If you are anywhere in this sentence you are on the shore of it.
- David Feinstein, from the poem Horizonward
Between waking up and opening her eyes, Olivia thought about Peter answering the door in his underwear. She remembered how he looked and lingered on it, she didn't really think specifically. Olivia didn't usually react to people like she had to Peter. She didn't give a crap what they looked like in their underwear. She had with John, though. As soon as they were introduced in the regular course of work.
It was nothing, it was more grief. Freakish grief for a freakish death and betrayal. People's skin melted off, John was dying. She was able to talk to him in his coma. John had betrayed his country. John was dead.
Peter answered the door in his underwear. She watched a man age 40 years and die of natural causes.
She opened her eyes and got ready for whatever work would bring that day.
XXX
She liked his face. She liked watching Peter play piano.
Olivia felt like she was being lied to all the time, by everyone. Even Peter. She wondered at herself, even Peter? Peter was a criminal. Peter wasn't even committed to staying in Boston. Charlie wasn't lying to her. Astrid wasn't. Broyles didn't so much lie as withhold information. It felt like lying, though. It felt like he was keeping things from her that she needed to know.
Why had Broyles sent her to look into that tip? She realized Peter had started playing another song, nothing she recognized. He glanced up at her as if he realized her mind had wandered. She went back to watching him play. Something moved in her. In her pants, she could hear Rachel saying it. She let herself smile.
Dr. Bishop was standing next to her. He wasn't lying to her. He was just genuinely insane. What did he remember, what was he pretending not to remember? Too many questions. She focused on Peter's hands.
XXX
The case was mystifying and irritating. A cylinder that exploded down. Broyles once again withheld information from her. He sounded proud that she'd figured it out. A small part of Olivia felt good about that. Most of Olivia was asking questions, trying to fit this new information about the Observer into what she already knew and didn't know. A month into this nightmare and she thought she was good at her job. She was good at this.
She wasn't sure what this was. There was a cylinder. There was the Observer. Walter had attacked Astrid. A tiny beat under everything that Peter was going to leave. She didn't want him to leave. She liked him. But he was going to leave and she should get used to it and move on.
Olivia drove to the cemetery, faster than she should have. She got there and she saw Peter. She stuffed down her relief, her overwhelming sense of relief.
XXX
It seemed like hours between the cemetery and walking Peter out of the hospital. It had been hours, but they felt like super sized hours. She thought she had been doing pretty well the last four weeks, putting on her armor. She was doing well projecting competence.
She thought, as Peter opened the door for her and they left the hospital, she could do better at that.
Olivia stumbled in the parking lot, falling back against the car. Peter was close enough that he reached for her arm to help her stay standing. He was leaning right into her and she had an excellent view of his battered face.
Her hand shook. She looked at Peter and then she kissed him. He kissed back after a split second, his mouth opening slightly. She reached up and held the back of his neck. He leaned forward so he was pressing her against the car.
She grabbed at the waist of his jeans, her fingers brushing his skin. He made some sort of small noise of happiness. He untucked her shirt. Then she felt his warm palm on her skin, while he undid the clasp of her pants. He had one hand holding her waist as he unzipped her pants and then his fingers moving very slowly into her underwear. She tugged at his jeans. She let go and pressed against the growing hardness she felt in his jeans.
Peter took that as encouragement, which it was. He started touching her, tracing a pattern between her legs. She snorted at the thought, a pattern.
He said, "When do you find time to make a waxing appointment, Agent Dunham?"
"I don't," she said. Peter kissed her neck. She felt heat where his lips were, and more where his hand was. She said, "I shave. I like a good bath."
"That is unbelievably hot to picture," Peter said.
It was insane. She was being insane. She'd at least had a date before she let John put his hand on her this way. Apparently at some point in the last month, she'd lost her mind. And decided to start jumping attractive men she worked with. Thank goodness she hadn't lost it like this near Charlie. Ridiculous thoughts were racing through her head but all she was really thinking about was Peter's smell, his fingers and her body. She said, "Wait." His hand stilled.
"Hm?"
She hadn't even let go of Peter's neck. He said, "Are we stopping?"
Olivia closed her eyes. She said, "No." His fingers started touching her again, this time making her gasp.
She unzipped his jeans. She reached inside and got her hand around his dick. It was his turn to gasp. He said, "I hate to press pause, but, uh, surely, we can do this somewhere more comfortable."
"Right," she said. She withdrew her hand and zipped him up. He did the same with her pants. Olivia said, "Right."
She thought about her awful day and how she'd woken up. She didn't move away from Peter pressed close to her. She said, "I think John Scott called me last night."
Peter was still leaning against her, she felt him sigh. He said, "That's weird. I would understand if you saw him or thought he was talking to you, but a phone call is weird." She felt his voice like a rumble.
She said, "Why weird?"
"If Walter's insane theories are true, and you were able to find Stieg because of them so I guess they are, it could be that part of him, his memories or something, would still be in your head. Your brain wouldn't know how to process it, so you might see him telling you something or talking to you. But a phone call, I don't know how you'd do that." He stepped away from her. "Did I just talk myself out of finally seeing where you live?"
