Fourth Time is the Charm - Chapter 3 by Xeen part 1 part 2 Fringe doesn’t belong to me. I’m merely borrowing the characters and I promise I will put them back in their box when I’m finished. Note: An early Christmas story. Not episode related. -o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- “How are you holding up?” Peter said from the kitchen door. He was wiping glasses with a dish towel. She was so enthralled in her reverie that she did not hear him coming and started in surprise at the sound of his voice. Frowning, he came closer, his head tilted in concern. “I didn’t… I-I-, I’m sorry… “ “That’s ok… -my fault, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he trailed. “Are you ok?” “Yes, yes, I am. You were right, that getting rid of everything related to John… it was kind of liberating actually,” she smiled, hiding her embarrassment behind a strand of her hair in a very girlie self-conscious fashion. “But…” he prompted her, “I’m sensing a but…” “No, there’s no but. I’m quite happy I’m done with cleaning my closets. Everything is piled up in the garage,” she waved dismissively towards the backdoor. “I shall take care of it after Christmas.” “Are you having second thoughts?” “No, no! It needed to be done and I probably should have a long time ago.” “But?” he insisted. She shrugged. “But I’m not sure that it’s enough to make it go away.” “It takes time,” Peter nodded with a look of understanding on his face. He placed his hand on her elbow and guided her to the couch. He slouched down and patted the cushion next to him. “Come on, I won’t bite,” he joked. “Seriously, how are you holding up?” “Quite frankly? I don’t know yet,” she confessed in a low voice, slumping next to him on her bent leg. She leaned against the back of the couch, put her arm on top of it with her head resting on her closed fist. “I guess it’s the right thing to do if I ever want to get rid of my personal ghosts.” “Quite frankly, and I have no intention of raining on your parade, it’s only a start. It’s a slow process. Not only you have to grieve for the loss of your…” he hesitated. “… partner…” she offered. He nodded. “… partner, yes, but you have to live in a world where he betrayed you and left you alone to deal with it. I want you to know that I’m here for you. And I always will be -every step of the way.” She smiled, unwanted tears welling up in her eyes and bit her lip. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You didn’t get carried away did you? Tell me you didn’t discard all these Japanese school girl like white blouses and sexy black pant suits of yours, please? I would dearly miss them.” “I didn’t,” she chuckled, eyelashes fluttering awkwardly. “You know, it’s easier to wear the same clean pressed outfit every day. No pressure, no waste of time.” “Einstein fan aren’t we? His dressing room was full of identical suits, shirts and ties. He supposedly owned several copies of the same suit to better spend time that would have been wasted picking out clothes… to his wife’s dismay, I must add. And now,” he jumped from the couch, startling her again, “on a brighter note, I fixed us a cocktail. Walter’s special recipe!” He retrieved a shaker from the table. “Nice work by the way,” pointing a finger at her table decoration, “I’m glad we went for silver and blue instead of...” “… red and green? Yes, it’s much more comforting. That red and green thingie is totally overrated,” she grinned watching him pour a blue liquid into two large cocktail glasses. He added a slice of kiwi and some seltzer and went back to the settee. “Here you go!” he perched on the edge of the coffee table before her and raised his glass. “To the ghosts of Christmas past!” “To Christmas…” “To us…” he said clinking his glass with hers. “I’m hoping you’re nothing like Einstein because he was not into food either, not into new kind of food in fact, and I’m only saying this because you’re about to be treated with a sensational dinner.” “I can see that your natural self-restraint is keeping you from bragging.” “I may be fifty points North of genius, a misfit and a massive pain in the ass but… “Who told you that?” “Astrid, like in agent Astrid Farnsworth, your assistant Astrid. She actually shares the lab with us, you remember? People talk, they’re only human.” “She’s soo dead!” “… but, and listen cause this is the good part: I’m actually quite good in the kitchen,” he said with a smirk, “-among other things.” He was rewarded by a clumsy glance and more blushing. She might be a tough FBI agent, she is so easily embarrassed, he thought. “What are we in for?” she finally asked. “You’ll see,” he tantalized her, “and wait for dessert. That’s a classic!” “Mmmm, if it’s anything as good as this,” she said sipping on her cocktail, “you betcha.” “I’ll leave you to your drink. I’d like to freshen up a bit and call Walter. Make sure everything’s ok.” “I put fresh towels in the bathroom.” He took a look around. “Your bag is in the guest room… and I made up your bed.” “You made up a bed for me?” “I was not sure about your arrangements with your father. I guess you both need some privacy at some point…” “I do?” She went beet red, --again. “I mean with your ‘special’ present…” “I know what you mean. No sweat. I’ll be back in a flash. No peeking into my kitchen, right?” “So it’s your kitchen now?” -o- “Want to go to a midnight mass or something? I can’t take any more of that ‘It's a Wonderful Life’ crap anymore." Peter jumped from the couch and turned to Olivia. She was wearing a black one-shoulder dress with cap sleeve and tulip skirt. The embroidered beaded waistband matched her simple gold necklace and garnet pendant. She seemed genuinely surprised at Peter's outburst. As a sign of goodwill, she turned down the volume of the television. "I know it’s your typical Christmas movie but I find it getting weirder and weirder by the minute.” “What do you mean? It's such an uplifting piece. I remember my mum and I used to watch this movie every Christmas eve," she said softly. "My point exactly. Inspirational, moving, inspiring, and people just can't stop raving about poor Jim Stewart and his family…" "Oh… I see." "I don't think you do but can we go now please, would you come with me? I'd rather go out and get trashed than take any more of this… soppiness, thank you very much." He shrugged. Now he was pacing the room, a deep vertical wrinkle in the middle of his forehead, and he did not seem to want to let go. His evening suit was a bit creased, his hair was all tousled up and he was very agitated. Maybe he is worried about his father, she thought. Or I've done something that makes him uncomfortable. Or he's not into old black and white soppy movies and she was trying too hard to find a reason. "Don't you think you've had enough to drink already? You sure you want to go out? It's freezing outside and there was a white Christmas forecast from the Weather Channel. I don't want to end up stranded in a SUV on a Christmas night in a storm only because you're not a fan of George Bailey." "I'm sorry." He stopped dead in his tracks and came nearer. He sat on the side of the couch and leaned towards her. "You're right, I probably have had too much too drink but I can't…" "Ok, don't bother. We'll go for a ride but I drive. And we'll skip the mass if you don't mind. It's going to be a crowd and I was kind of hoping to spend my only free evening in a quiet place with a friend." "I have an idea. Why don't we go to the lab then? There's a piano, and we can take my surprise dessert? So is it a plan?" TBC..... |
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