Shades of Gray by Xeen No inFringement intended Note: set after "The Transformation" – missing scene. that's not what I intended with my one shot Peter/Walter scene… but anyway, "due to popular demand", here you go. I'm not so happy with the result, but that's the best I can come up with for now ;) part 1 -o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o PART 2 --- Olivia slammed the door behind her and sat on the couch, cuddling childishly in her towel. She was still damp from her quick shower and anxious to escape Walter's sudden outburst of fatherly concern. She put her naked feet on the cushions and bracing her legs with her arms, rested her head on her knees, rocking slightly. Walter would not dare trespassing inside the sanctuary of her office. Walter was roaming inside the lab, pacing and pausing, directing a silent concerto, distress written on his face. Even from a distance, she could see his lips moving. He was probably mumbling ideas to himself like mantras in order to calm down. She should not have imposed this additional responsibility upon him. Technically he was apt to the task but far from it from an emotional point of view. As much as she tried though, she felt no remorse, she just felt like an empty shell. Hidden in the comforting darkness, she peered through the glass panels and waited for the agitated flow of her thoughts to return to normal so that she could begin to process everything that just happened in her last drug-induced altered state. Which were John's genuine memories, and which were the ones she created to fulfil her wish for proper closure, --she'd never know, and she wasn't even sure she wanted to. John was gone. This overwhelming notion that John was a traitor had blinded her all along. Despite his alleged duplicity, she had never stopped loving him, thus embracing a life of denial. The car chase and his questionable death, this all thing was her doing, how was she supposed to live with that? It would be a long road to regain some peace and she was not ready to take that road just yet. At the moment, she wanted to get lost in the turmoil of her feelings, cherish her last stolen moments with John and believe that he was worthy of her trust. Given time, memories will eventually fade, good or bad. Her conversation with Rachel a couple of days ago only made matters worse and she regretted every second of it. She always was the secretive one, the one with intimacy issues. That she blurted out the whole engagement ring story and the rest of her affair with her partner, it was unlike her. After keeping it to herself for so long, she should not have yielded to the need of being pitied even if she was craving for compassion. That was probably that need that had driven her to desperately clutch to Peter and let him hold on to her. Was it? She was not fooled by his guarded attitude any longer. His concern and worried looks had not escaped her scrutiny and she felt that there was more to it than simple colleague empathy. Apparently it had not escaped Walter either. No more than she was fooled by the little voice which would not keep quiet in the back of her head. There was no way she could indulge herself in another fling. It would be easy to put the past behind and fill that place in her heart that felt so lonely, only it was a bad idea. It had been when she had fallen for John, and it would be wrong with Peter. She could not deny that there was something in Peter that she was attracted to, and she was no more immune than Rachel to his mixture of boyish charm, continuous bravado, sparkling wit and genuine charm but his intelligence was his best asset in Olivia's top five list of the-things-you-like-more-about-Peter. He was so different than the image she had attempted to stick him with in Iraq, when she was the knight in shiny armour and decided that he was flawed. She had not a clue whom she was dealing with then and did not even bother to offer him the benefit of the doubt. Now that she barely fathomed his persona, she was aware she hardly scratched the surface, and was having a hard time reconciling with her former prejudices. He had proven that he was worth the attention every step of the way, no matter how hard she tried to push him away. She tucked on the towel to wrap it closely about herself and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, the lab had gone completely dark and she spotted Walter's silhouette standing guard on a chair before the door to her office. She gazed at his perfectly still shadow and eventually dozed off. -o- "Hi, Liv…" "John?" She straightens up with bated breath, unable to relate to the current situation. "Where are you?" She hears muffled footsteps and he stops three feet from her. She can hear him breathe. "It's me. Peter," he says softly. She lets a sigh escape her mouth and her frail body shudders under stress when she starts to recall the events of the