"Peter, I'm afraid." The admission scares her, scares her more than the impending collision between two realities. She hasn't been scared in so long she has forgotten how to deal with it, anger cannot save her from the blinding panic the way it has in the past.
He is saying something and even though the words cannot pierce through her panic, she is reassured. He is there, with her, everything will be okay, she will be safe as long as he is there. Callused fingers caress her face, palm cupping her cheek. His hand is warm against her face; he is warm. She needs that warmth; needs the fire that he ignites in her veins just by standing beside her. She has been cold for ever so long, ever since she was the little girl who grabbed a gun and shot the abusive stepfather. John had helped a little, made her feel like the blood wasn't frozen in her veins. Then he had betrayed her and died, and she had felt herself growing cold again. Snow falling over partially thawed ground.
The panic lessens, leeching away from her like ice melting away from a bonfire. Something is striking a chord in her memory and she wants to remember what it is. Something Walter had told her earlier, something about replacing anger and fear. Then Peter is leaning towards her, hesitant, expecting her to slap him as he leans in to kiss her. She wants this, wants him, wants the fire that will melt all the ice and snow and bring green and light back to her mind, her soul. The chord in her memory strikes louder now, she tries to ignore it. His face is close to hers and she is three seconds this side of grabbing his face and smashing her lips to his. You need to be afraid, Olivia. Walter's voice.
She doesn't want to hear the memory now, she wants to be fire again, like she hasn't been since forever ago. She wants to feel Peter, all of Peter, because he is so warm and she is so cold and she's thinking that the world could end and she wouldn't care as long as she had Peter. It's killing her now, the indecision between saving so many people and having what she has wanted for so long.
She can smell his aftershave, she can feel his breath on her face. She puts her hand on his chest, fighting to stop her hand from fisting in his sweater and pulling him to her. He stops and hurt flickers across his eyes, thinking that she doesn't want him. She wants to cry, but she's already made her choice. "I'm afraid Peter." She has to tear herself away from him, her cheek is now cold where his hand rested, and she's running to a window so she can look for the glitter of an impending collision. She's leaving him in a cold, empty hallway and she wants nothing more than to go back to him, tell him she wants him. She wants nothing more than to taste him on her lips and feel him against her.
She will have to make it up to him later, she has to do this now or she will never be able to face anyone. She can feel the ice around her heart melting, slabs of it falling away into nothingness. She smiles as she thinks of Peter and she feels warm like she hasn't since she can't remember when and she feels her heart beat for the first time in what feels like forever.