Fringe has captured my attention and imagination like no other tv drama. It's been many years since I've written anything but technical documentation and training guides... but this story has been banging around in my head for weeks, demanding to come out.
JJ Abrams, Jeff Pinkner, Joel Wyman, et al own Fringe. They created a rich and compelling story; I'm just playing in between the spaces.
Many thanks to AriaAdagio for teaching me how to use quotation marks again, giving great advice, and providing many hours of enjoyment and inspiration from her incredible work in the GA fandom.
Thanks also to Elialys, my personal favorite in the Fringedom, for taking time for me, and for her kind words and encouragement.
I want to give a shout-out to Redshipper, whose wonderful fic, "The Perfect Present", gave me one of my favorite lines in Chapter 3.
My greatest thanks and appreciation go to O'ConnellAboo, my beta reader. She read and re-read with great patience, created the summary, and has been incredibly generous with her support, encouragement, advice, and friendship - and I am grateful for it all!
Aria and O'ConnellAboo did a great job as editors - any errors are totally my own. I had fun writing this - I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I did.
You Belong With Me
Her confidence faltered when she reached the top of the stairs. All the times she'd been to the Bishops', and she'd never been upstairs. Peter realized her hesitation and slipped by her. He gave her hand a gentle tug as if to say "Follow me."
He pushed open a door at the end of the hallway and revealed a small room, illuminated in a soft glow by a lamp on the bedside table. Olivia took a step inside and gazed around the room. A twin bed was on her left, neatly made up with a brown blanket. Tables sat on either side, covered with books. There was a bookshelf on the other side of the room, also overflowing with books – everything from quantum mechanics to philosophy to the latest Stephen King.
Peter knew she was mentally cataloging every item in his room. Between her FBI training, her eye for detail, and her eidetic memory, nothing would escape her gaze. He stepped around her casually and crossed to the other side of the bed. When she turned her attention to the drafting table he used as a desk, he kicked yesterday's boxers and socks under the bed, then continued to watch Olivia take in her surroundings.
She moved to his dresser. It had the usual detritus of an adult male: wallet, keys, loose change. His FBI consultant's badge. An old-fashioned alarm clock, with two bells on top. An iPod, with the ear buds neatly wrapped around it.
She picked up the iPod and laughed. "I haven't seen mine since I came back. Do they even have iPods Over There?"
He grimaced. "I think Apple works for the Department of Defense. The technology went in a different direction."
She replaced the iPod and picked up a picture frame – it was a young boy, posed in a team uniform, with a soccer ball tucked under his arm.
"This is you?" she asked, and turned to face Peter.
"Yeah," he said with a small smile. "Walter found it when he was unpacking and brought it up here. Said it made the place more homey."
She replaced the frame on the dresser. "I like it."
He picked up another frame from the bedside table and held it out to her, although not far enough that she could reach it from where she stood. "I like this one better," he said, as she joined him on the far side of the bed. He handed it to her.
"When was this taken?" Her voice sounded harsh, even to her.
A pained look flitted across Peter's face; he took a deep breath as if to shake it off. "Astrid always dates her photos. I think this was taken about a year ago, after we came back from Jacksonville." He turned the frame over in her hands and pointed to a small inscription on the backing. When Olivia saw the date, the tension left her face.
"When Walter doesn't need her, she practices her surveillance skills by wandering around the lab and taking photographs." He took a step closer to Olivia and turned the frame in her hands so they could both see it. It had been taken in the lab, at a table where Olivia worked frequently when she wasn't in her office. She was seated, papers and folders spread before her. Peter was leaning over her shoulder, one hand on the back of her chair and one hand braced against the table. It was plain to see they were oblivious to their surroundings at that particular moment; they were smiling at each other with a look of deep affection and want in their eyes, their faces only inches apart.
"A year ago," she mused. "So everyone knew how we felt but us."
He took the photo from her and set it back on the nightstand, angling it as if he knew the optimum head-pillow-picture alignment. He turned to face her and tilted her face up to his. "Sweetheart," he drawled, "I've known for a long, long time." He bent to kiss her gently, and his arms circled her and drew her to him. She deepened the kiss and tangled her fingers in his hair.
For a long minute, there was no sound but the creaking and settling of an old house at night.
When they broke the kiss, they both gasped a little at the sudden surge of desire. Olivia fumbled with the buttons on her coat. Peter brushed her hands away, and unfastened them quickly, although with shaky fingers. He slid the coat and her scarf off, and then stepped around her to drape them over the chair at his drafting table.
When he turned back to her, she was unbuttoning her blouse. "My turn," he said, and nudged her to sit on the bed. He knelt at her feet and slid off her boots and socks. He massaged each foot in turn, eliciting a moan of satisfaction from her. When he straightened, still on his knees between her legs, they were about the same height. He pulled her closer, and kissed her neck, all the while continuing to unbutton her blouse. As he trailed kisses down the newly exposed skin, Olivia sighed and laced her fingers in his hair. He unbuttoned her slacks and slid the zipper down, continuing to drop kisses across her chest as he slid the pants over her legs and folded them neatly at the end of the bed.
Although she'd been just as unclothed many times in the lab, Olivia felt suddenly shy at the exposure of so much skin. If Peter had looked at her then the way he was looking at her now, she'd been unaware of it. The hunger in his gaze made her tingle pleasantly with anticipation.
He slid the blouse off her shoulders and laid it on top of her slacks. When he released the clasp on her bra, it was his turn to sigh. "Olivia," he whispered as he cupped her breasts, "You're beautiful." She closed her eyes, and he lost himself in her breasts, nibbling, sucking, gently nuzzling her with the scruff on his cheeks until her nipples were as hard as his cock and her breath was ragged.
As he raised his head to look at her, Olivia opened her eyes and smiled. "My turn," she murmured, imitating his earlier comment. She tugged at his sweater. Peter pulled the sweater, and the black t-shirt underneath, over his head in one motion, then dropped it on the floor. Olivia was already unbuckling his belt. Looking up at him, she palmed his erection through the denim. "Liv," he said in a low voice, popping the button and pulling the zipper down. She pushed the jeans off his hips.
As he stood to shake off his jeans, Olivia slid back on the bed and pulled the band out of her hair. She dropped it on the bedside table and shook out her hair so that it floated over her naked shoulders. Freeing her hair seemed to release her pent-up tension. She smiled serenely at Peter, as he stretched out beside her, propping his head up on his hand and toying with a strand of her hair, running it through his fingers. She snuggled closer to him, feeling him warm and solid down the length of her body.
He wrapped his arms around her, resting his head on the pillow and kissing the top of her head. Although his cock was straining the seams of his boxers, he was content to let her lead. He knew they were slowly rebuilding the trust between them, and that her presence here tonight was a significant step. For tonight, at least, they had all the time in the world.