She smiled. He made her smile. She was insane. She said, "No, that's helpful, thank you." She turned and opened the car door. He walked around to the passenger side and got in. She said, "You assume somewhere more comfortable would be my place?"
He shrugged. "I live with my father in a one bedroom hotel room. Actually, outside against the car would be more comfortable, at least for me."
She drove. She said, "How are you feeling? Are you even up for something strenuous?"
She glanced at him. He was nearly smiling now. He said, "I am not going to make a joke about how up for it I am. My head hurts, my ribs ache, but I'm good for whatever. If we're doing whatever."
Olivia said nothing. She couldn't fuck her newly credentialed consultant. She had to have learned something from what happened with John. Six weeks ago she'd been happy with John, now she was here. John was dead, he was a traitor, Walter and Peter Bishop were in her life, Broyles was her superior. Last night she could have sworn John called her. But Peter was up for it.
She'd driven to her apartment. She parked. Peter looked around. "This is not the hotel."
"No," she said. She hadn't taken off her seat belt though.
The difference was she had been blinded by love. She knew Peter was shady, he was a criminal. He'd just chosen to stay with them three hours ago.
She took off her seat belt and got out of the car. She was going into this with her eyes open, and she was not in love with Peter.
He followed her to the door to her apartment and then into her apartment. He looked around, openly curious. She wondered what he was seeing. She didn't think any of it was very revealing, not anything more than he'd already figured out. She said, "I'm hungry. Are you hungry?"
"I could eat," he said, almost leering.
She poured out two bowls of cereal and put the milk between the two of them. She found two clean spoons and sat across from Peter. She took off her gun and badge.
He finished his bowl before she finished hers. They'd eaten in companionable silence. It was very far from anything she'd thought when she'd met him in Iraq. She hadn't thought about anything, she'd been so focused on John. She felt angry all over again at herself, at John.
He said, "I can walk home from here, actually. If you'd prefer."
"I'll drive you home," she said. "But not now."
He said, "Good."
She went to her bedroom, he followed her again. She took off her shirt and pulled off her bra. Peter sat on the edge of her bed and took her waist. He leaned his head forward and licked one breast, his hand on her other breast. She trembled and sat down on his thigh. "You have great tits," he said.
"Thanks," she said, trying to breathe evenly. He licked and nipped and squeezed and she was already wet again. She ground down on his thigh. She unbuttoned his shirt. He already had colorful bruises on his chest. She ignored the bandage for his ribs. She touched his forehead and then ran her hands through his soft hair.
She said, "Take off your pants."
He looked up. "Um, birth control?"
"Taken care of," she said. She'd gotten an IUD even before John. She stood up and took off her pants and underwear. He stopped in the middle of pushing down his jeans to look her up and down, appreciatively.
He even whistled. She blushed. His jeans and boxers were on the floor. He took her hand and kissed her palm, a strange sweet gesture that made her want to stop, almost. Then she was in his lap.
She couldn't stop herself from making comparisons. Peter's softer body versus John's cut one. She lowered herself onto him. He grunted, his hands running up and down her back. She held on to his head, hands in his hair again. They moved together. She moaned. She felt finally inarticulate. Nothing racing through her head, just feeling him inside her.
He held her wrists. "Can you hold my shoulders, just this time, mild concussion, remember?" He sounded more coherent than she would have managed.
She muttered, "sorry." She pushed down on his shoulders.
For a man who'd been through what Peter had been through that day, he had amazing stamina. She came first by a minute or so, feeling like her eyes would roll back into her head. He came right after. She got off him and flopped on the bed, on her side. He lay back and smiled at her. She was going to feel that in the morning and it pleased her. She was absolutely insane. Not in the same way as Walter, but completely out of her mind.
Peter said, "Don't fall asleep, you promised you'd drive me home."
"Right, Walter," she said.
"I need to talk to him," Peter said, like he was saying "I'm going to drive red hot knives into my eyes."
"Maybe he'll be asleep by the time I can move." She rested her hand on his hip. He should have looked faintly ridiculous, with the bandage wrapped around his ribs and nothing else on. She thought he looked good, though.
"No way," Peter said. "He'll be awake, dying to talk to me."
Olivia patted his hip.
It was at least ten minutes before either of them got up. It was another ten minutes for her to shower and put her clothes back on. Peter gave her a small smile as they left.
She drove him home in another companionable silence. She was bone tired and unable to keep her eyes open by the time she was home in her apartment. When she woke up in the morning, she realized she'd fallen asleep on the couch, without even taking off her shoes.
Peter, she thought. Then, eyes wide open. She went over to her laptop and put aside the files from John's old cases. She found the file she'd first gotten on Peter in her bedroom, in another box. She started seriously investigating Peter.
She met Charlie for breakfast. As they walked outside, she said, "Charlie, have you looked into Peter's past?"
"I thought you did that," he said, evenly. He glanced at her and she wondered if he'd figured out everything she'd done last night.
"I don't think I did enough. I was looking again this morning. Don't you have friends over in Iraq?"
"I have contacts," Charlie said. "I can ask."
"Thank you," she said.
Charlie gave her a look. It was both kind and wry. She said, "I would really appreciate it."