Olivia/Peter fanfic (post-Finale): In Reverse (III)
A/N: Thank you so much for the comments guys :')
Alright, so I was supposed to write another sad part before this, about Peter learning about her death and explaining why he ended up being hospitalized in the first place. But I chickened out. I have reached my angst limit for the week LOL!
So I deliver happy P/O. Or happier. Ish. XD
This is unbetaed, I apologize for the mistakes.
Previous parts: I. // II.
IN REVERSE
III.
Peter does get lucky that night.
He doesn't think it has anything to do with that drawing though, not at first anyway. He's thinking those two glasses of wine she drank during dinner are more of a factor, along with the fact that he was badly injured the previous night, which always tends to lead them to some intense physical reunion. The fact that he can think of it as a recurrent situation is showing of just how hectic their lives can be at times.
Living in a crumbling world isn't without risk.
And yet, lost into the feel of her, when everything is entangled limbs, crumpled sheets and sweaty skin, he can tell that there is more on her mind than Fringe Events and massive blood loss.
When you spend so many years of your life with someone, you learn to read them and their body language, absorbing everything, knowing them by heart, better than you know the first words on the very first page of your favorite book.
Of course, Peter doesn't really have anything to compare this with. Before Olivia, his longest relationship had lasted four months. He simply assumes that it is how everybody feels, and if they don't, he doesn't give a damn, because he wouldn't want it any other way. There is something extremely comforting in knowing her so well, in living in this routine with her, which is too often disturbed by horrific events none of them are able to prevent. It makes the quiet evenings spent cuddled on the couch doing nothing but watching TV that much more enjoyable.
Making love is no different.
It's like they are playing music, years after years, always following the same notes they have both written on a parchment sheet with ink made of kisses and sighs. Sometimes, they just follow the score. At other times, they improvise, classical turning into jazz, increasing the tempo or lowering the octave.
Together they write beautiful symphonies that no one else but them will ever listen to, as it should always be.
And tonight, Olivia is off beat.
Well, it's not that she's off beat as much as she seems driven by something raw he cannot grasp, but it's alright. He lets her be the leader without any resistance, her nails digging so hard into the skin of his back that she might draw blood, and she doesn't loosen her grip until that fleeting instant that follows her release, when bones turn into cotton, all souls at peace.
Forehead to forehead, they stare at each other; all is silence now, if not for their ragged breathing that will soon go back to normal. And yet, her body may have quieted down, he still sees it in her eyes. His fingers leave her hair to gently caress her rosy cheek.
"What's wrong?" He asks quietly, and she closes her eyes.
A salty drop slides down her temple then, and maybe it is sweat, maybe it isn't. His finger brushes that tear away, just before she starts moving beneath him, indicating that it is time for him to stop crushing her. But as they often do, they simply roll on their sides and tangle up some more, the damp skin of her back against the damp skin of his chest, fingers intertwined near her heartbeat, and he breathes into her hair.
She doesn't say anything, and that is what makes him quickly understand what this is about. They are always honest with each other, trying to talk things out, as bad as it can be at times. They have learned in the early days of their relationship that honesty is one powerful cement. While the lack of it can make their very foundation shiver and quake, even the toughest admissions eventually strengthen their bond.
But no couple ever really achieves perfection, even after years of learning and trying, and though they might not exactly be the definition of 'normal', they still fall prey to ordinary faults.
Peter, for example, tends to tell her everything, but not exactly right away. At times, he feels like he needs to deal with certain matters alone at first before letting her in; or he feels like she can be spared the additional emotional baggage. Olivia, on the other hand, has the habit of keeping everything hidden inside, not because she doesn't want to open up, but because that is how she has learned to deal with her emotions, persuading herself that she's 'fine', until the day she's not.
And they have taboos.
There are subjects they don't discuss, because one of them simply cannot bear it, and the other respect and accept it. And it's funny really, come to think of it, as those matters still affect them both several times a year -the only times they come close to really acknowledging each other's pain. But they live their lives around those days, unspoken, yet never forgotten. They only get addressed when the elephant in the room simply gets too big to be ignored.
Like it was the case tonight while they were making dinner.
He knows it would be wiser not to say anything, not to bring it up again; she's still quiet, evidence that she will not, as always, force the subject on him. And yet he knows deep inside how much she needs to have this conversation they never had. Hundreds of them, really.
And it's her silence that finally pushes him to speak softly against her neck.
"It's the drawing, isn't it?"
She remains silent for a few more moments, moments that might actually turn into minutes; it doesn't matter. Time doesn't matter.
They have all the time in the world.
He knows her mind is reeling with the untold, though, working out words maybe, by the way her fingers are playing with his, binding them, caressing them, squeezing them.
"She would be twelve…" She whispers at last, piercing the silence of the room. And she says no more.
Peter closes his eyes tight. There it is, crawling back into him so fast, pressing down on his lungs and heart. That dread he feels about the entire subject, a feeling close to cowardice really, since it almost makes him want to leave the bed. And he hates himself for being so incapable of dealing with this, even after all these years, twelve freaking years.
He feels like a hypocrite, like a fake, willing at times to daydream with her about the family they should be having, all the while unable to even think about the one they almost had.
He has to speak, now. He brought it up again when she was ready to let it go; he brought it up knowing that she was more than likely to say something about…
He has to say something. And so Peter does what he does best when emotionally unable to cope.
He lights things up.
"Almost a teenager, uh? She would without a doubt be spending her days bossing me around like her mother does."
He says the words, but there is no image in his mind. They could be talking about the hopes and fears they would be having for that child, things had been different. He could be imagining her eyes, the color of her hair, and the shape of her face.
But he sees nothing and utters those shallow words instead.
Her fingers stop moving over his, and he waits, somehow grateful for the fact that they are not facing each other; he doesn't feel brave enough to look into her eyes.
Once again, it is her turn to decide on what to do, on which way she should take this conversation that has been doomed from the moment she has shed that tear.
And so she lets it go, whispering words just as shallow.
"And abusing sarcasm like her father."
They don't share another word.
'When the word gets better,' he thinks, wishing he could tell this to her, his fingers curling closer to her heart, as if quietly apologizing for his weakness. 'When the world gets better and we can try again, we'll talk about her, I promise. We'll talk about her.'
But what he doesn't know is that his world, the one he has not destroyed years ago, the one he is still holding in his arms, doesn't have the luxury of time anymore.
She's about to witness her last sunrise.
TO PART IV
A/N: I'm hoping that the title of this story makes sense by now lol. I'm going to go back. Baaaack. Even though it's been very close in time so far, the next parts will be more stretched out in time, because I can't possibly write something about every day of those 15 years XD (I mean I could but really, no)
The family drama aspect of the show is my favorite thing. I'm a sucker for angst and sadness if you hadn't noticed, so I wanted to fully explore the possibilities of why Peter and Olivia don't have children in the future.
I'll try and keep on posting often :) Please, feedbacks make my day and night, so don't feel shy!