Fringe fic: Life Sentence (PG, 1/1)
TITLE: Life Sentence
AUTHOR: Shane Vansen
CATEGORY: Olivia/Peter friendship/UST, post-ep
SPOILERS: The Bishop Revival
RATING: PG
LENGTH: ~855 words
SUMMARY: When it comes to Peter's family history, the hits just keep on coming.
DISCLAIMER: it's probably best that they're not mine; I'd screw it up.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Many thanks to borg_princess for betaing. Remaining errors are all my own.
**
Olivia finds him in the lab - which, Peter has to admit, probably didn't take any actual effort on her part - fiddling with one of the half-dozen projects he likes to work on between cases. He pretends to focus on the numerous parts in front of him as she approaches the bench and stops across from him. "Hi."
"Hi," he says back, glancing up just in time to see her eyeing the half-full beer bottle sitting next to the three empties off to the side. He's been drinking pretty steadily since he got here, but he's not drunk - he can hold his liquor. Maybe even as well as her.
She doesn't say anything about the beer, though. "What are you doing here so late?"
He shrugs and avoids the question. "What are you doing here?"
"Walter called. He got worried when he couldn't find you at home."
Peter swears under his breath. "I'm sorry, Olivia. He was asleep when I left; I thought I'd be back before he woke up." He starts gathering everything together. "I'd better get home."
"There's no rush. I told him I'd find you and made him promise that he'd stay in the house until you got back. He said something about warm milk?"
A glass of warm milk is one of his father's latest before-bed rituals. "He's probably sound asleep by now."
"Why aren't you?"
He looks away, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Leave it alone, Olivia."
She's nothing if not stubborn, though; it's something he's known about her since day one. "It's not like you to leave Walter alone in the middle of the night. What's wrong?"
"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do," he snaps, and then instantly regrets it when she recoils. Peter reaches out a hand between them and apologizes for the second time in as many minutes. "I'm sorry, 'Livia. It's just been a really long couple of days, you know?"
She nods, not moving closer but not backing away, either. "What's wrong, Peter?"
He glances away, considers draining the rest of his beer, but decides that's probably not a good idea. "Maybe it's time for me to go."
"Go?" she echoes, looking wary.
"Leave Boston. Get away from my father. Maybe give myself a shot at outrunning the Bishop family legacy." He can't quite keep the bitterness out of his voice.
"Peter-"
"My grandfather created a toxin designed to target specific groups of people. My father performed experiments on any number of people - including you, I might add - and today he deliberately killed a man. And you know what? I understand why he did it. I probably would have done the same thing."
"To save hundreds, if not thousands of lives," Olivia points out, stepping closer. "I'm not saying Walter's always made the best choices, but he's doing what he can now to make up for his past. And you, Peter, you've seen first-hand the results of his mistakes. You know the consequences. You're not headed down the same path."
He wants to believe her, he does, but- "Do you think Walter ever realized what he was doing back then? It all probably seemed perfectly logical, even necessary, at the time. And look at some of the things we're doing right here in this lab because it's necessary. I could look up one day twenty years from now and find that I'm exactly like my father."
"I won't let that happen." She's smiling, that little half-smile that always seems a little sad to him, but he knows she's perfectly serious. Then, quietly, she adds, "I need you, Peter," and for the first time he understands exactly how screwed he is.
Part of him wants to pretend that he doesn't understand what she means, and tell her that she's got Astrid to babysit Walter. The other part of him just wants to start swearing in every language he knows about the fact that she's managed to wrap him around her finger without even trying.
He heaves an over-dramatic sigh. "Fine," he says, and wonders if it's pathetic how much better he feels when that one word prompts a genuine smile from her. He points at her. "But I expect you to keep your promise about keeping me sane for the next twenty years."
She laughs and holds out a hand. "Deal."
"Deal." Her hand fits perfectly in his.
Neither of them lets go right away. When Olivia does finally loosen her grip, Peter lets his fingers trail across the palm of her hand as he withdraws, and wonders if he imagined the little catch in her breathing.
It's strange, he muses as she ducks her head and bids him good night before heading for the door, how someone like him, who hasn't stayed in one place for more than a few months at a time during his entire adult life, isn't absolutely terrified by the thought of sticking around here for the next twenty years. Ironically, the lack of fear scares the hell out of him, and he's pretty sure he knows exactly why that is.
