitched beneath the blue FBI windbreaker. Someone had given one to Peter as well -- not that it was doing much good. He wanted to get indoors, he wanted food, he wanted sleep. Getting abducted was very exhausting (even if this wasn't nearly as scary as that thing that had happened to him in Uzbekistan two years ago, or what John Mosley had done to him).
He handed Olivia a cup of coffee, his shoulder brushing hers. She curled the fingers of her uninjured hand around the warmth. While the rain kept drizzling down, for a moment he felt her lean against him.
* * *
Four
The notes from the unsub were spread all over the rug in Olivia's apartment, written on pale blue 3x5 cards in her neat capital letters. She'd used a black sharpie marker and had put the date of each disappearance in the upper right-hand corner.
"This feels like cramming for a test in college," Peter said, sitting on the floor with his back against the couch. "I mean if I, you know, ever actually studied."
Olivia slid down from the couch to sit next to him, wearing jeans and an old sweatshirt. She lifted her glasses to rub the bridge of her nose. "This guy is driving me nuts." Her bare foot kicked one of Peter's discarded sneakers against the leg of the coffee table, which they'd pushed aside to make room for all the note cards. "How many more people are going to vanish before I figure out his stupid pattern?"
She rested her forehead on her knees, her face hidden from him.
Peter was pretty sure it would be inappropriate to start massaging the tense muscles at her shoulders and the base of her neck. Really inappropriate. Even if he asked first. If he asked, she might give him some kind of stare and then there would be awkwardness and despite the urgency of the case, he'd enjoyed this evening. It was up there with some of his better ones. Olivia had even cooked, which was astonishing, but not as astonishing as getting to actually watch her eat a meal and laugh when he made a stupid joke.
She was beautiful when she laughed.
He got to his feet. "You want more coffee?"
Yawning, Olivia raised her head. "Yeah."
It was past midnight and they both had several cups of coffee in them already. Peter went into her kitchen and did his impression of that old Folger's Crystals ad, secretly brewing decaf this time. He added a lot of milk and sugar, hoping she wouldn't notice the difference, and that she might get some sleep later.
* * *
Five
It was a long drive from Boston, MA up to the tiny town in Vermont. Walter kept singing "Buffalo Gal" for reasons that completely escaped Peter, but then he'd given up trying to figure out why his father did certain things.
"Walter, please, sing something else, okay?"
For the next thirty minutes, Peter and Olivia were treated to Walter's quietly muttered rendition of "It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World" instead.
After about ten minutes of quiet, Walter hunched forward between the front seats, the device balanced on his knees, held in a tight grip. "Agent Dunham, perhaps we should go...faster. We don't want the entire town to vanish into thin air again."
Olivia drove the way she worked -- eyes on the road ahead, and at the moment, even more over the speed limit than they'd already been doing for the past hour and a half.
"And if we get pulled over for a ticket, or wind up in a horrible accident, we'll definitely get there too late. Relax, Walter, we have until tomorrow." Peter caught Olivia's gaze in the rear-view mirror.
She slowed a fraction, then gave him a wry, lopsided grin before her concentration went back on the road.
"The town is like Brigadoon," Walter said wonderingly, sitting back again.
They took a rest stop, and while Walter was taking care of business, Peter bought three cups of coffee. He put Walter's on the picnic table and handed another cup to Olivia.
The trees were bright red and gold, and Olivia turned her face up into the sunlight like she hadn't seen it in a while, closing her eyes a moment before she started to sip her coffee.
There was a town to save. Peter didn't think he should be enjoying the stillness and waiting so much, but he did.
~end