Chapter Text
The irony doesn’t get lost on Peter that, with only so much time left before her due date, he is the one enjoying a day off while Olivia is out there working on who knows what weird case has hit Boston this time. He really shouldn’t be surprised, though. His girlfriend will never be the type to take advantage of her pregnancy to get some rest, no matter how well-deserved (or needed, for that matter).
She’ll probably keep working up until the very moment her water breaks, if it’s up to her.
When the phone rang early in the morning, it cut them right in the middle of his new favorite routine of saying hi to their girl and getting to feel, sometimes even see, her little kicks in response (she’s already an early riser, that one — just like her mother). Broyles was on the other end of the line, letting Olivia know the details of what had happened. When she told him she had to leave, Peter wanted to go with her, of course.
Even though things have significantly calmed down ever since they prevented Bell from putting an end to this world (ever since Olivia — and their daughter — briefly died; Peter’s heart still comes to a stop for a second whenever the thought hits him, even after all these months), he’s still a consultant for the FBI, after all. The Fringe Division is still up and running with the full original team-turned-family-now at its helm. But she asked if he could stay home instead, as this case came clashing with their plan to keep working on the nursery that’s yet to be fully done despite how close their baby’s arrival into their life is supposed to be now.
Of course he couldn’t say no to her.
He’s been thinking a lot lately, about how he’d like to be there for his daughter — truly there — once she’s born as to not repeat his own father’s mistakes, and how he probably wouldn’t mind (if that’s right by Olivia too, obviously) taking on less hours of work to take care of her. Better get used to it already, then.
Plus if Peter usually gets bored quite easily when Olivia isn’t around (what can he say, he is dating his best friend, after all), today he’s actually glad to get their still newly-lived in house for himself. It means he finally has time to work on the surprise he’s had in store for her for a couple of weeks. First, though, he starts his day with his main task at hand, spending the morning in the nursery.
There, he adds the first coat of paint on the walls, the base of what will eventually turn into a beautiful field of white tulips as soon as Olivia gets into it. They’re still not so sure how but, as they were packing her apartment, an old sketchbook of hers showed up, along with one particular drawing of that same field they want to recreate. Which, in turn, happened to jog Walter’s memory.
“You briefly met when you were children. Did I never tell you that?”
Between alternate timelines, multiple universes with evil doppelgangers and rising back from the dead, they should have been used to it by then. Yet they were still not prepared for that truthbomb.
“We believed Olivia was the key to taking you home.”
In a sense, Peter’s parents had been right. Not about her taking him back to his universe, of course — twice he’s chosen her over it. But about making him finally feel at home somewhere. And this, long before they did buy their own house.
After being done with half the walls and a quick phone call to make sure everything’s alright on his girlfriend’s end and they still don’t need him working on the case, Peter allows himself to call it a day. He leaves the room, not without one last look at it. He can feel his heart soften and a smile spread upon his face as he imagines the tiniest of babies, with a few strands of blond hair on the top of her head and fair eyes, soundly asleep in there.
Oh, he cannot wait to meet her.
He still remembers it as clear as day, when Olivia told him she was pregnant, right after what had been the most excruciatingly painful moment of his entire existence. This, on the contrary, had been the best news he ever received, something he never imagined to hear (nor to want to hear) before she came into his life. He recalls it too, when a few weeks later, their doctor told them she was doing perfectly fine.
A little girl — that’s what they were having.
After everything they’ve been through, well, pretty much ever since they first (re-)met, it sometimes still seems surreal that they made it and are finally enjoying some well-deserved quiet, normal time. Or at least, as normal as their lives will ever be, what with their very peculiar job. And he knows Olivia feels the same — and that there are moments during which she has a harder time believing it.
Especially these days, when her due date is coming closer and closer. It doesn’t help that there also seems to have been a resurgence of fringe cases lately. Even though it’s not nearly as bad as what they had to deal with over the past few years (no one seems to be wanting to put this world or the next on fire or have a personal interest in Olivia, thank God), it’s still serious enough to make her wonder again about what kind of world they’re bringing their daughter into. What kind of life.
Hence the surprise. Peter hopes it’ll help tame her worried mind.
As he abandons the first can of paint, he grabs another one, red this time, and goes outside. After setting everything up the way he needs to not to make any mess, he lets the brush meet the hard wood with a satisfied smile, the bright color of the new paint immediately clashing with the otherwise white door.
“My dad… my real dad,” Olivia told him once, during one of their heartfelt talks after waking up together when things were still new between them, romantically-speaking. “He painted the door to our house red, back at the military base. The army told him it was against regulations, but they eventually let him do it, because he was important. It was just before Rachel was born — he said it was for good luck.”
She hadn’t really talked about her father before — nor does she often does now —, but Peter could (still can) tell she truly loved him. That, unlike the man who came after him, he made her feel safe.
That’s exactly the feeling he hopes to spark up in her by bringing this piece of her past back to life.
He gets so absorbed in his work and the music blasting through his headphones that he doesn’t hear when Olivia gets home; it’s only when the touch of a hand on his shoulder startles him that he turns around and finds himself face-to-face with his girlfriend. A splash of red paint gets thrown at her in the way.
“Peter?” her voice is soft when she calls his name and he finally gets to hear it, having taken off his headphones. She’s not looking at him, though: her whole focus is set on the now almost-fully red door.
His own face instantly lights up at the sight of her. “Hi! I didn’t know you’d be back so soon.”
“We solved the case.” She doesn’t linger on it, nor does she give any more detail. She doesn’t seem to care, right now. Instead, she asks, “What are you doing?”
Peter chuckles as he turns around to shoot a glance at his work-in-progress, then quickly brings his whole attention back on Olivia. “I’m painting the door.” Then, in a knowing tone, “For good luck.”
“You remember?” She looks a little startled — there are tears prickling at her eyes. Nothing sad; just tears of emotion, he can tell, which comforts him on the fact that he had the right idea doing this. He takes a step forward, his hand finding its rightful place on her cheek. He tries to clean off the small stain of paint that found its way there in the process, but only makes it worse.
“I remember everything.” His words intentionally echoe what she herself told him, in what feels like a lifetime ago, when she somehow got her real memories back.
At that, one tear does fall down.
Hugging her is harder now, what with the (almost full) life growing inside of her, but it doesn’t stop Peter from trying. He can feel Olivia leaning as best she can into him for a little while, holding on tight, until she eventually draws away. She nods towards the door with a smile.
“Want some help?”
Peter grins back. “Sure.” Then gives her his paintbrush and grabs another for himself. As they start painting together, laughter filling the air while they work, a very pleasant (now very familiar too) feeling settles in Peter’s heart. This feels like home — not just that perfect house of theirs with the now red door standing tall in front of them. But rather this: a sweet, everyday moment shared with the love of his life, mother of his future child.
And god, does it feel good to be home. Truly, Peter’s not so sure he needs the extra luck that door’s supposed to bring, these days.
He already feels like the luckiest man alive.