Oh yeah. Totally screwed.
--end--
AUTHOR: Shane Vansen
CATEGORY: Olivia/Peter friendship/UST, post-ep
SPOILERS: The Bishop Revival
RATING: PG
LENGTH: ~855 words
SUMMARY: When it comes to Peter's family history, the hits just keep on coming.
DISCLAIMER: it's probably best that they're not mine; I'd screw it up.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Many thanks to borg_princess for betaing. Remaining errors are all my own.
**
Olivia finds him in the lab - which, Peter has to admit, probably didn't take any actual effort on her part - fiddling with one of the half-dozen projects he likes to work on between cases. He pretends to focus on the numerous parts in front of him as she approaches the bench and stops across from him. "Hi."
"Hi," he says back, glancing up just in time to see her eyeing the half-full beer bottle sitting next to the three empties off to the side. He's been drinking pretty steadily since he got here, but he's not drunk - he can hold his liquor. Maybe even as well as her.
She doesn't say anything about the beer, though. "What are you doing here so late?"
He shrugs and avoids the question. "What are you doing here?"
"Walter called. He got worried when he couldn't find you at home."
Peter swears under his breath. "I'm sorry, Olivia. He was asleep when I left; I thought I'd be back before he woke up." He starts gathering everything together. "I'd better get home."
"There's no rush. I told him I'd find you and made him promise that he'd stay in the house until you got back. He said something about warm milk?"
A glass of warm milk is one of his father's latest before-bed rituals. "He's probably sound asleep by now."
"Why aren't you?"
He looks away, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Leave it alone, Olivia."
She's nothing if not stubborn, though; it's something he's known about her since day one. "It's not like you to leave Walter alone in the middle of the night. What's wrong?"
"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do," he snaps, and then instantly regrets it when she recoils. Peter reaches out a hand between them and apologizes for the second time in as many minutes. "I'm sorry, 'Livia. It's just been a really long couple of days, you know?"
She nods, not moving closer but not backing away, either. "What's wrong, Peter?"
He glances away, considers draining the rest of his beer, but decides that's probably not a good idea. "Maybe it's time for me to go."
"Go?" she echoes, looking wary.
"Leave Boston. Get away from my father. Maybe give myself a shot at outrunning the Bishop family legacy." He can't quite keep the bitterness out of his voice.
"Peter-"
"My grandfather created a toxin designed to target specific groups of people. My father performed experiments on any number of people - including you, I might add - and today he deliberately killed a man. And you know what? I understand why he did it. I probably would have done the same thing."
"To save hundreds, if not thousands of lives," Olivia points out, stepping closer. "I'm not saying Walter's always made the best choices, but he's doing what he can now to make up for his past. And you, Peter, you've seen first-hand the results of his mistakes. You know the consequences. You're not headed down the same path."
He wants to believe her, he does, but- "Do you think Walter ever realized what he was doing back then? It all probably seemed perfectly logical, even necessary, at the time. And look at some of the things we're doing right here in this lab because it's necessary. I could look up one day twenty years from now and find that I'm exactly like my father."
"I won't let that happen." She's smiling, that little half-smile that always seems a little sad to him, but he knows she's perfectly serious. Then, quietly, she adds, "I need you, Peter," and for the first time he understands exactly how screwed he is.
Part of him wants to pretend that he doesn't understand what she means, and tell her that she's got Astrid to babysit Walter. The other part of him just wants to start swearing in every language he knows about the fact that she's managed to wrap him around her finger without even trying.
He heaves an over-dramatic sigh. "Fine," he says, and wonders if it's pathetic how much better he feels when that one word prompts a genuine smile from her. He points at her. "But I expect you to keep your promise about keeping me sane for the next twenty years."
She laughs and holds out a hand. "Deal."
"Deal." Her hand fits perfectly in his.
Neither of them lets go right away. When Olivia does finally loosen her grip, Peter lets his fingers trail across the palm of her hand as he withdraws, and wonders if he imagined the little catch in her breathing.
It's strange, he muses as she ducks her head and bids him good night before heading for the door, how someone like him, who hasn't stayed in one place for more than a few months at a time during his entire adult life, isn't absolutely terrified by the thought of sticking around here for the next twenty years. Ironically, the lack of fear scares the hell out of him, and he's pretty sure he knows exactly why that is.
Oh yeah. Totally screwed.
--end--