evening. "Peter…" "Walter is gone. I sent him back to the hotel." Facts, stick to the facts Olivia. "Okay," she trails, perfectly still now, her nostrils flaring. "Why are you back to the lab? I told your father I wanted to be left alone." Her voice is cold and distant. She closes her eyes and tries to block the raging headache. She knows Peter won't go away unless she makes him. Tilting her head in defiance, she shoots an angry stare in his direction but he's closer that she thinks and she recoils. Her head jerks violently and she moans unwillingly when pain shatters her determination. He does not flinch, his face totally expressionless. "Would you go please?" She nods, averting his gaze. "What you need is coffee, --and probably something to eat." "Can you go away? Can you just go away?" "But first thing first." He puts his coat on her shoulders and she's surprised that she lets him. "You don't want to catch pneumonia and blame it on Walter, do you?" "Can you go away?" She's begging now. He turns around and leaves the room. She relaxes back on the couch, her head is pounding and her shoulders are aching because of the restraint she's imposing on herself. The coat smells like Peter. She wants to be in his arms, to feel his warmth, to be back to being alive but somehow she's still stuck in the tank with John. John is dead. She takes a deep breath. She doesn't want to transform into the damsel in distress Peter is attempting to turn her into. He's not doing anything, he's just trying to help and be a friend and you know it. Get a grip on yourself for god's sake. She swings her legs off the couch and presses her feet on the cold tiles. Peter is right. She's going to catch a cold. As long as you don't make an encounter of the worst kind and turn into a freak show... Peter is back with a tray. Coffee in paper cups, and donuts. An apple. A bowl of mixed salad and plastic utensils. His face lights up when he sees she's smiling but he keeps it to himself. He sits the tray on her desk and looks around. "You don't happen to remember where you put your clothes do you? Don't bother I'll get you a robe." And he's gone again and she wishes he stays put long enough for her to muster the courage to thank him for coming back to the lab and simply being here for her. He helps her with the robe and she feels the cold on her naked breast but he's not watching. He helps her with the robe then kneels in front of her to put grey double-knit woollen socks on her feet. "They are Walter's," he apologizes. "He's got some extra pairs at the lab in his locker. He's a sucker for those socks. He says they help him cogitate." "In this particular occurrence, I think it's unlikely that he needs them at all," she finally says, her upper lip twitching, her nose wrinkled in her usual cute way. "I have to refute your statement here," he says in the deadpan delivery she's accustomed to. But his body contradicts his face. His hands are restless and he stands up briskly, making her dizzy when she tries to keep her eyes locked on his. She likes it that he's keeping a straight face to debate about socks. She can see that he's relieved. "That's not the point," he says, sitting on a chair opposite the couch. "If Walter thinks the socks help him, they do help him hence he needs them. It's the same working hypothesis as the not-changing-your-underwear axiom. When you're on a winning streak, you don't change your underwear because you respect the streak." "I see it as a predicament." "It depends which way you flip the coin." "You're in a metaphorical mood." "I'd say it works." He's smiling now and she smiles back. "Yes, it does." "Are you okay?" he finally asks, venturing in known territory. She nods again. She's afraid she might cry but she has no tears left. "Peter, I saw his body at Massive Dynamic. John, … --his body, they… they keep it there, in a transparent tank. Broyles told me that Nina Sharp helps the Bureau with their investigation." "You don't believe him?" "No, it doesn't make sense. They kept him in a state of suspended animation to retrieve information because they need living tissues to perform their task. But Sharp told me they failed. So why do they keep him… now?" "So much for closure…" "Yup." She stands up, and her lean body seems to float in the bathrobe. She clasps her hands together, takes a deep breath, changes her mind and grabs the coffee. "Thanks for that. I'm going to get dressed." She tucks a strand of loose hair behind her ear and gestures to the locker room. "Okay. I'm not going anywhere." He's on the chair, his hands flat on his thigh. She's staring. "Now that you mention it, do you have plans for tonight?" "I'm way ahead of you Dunham. I started drinking…" he checks his watch, "two hours ago." "Well, it seems like I have some catching up to do then. I'll be right back." "I'll be waiting." -o- Well? Any comment? |
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