Crêpes

No copyright inFRiNGEment intended.

Note: missing scene Of Human Action. P/O deprivation result. Please R&R ;o)

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Olivia continuously flipped through the channels, knowing there will be nothing on. Nothing. Not even an old chick flick or a rerun of Cold Case… She sat up on the couch, sighed and went to the kitchen for a refill. She was an idiot to be home alone. She should have paid a visit to the Bishops. After all, she's never been to their new place, and him being hurt, it was a darn valid excuse to drop by. Why was it so hard? Ultimately, she was glad she called Peter. He was calm over the phone and back to his normal self. So it seemed.

She took her glass back to the living room and watched absently the inept program that was on FOX. Another show involving a brunette from the Bureau who seemed to spend more time in her underwear than in the field. She watched for a couple of minutes, feeling more and more upset. And, what was that? A sensorial headset? Come on! She pressed the remote and the TV went dark.

Maybe it was time to call it a day and leave the couch and her cosy throw blanket. Not to mention that reading a book in her bed would certainly made her go easy on the booze. Passing through the foyer, she glanced inadvertently through the window and noticed a family wagon parked across the street. She peeked through the shades. Strange. It was exactly the same model as Walter's. What where the odds, the thing was more than 30 years old! Or was it a sign she really should have done better than call them? Than call him actually. She sighed and took a sip of her red wine, her eyes locked on the car.

They didn't have the chance to talk after Carson jr was sedated and removed from the equation but Peter sure sounded upset when she told him the kid won't be prosecuted for his crimes. If Nina had enough influence to make this go away, it didn't bode well for their future association. She'd have to be extra careful with Massive Dynamic. From the word go, she had been suspicious of Nina, and in her book, with the whole secrecy around their experimenting again on senses that would be better left untouched, she's been proven right today.

Her eyes lingered on the car. Not only it was the same model, but it was the same colour. She hesitated, checked her wristwatch, no, it was too late already to change her mind and go see Peter. She had made the right call and should stand by it. No regrets, today was simply not the day. She didn't want to invade their personal space after what Walter had been through this afternon. And Broyles had been shot. And before she knew it, she was back to the Fringe Division. She wished she had had some time on her hand to make sure they were really okay. They had been lucky.

On the bright side, Peter had not been checked into a hospital and it was good. Walter needed him home tonight.

She shook her head slightly. Foolish excuses. No, she should have dropped by at the Bishops to make sure everything was okay, that's what partners do. But the casual night calls, the light discussions after a mission over diner, they weren't there yet. That was not their M.O. And with the pain medication, they couldn't meet in a more neutral zone, he was in no condition to drink.

From the corner of her eye, she spotted a shadow from inside the car. Even if she squinted, she couldn't make out if it was simply her imagination going in overdrive. Her pulse racing, she checked her phone. Maybe, maybe, she had missed his call. No, no messages, no missed calls, no nothing. She couldn't help but feel even more alone than before. Mulling over the possibility that the car could really be Walter's, she finally dialed Peter's number.

The shadow moved inside the car and she clearly saw the flashing light of a cell when the shadow answered her call.

"Hey, Livia, something wrong?"

"Yep. Are you going to spend the night in your car or do you plan to come knocking on my door anytime soon?" she asked, pushing aside the curtains and waving to the car.

"I thought you were asleep," he whispered.

"Nonetheless you came all the way down to my place and decided you weren't bold enough to confirm your hunch?"

She heard him chuckle and the line went dead. The shadow opened the door and Peter came out and crossed the street in two strides. She didn't wait for him to knock and fanned the door open. The bruise on his forehead had turned purple. She pointed to the white bandages covering his shoulder and sticking out of his sweater.

"Does it hurt?"

"Like hell it does. Cool nighties, Dunham" he smirked.

It was too late to feel sorry for herself. She felt her cheeks going red and closed the door behind him. He was already in the kitchen. "Walter wanted to give you this." He sat a plastic box on the table. "Since he went to bed early, I couldn't see the point of waiting until tomorrow."

"So you're only the messenger," she smiled.

"Right!" He was grinning from behind the counter. "He left a note for you." He pushed a piece of paper in her direction.

She came closer, tucking on her pink plush robe, trying to hide her Hello Kitty tank top and matching hipster boy short, happy she wasn't wearing a thong. She took the note from him and read, in Walter's unmistakable handwriting.

Agent Dunham, I figured you could use some dessert after this displeasing ordeal. I put a dozen crêpes in this box, but I cannot guarantee that Peter will deliver all of them. Please, forgive him.

Tilting her head, she held the note in the air and stared at Peter in disbelief.

"Yes, this is real. For some reason, the man seems to think that I needed crêpes because I was abducted."

"It sounds like Walter."

"Yep. Well, they're still warm. Dig in. I bet you've been on a liquid diet. Again," he added with a nod to her half full glass. "I could use one of those…"

"You sure?" She was already taking a glass from the shelf and pouring some wine.

"Totally. I feel battered and exhilarated at the same time."

"I know the feeling."

"Thanks," he toasted in her direction and leaned back on the counter, trying to relax.

In comfortable silence, they slowly drank their wine.

"I was worried about you," she finally said. But her voice was low and hoarse. She winced and cleared her throat.

"I know," he stated very seriously.

A bit too seriously actually. Her left eyebrow rocketed in interrogation. She grinned. "Han, right?"

"Right," he grinned back. "You're good!"

"Don't make fun of me Peter, I was really worried."

"Does that mean that I get a gun?"

She made a face and filled his glass again. "We'll see."

"Maybe I could spend the night, to make sure you're around, should I dream about my abduction and I don't know, get a fever…"

His eyes went darker and she averted her gaze. She knew pretty well where this was going and she was not willing to make the same mistake again. She had to put her love life and her professional life in two different places, even if it meant no love life. But on the other hand, Peter was not John. Or Lucas. He downed his glass in one gulp.

"Or not..." He turned around and put away his glass in the dishwasher. "I should get going. Walter will worry when he realizes I'm not in my room." He smiled and came closer. He placed a light hand on her shoulder, one finger brushing her neck, "See you tomorrow boss?" he breathed in her ear.

She nodded, hiding her trouble behind her hair.

"Don't… I know the way." He rushed for the exit and slammed the door on his way out.

He was gone so fast, she could have imagined he was never there. She stood before the closed front door, her heart pounding in her chest. She switched off the light and watched the car pull away through the shades, resisting an uncontrollable impulse that was urging her to go out and call him to come back.

"Yes, you can stay, I'd like to," she sighed. See, that wasn't so hard…