Title: Forgiveness

Spoilers: Up to 3x09 'Marionette'.

Rating: K? T maybe, for the content?

N/A: This is something I've had in my head for days now, and I just had to write it down, especially after 'Marionette'. How HEARTBREAKING and gorgeous was this episode? Anna Torv and Josh Jackson…seriously guys, you're killing me with your awesomeness.

This is a short story about forgiveness. Because we all know Olivia will forgive him. He's hurting so badly too.

I guess this could take place after my imaginary Season 3 Finale. Oh, and it's unbetaed (and written late at night again of course XD)

Enjoy :)


There is blood on his hands.

And soon, there is blood on her face and in her hair. But she doesn't care.

She doesn't care.

Nine months, three weeks and four days after she comes back to her Universe, Olivia forgives Peter.

Maybe she has already forgiven him the day he told her the truth, but there was so much hurt in between. She doesn't really know.

She doesn't care.

All she knows is that she needs him. She needs him.

The day she forgives him is also the day Olivia dies.

Not her. Her. The Olivia from Over There.

But she knows it's not why she's convinced, deep inside, that she has forgiven him now. One thing has nothing to do with the other.

Or at least she really hopes so. She doesn't want her death to be the reason why they are here, doing this. It would be wrong.

Even if, somehow, she knows it can't be completely excluded either.

It's her blood on his hands. On her face and in her hair.

It's a big part of everything that has happened in the last twenty-four hours. Everything got so out of control.

Between the cross-overs, the Machine and Peter strapped to it, screaming. And her.

She has died for him.

Olivia was there too, she saw it happen. She has died for him, and as blood was pouring out of her, Peter now pressing his hands hard on the wound, she has cried.

"I'm sorry."

Her last whispered, pleading words resonate in her head even now, hours later.

"It's alright," he's whispered back. "I forgive you."


No more resentment, no more indignation, no more anger.

Maybe her death is a big part of her own forgiveness, after all.

He has so many reasons to hate her, still, to resent her and how she has used him. And Olivia knows he was angry and guilt-driven for a long time, just as much as she was hurt and broken.

But he forgave her, to let her go in peace. To let himself find peace.

And it's raining outside.

She can hear it fall, a low thump thump thump against the window, but she barely registers the sound.

But it's the reason why his hands are wet again, when they had dried up hours ago. That's how crazy that day is.

They had to fight, even after she died. And so many others died with her. But they know billions got to live, too.

Olivia made them cross over in a flurry of bangs and screams. She doesn't know how she could find the energy, to bring Peter with her.

She had simply focused. He held on to her so tightly and she held on to him, her face pressed so hard against his neck that she could feel his racing pulse against her head.

"Just focus, 'Livia." He whispered in her ear. "Please, bring us back. Bring us back home."

And she had.

She didn't even faint. He was still holding on to her, as the worlds were shifting all around her. Around them.

When he lets her go, reluctantly, the loss she feels is so brutal that she knows. She knows that she can't let him go. And as she stares into his red, storming eyes, she knows he feels it too, that intense tug inside his guts.

"Take me home, Peter."

Nobody even knows they're back. They are all still waiting on the world to disappear any second now. They think she might be dead. Peter must be alive, since their world is still spinning.

She knows she should at least call them. Call Walter or Broyles, tell them it's all right, they made it back.

But she doesn't care.

Something raw and untamable has unleashed inside of her and all she can think about is Peter, Peter alive here with her, and how she needs him and she doesn't care about the rest.

Their first kiss was so slow, so unsure and fearful, that night almost a year ago. She thought she was going to lose him, so she had opened up her heart to him, knowing he could break it anytime he wanted.

She's not scared anymore.

It had broken and mended itself again.

They get out of the car and run to her new place, the rain falling hard on them, and by the time they reach her door, their bodies are wet and shivering. They don't speak.

She opens the door; he follows, closing it behind him. She takes his hand into hers, and it feels too slimy. And then she remembers the blood.

She doesn't care.

She leads him to the bedroom. She doesn't turn the lights on. She doesn't need light. She feels his body, so close to hers, vibrating at the same rhythm than hers, so loudly that it's almost deafening.

She stares at his chest, letting go of his hand to run her fingers slowly up his soaked shirt. She then grabs a handful of it in her fists to bring him closer, much closer, and she hears his sharp intake of breath as she presses her body against his.

She looks up, and she knows she won't be able to look away anymore. Despite the lack of luminosity, she sees everything. The shock, the need, the confusion, the intensity in his eyes.

Their first kiss was slow and hesitant.

The second one is not.

She pulls him closer, harder, until his mouth crashes into hers, and she swallows him as if he was air and her lungs were empty.

His hands come up to cup her face, and she can feel it on her skin, between his fingers and her cheeks, too thick to be water, and she knows it's wrong, but she doesn't care.

There's nothing anymore but the feel of him, as they find each other again after so many months, tongues tasting and dancing and bodies moving and rubbing. His hands are in her hair now, bringing her always closer, and she's gripping him so tightly that she can almost feel her nails ripping through the fabric of his shirt, water sliding down her wrists.

When air is no longer an option but a necessity, their lips separate again, but they don't let go of the other. And she sees how contracted his face is, how in pain he looks, and it breaks her heart.

"Olivia…" he whispers, and she presses her nose against his, looking deep into his eyes.

"It's alright…" she says just as softly, one of her hand letting go of his shirt to rest on his neck, feeling his pounding pulse again. "It's alright."

She can feel more than see the shake of his head, and she can only imagine the storm of emotions going on inside of him at that instant. She has her own storm to deal with, but she doesn't want to calm it down. She lets the feeling invade every inch of her burning body, knowing that it will swallow her whole, and almost awaiting this moment.

So she gives him a gentle push, and he's so confused and hypnotized by her that he just lets her lead him wherever she wants. When the back of his legs hits the bed, he loses his balance and sits down abruptly upon the mattress.

She immediately follows, straddling him, and even as he instinctively puts his hands on her hips, keeping her always so close to him, he shakes his head harder, closing his eyes.

"No…Plea- Olivia, please, not like this." He stammers, his voice tight and broken.

And she knows. She simply knows that he's seeing her, remembering her, and she guesses she must have done the same thing at some point. She should feel hurt and betrayed all over again.

She doesn't.

Instead, she brings her hands up to his face, slowly, tenderly, feeling his stubble under her palms and loving it, loving it all. She presses a kiss on his forehead, and keeps her mouth there a little longer, and she feels his fingers digging into her flesh as he holds her tighter.

When she moves her face away to look at him, his eyes are open again, and she sees the tears in them, the pain and the guilt, and it's enough to bring tears in her own eyes.

"It's alright, Peter…" she murmurs again, her thumb caressing the hairless skin on his face, and she stares at him, wanting so badly for him to believe her. "I don't care anymore… I don't care."

And as his face contracts and his eyes close again, she slides her fingers through his wet hair and brings his face into the crook of her neck. He wraps his arms around her then, fully embracing her, as she keeps him as so close to her as physically possible.

She hears and feels his loud and irregular breathing against her neck, the wetness forming there, warm and salty she knows. And she closes her eyes too, as tears quietly roll down her cheek, tracing wavy lines through the red layer already drying there.

And even if she ultimately knows that she has already done so months ago, because she loves him and she needs him, she knows he needs to hear the words. And so she whispers them in his hair, as he frees himself from his sorrow against her skin.

"I forgive you."


N/A: Damn, I love them. And I love what they are doing to my muse XD