The sky is an impenetrable weaving of indigo sky and wisps of cloud, the wind an icy breath upon your face, blowing back tendrils of your corn silk hair. You shiver slightly, and pull the flaps of your jacket more tightly against yourself. Flipping your soft blond hair behind you, you walk with a purpose, a deliberate insistency about you. You're not sure why you're here, on the dark and vacant streets of the city, but something has led you to this place. It's really not important why – you're out for a reason, and it's come to you in the form of a not-so-secret strip joint.

Not even the well-concealed doors of this illicit nightclub can smother the pulsing beat of the music. It's sexy and alluring, dragging your irrational self in. All it takes is one seductive smile to the bouncer, and you're in. The inside is dim, smoky with the light scent of half-dragged cigarettes. The song is overwhelming, a sensory overload to your hearing, already in overdrive.

Half-dressed girls are strewn, carefully placed, all around the room, entertaining their grateful and demanding customers. They all have a similar look; impossibly long legs, flat, toned stomachs, satin smooth sheaths of hair, insatiable velvety lips.

One entrances you in particular, one who stands out from the others. Dancing in the center of the room, she draws you in closer. You haven't seen anything as strikingly beautiful as the glisten of her skin in the iridescence of the lights, a thousand crystals glancing into your enraptured sea blue eyes. In the briefest of moments, she catches your eye, her lashes feathered over her intent stare. After that first glimpse, you watch her studiously, tilting your head as you observe her with a gleaming interest. You slowly walk towards he, sauntering slowlyr, watching her limbs contort as she dances, twisting as gracefully as liquid gold, her body a never-ending stream of fluidity. She dances closer to you, curving her body towards yours…

Her face is so close to yours. You can feel your heart beating against your breast, in your head, between your legs. Her dark hair tumbles down her back as she leans in closer, spilling out of her clothing (or lack thereof). You catch your breath as she slants her face towards yours, her lips straining to brush against yours. It's a ghost of the kiss you desire, an echo of what you want to do to her. You lean in hungrily, having ensnared your prey. She returns your frenzied passion, every touch mirroring your fantasy.

Olivia gasps, coming to her senses as she realizes where she is. Jolted to reality by the sudden change in scenery, she recognizes the sterile, temperate surroundings of the lab. Her body is heavy with the equipment Walter has strapped to her, the endless torrent of sensors, stimulators, monitors and God knows what else. The dancing, colored lights of the pulsing machine above her head reminds her of purpose.

"He's sexually excited," Olivia breathes in a dead, soft voice, trying to quell the wave of passion, though not directly her own, that has stemmed from the man's memories. She has never felt this close a connection that feels solely her own dream – or is it fantasy?

Walter gazes upon her, every lifeline crease in his wise skin accentuated by the harsh light of the lab. Olivia keeps talking, in the same, soft voice.

"His excitement has infected the dancer." She swallows, still half involved in her sweet dream as she kisses the beautiful, haunting, half naked girl pressed against her. "They're leaving the club togethe," she breathes softly, feeling herself slipping away again…

Maneuvering boldly from the pole she'd recently occupied, the girl joins you, at your side. Reaching for a faded leather jacket, she takes your hand, and leads you out of the club. The bouncer yells to her. "What're you, nuts, Ginger?" he says, irritated. "You're in the middle of your shift!!" But you're flying on a high far above this reality as she draws her fingers across your naked back, beneath your dark blazer, and splays them across your spine. This is the sweet release you've yearned for, so you follow her fervently, anxious for the next chapter of this evening to unfold itself…

Astrid walks into the lab, her eyes weary with lack of sleep. Nonetheless, she bears her usual gift of coffee for Peter and Walter, assuming Olivia is still under. "What's going on?" she asks curiously, looking to Peter, then Walter.

"I'm hypnotically stimulating REM state to enhance a psychic connection to Nick Lane," Walter explains to her in hushed tones, so as not to miss a word from Olivia. The blonde's eyes are closed; she is apparently enjoying whatever Lane is experiencing. Astrid nods vigorously, though she really hasn't understood a word Walter has spoken. Though, this is usually the case – Walter is brilliant, a fact they all know too well.

"I'm tuning her in tenors," he continues softly, his ear cocked towards Olivia's trembling lips.

Peter translates into English. "Olivia can feel what Nick Lane is feeling. She can see what he's seeing." He looks at Olivia with a sort of protectiveness. He has never seen her this exposed, this vulnerable. She's like a baby bird plucked out of the sky, small and soft and helpless. He wants to take her away in his arms and save her from this mental connection she's suffering from. Little does he know what's really happening to Olivia.

She cries out suddenly, a low moan that escapes her lips in a sharp gasp, jilting her upwards from the gurney she's been positioned on.

"Well, what's happening, is he hurting her?" Astrid asks urgently, her voice panicked. As Olivia's assistant, the two know each other well, and she begins to worry about the unconscious blonde.

Olivia gasps again, an urgent, low sound that immediately cues Astrid in. "Oh…" she remarks, eyebrows raised, understanding flooding her face. If it weren't for the tenative situation, she may have laughed awkwardly.

Walter, genius yet totally oblivious looks up from his intense gaze upon Olivia, lying sleepless and draped over the bed. "What?"

She gasps yet again, the moan building in her throat. Peter catches on. "Oh…" he mutters, a similar reaction to Astrid. How many times he'd imagined those sounds coming from Olivia's throat, yet he'd never imagined her to react that way to a girl, and a stripper, at that.

Olivia begins to sigh and moan, arcing her back against the feelings she's receiving from Nick Lane. Her ecstasy is evident, even to Walter, who, with an epiphany of enlightenment, says merely, "Oh!" He pauses. "I see."

Her breathing slows, almost dangerously so, setting off one of the monitors beeping loudly. Walter leans over Olivia, as beloved to him as a daughter, but he barely detects the sweet scent of her breath, faintly exhaling and inhaling. Her eyelids flutter; she is drenched in sweat, her hair tossed to and fro by her violent shaking. To them, at the lab, the worst is over. But for Olivia, it is far from it…

She lies beside the girl restlessly, feeling her heart thrumming, gone from a vibrating blur to barely hitting her breast. The girl twines her legs around Oliva, filling every crevice of empty space with her skin, keeping her together, a whole. Olivia has never felt this alive, as if every part of her is alight with vibrancy. Nothing is as clear as this, and though she knows it is a dream, it is a good dream. For now.