Title: All of This Will Come to Pass
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Olivia/Peter
Setting/Spoilers: General season 3 spoilers
Warnings: None, really.
Summary: There's no second wind, no last-minute plan. Olivia finds herself at the end of the world. Future-fic.
Notes: Thanks to Bryn for the beta. This just flowed right out of me one afternoon; a moment of serendipity that I love.
Now I'm lost in a sea of sunken dreams
while the sound of drunken screams echos in the night
but I know all of this will come to pass
and I'll be with you in last forever by your side
- 'Dying Day', Brandi Carlile
She's faced herself again and won — this time, the knots are stronger, the hold total. There's no second wind, no last-minute plan.
There's fire and a charge in the air that frightens her more than she knows.
Agents run through the calamity, searching for survivors, trying to get those able to away from the hanger, dragging scientists along with the help of military personnel. Somewhere in the fray she spots Broyles, his arm around Nina Sharp's shoulders, her face covered in ash and the angry welts of burns; Olivia runs past them, to where the massive doors once stood, now a gaping hole of twisted metal.
The hanger is nothing like she remembers.
The desks have been blown back to the walls, their computers and equipment hanging in the air, swirling in the electrical current. There is debris all around, knocked out walls, and she steps over a bulletin board covered in charred blueprints on her way through the mess, gun held out, ready.
She knows her alternate wasn't the only one to cross over, and would laugh at the irony of it all if she weren't shaking from fear and adrenaline. Around her, objects glimmer in that second sight of hers, bright flashes of amber and white and that blue glow she remembers learning about during her time as the Olivia of the other side. She continues on, sweat dripping down her brow, the heat almost unbearable.
A whimper sounds somewhere to her right.
Olivia takes off, leaping with a strength she didn't know she still had after three days awake. Desks are in pieces, here, and she searches through the rubble for the source of the sound. And then — a foot, sticking out from under a desktop blown free of its legs.
She crouches down and throws the desktop off with a grunt to find herself staring into the eyes of Walter. He is covered in ash, in burns, but his eyes are clear, shimmering not from the vibrations of another universe, but tears. His hands are twisted up in each other, but it's his left leg that catches her attention — a tear in the pants, the white of a broken bone. He's holding it together remarkably well, though she's sure she doesn't look much better.
"Walter," she huffs. The air is thin, and her lungs burn as she speaks. "Where's Peter?"
"Peter?" asks the scientist. "Why — I have no idea. They — they took him. Oh, Olivia," — he leans up and grasps her arm with both his hands — "You must find him!" He falls into coughs and falls back, his eyes clouding as he tries to regain his breath.
"I will," she says just before grabbing her radio to call for help, "I promise, Walter."
The machine stands at the far end of the hanger, and she feels her breathing get easier as she sees there's no body in the center, no Peter dangling from ancient supports, no flames shooting from his eyes.
But there is a man at the end of the room. Immaculate despite the chaos erupting around them, grey hair kept and coifed like the suit he wears. Nausea grows in her stomach at the sight of him, the anger she's felt since their first meeting bubbling up to produce a shout. She charges, finding clear purchase where she can, and points her gun at his forehead.
"Where is he?" she growls. The Secretary grins, his face splitting in a way Walter's never will.
"It won't be long, now," he tells her. "I believe the machine will do most of the heavy lifting."
"He's your son. You have to know this will kill him."
The Secretary shakes his head. "My son died twenty-five years ago, Agent Dunham. He died the day that man stole him from my life. This is simply justice."
"Justice?" she laughs. "This isn't justice, this is a sick vendetta against a world that has done nothing to you! There are innocent people over here — "
"And who is more innocent than a child?" he interrupts.
"You never cared about him," she says, voice taunt. "You don't give a shit about who Peter is — he's only a tool for your twisted war."
"The ends, Agent Dunham, justify the means."
She's had enough of him. Of his poking and prodding and threats and insanity. There's no information worth allowing him to live, nothing they can benefit from taking him into custody. Olivia smiles and readies her trigger finger.
"They sure do."
The gunshot is lost in the whine of the machine as it begins to move. Olivia knows she's close, knows he has to be here somewhere. Her eyes scan the area wildly, hoping she's in time to stop this, to be the guardian she's supposed to be.
He's leaning against the barrier wall between them and the machine, a slumped figure covered in blood, and Olivia slides on her knees the last few feet between them. Peter barely reacts, only moans a bit when she gathers his face in her hands. Blood flows freely from his nose and ears, his color deathly pale, and where her breathing's difficult, his is labored.
"Peter," she breaths. He gives her a smile in a fraction of a second, one she knows — the reassuring one, the lie of being alright. A few lights fizzle out overhead, and she's left reading his face in the shadows of burning fires.
"Hey," he whispers.
"We have to get you out of here," she says, looking over her shoulder. There's little movement she can see from here, and wonders if she can carry him on her own. One of his hands grasps hers, the grip weak but there, and she looks down at him.
"Hey, I need to know," he starts, and begins to cough, blood running down his chin. She wishes desperately to help but doesn't know what to do. "I need to know where I belong."
All the misery of the last few months comes crashing onto her shoulders, and she hesitates. She has never doubted her love for him, only herself in his eyes, and wants to say the right thing. But she also feels the itch of betrayal between her shoulder blades, the pain of a knife in the back. His blues eyes are piercing as they wait for her answer, and she swallows, knowing that, all along, it's always been the same.
"Here," Olivia answers. "Here, with me."
His eyes slide closed but a smile appears on his face. "Thank you."
She feels his hand go slack, hears a whine in the air, and then,
Nothing.
—
She wakes to a cool darkness. Silence. Stillness.
But her hand feels warmth, and she lets her eyes travel down her arm and up his, and Olivia holds her breath as she waits. Her back aches on the floor, her head spinning.
And then, his eyelids twitch.
Edit: Wow! You guys are sweet! I never considered continuing, but your reviews are beginning to wake the muse. I shall be thinking on more! Any suggestions, etc, are most welcome!