Hearing his phone, at first he thought it was a blessing, to be interrupted from Walter continuing on about custard and the pie he was preparing for his birthday. Peter couldn't help but roll his eyes, laugh at his father at the absurdity of it all. He never liked custard and yet the old man, his father, was adamant he was making it for him. He answered the call, feeling the smile fade and his heart sink. There'd be an accident, in New York. It was all that was relayed to him. Not enough to understand but enough to know, it wasn't good.
He drove with his father beside him, rushing through traffic, running several lights, not caring about his own well-being. He knew he was being stupid and foolish but he couldn't control himself. He slammed on the brakes as he approached the scene and half-spoke to an Agent Jessup. He didn't really listen, his mind couldn't listen until he heard that they didn't know how she was. His brain couldn't comprehend such a thing. How could they not know? His blood pressure skyrocketed. His heart pounded. He felt the world spin around him and as his father approached the empty vehicle he heard the report, it was Agent Dunham's vehicle. The doors were locked from the inside, the seatbelt still fastened but she wasn't in the car. The airbag had deployed but there'd be no indentation. No. It didn't make sense. He was used to the unusual by now but not with Olivia. This was not happening.
His attention was taken from the Junior Agent to the car as he watched his father step back as the alarms and lights flashed brightly, sounding louder than he thought possible. It startled him but nothing like what would next. He watched from out of nowhere her body, Olivia, was shot through the windshield, landing on the cold hard cement. This wasn't good.
He ran over, wanting to see her but as quickly as he came, so did the paramedics. He was pushed back, ushered away, told he needed to give them space to work. It was killing him, watching her like this. She didn't respond, she didn't speak, and he knew right then, this could be the end.
He tried to remain calm as he and Walter drove together to the hospital. He had wanted to go in the ambulance, had wanted to be there by her side but they insisted they needed to do their job and to give them space. He felt anger within him but he knew there wasn't anything that he could physically do to save her. It was too late. He should have been there, two steps closer, a few feet ahead to catch her. He knew it was impossible to have predicted such an event, to have calculated what would have occurred next but had he been there, maybe then, in that moment, he could have kept her body from slamming into the asphault.
He waited with his father, pacing the length of the hallway, refusing to sit down. His heart pounded with each passing second. He felt as though he were losing a part of himself but he was trying to be strong for her. He wanted to believe she would pull through this. She was afterall Special Agent Olivia Dunham. The strongest woman he knew.
The doctor comes in and the news cuts him deeper than he thought possible. She's gone, dead, on life support. There's no chance of a recovery. Peter hear's his father rambling but shakes his head trying to accept the fate that is Olivia Dunham. It doesn't seem fair. His father ignores the doctors words and heads down the hallway. Peter has no choice but to support his father, back him up and follow after, until he comes into the room that she was in. Peter waits outside, watching as Walter examined her. It's brief and sullen, the atmosphere dark and brooding. Peter can't hear what's said but he knows it's an apology. He too owes Olivia one. He's betrayed her.
He makes sure Walter is home safe before he finds himself in the bar. It's the only place mildly comforting and yet it reminds him of her. They always did drink together. No matter the occasion. It's why he found himself in a bar, drinking the pain away. It barely dulled the throbbing ache. He drinks for her, silently toasts one last shot until it's Broyles sitting beside him. He knows he sounds bitter but he can't help how he feels. Broyles lost a good agent, he lost a friend. She meant so much more to him, than she ever had the chance to know. He swallows another shot letting the liquid burn. The pain is a slight mere satisfaction, it's what he deserves.
Finally he does all he knows left. He can't avoid her forever and though he's been drinking, he's had enough time to sober up on his way to the hospital. Coming in through the doors, he's surprised to find Rachel. Seeing her, looking her over, he realizes the weight of all that's happened. He realizes it's true, Olivia isn't coming back, she's gone and he will have to wake up tomorrow feeling a little more empty than he did today. It burns him, like nothing he can explain. The pain searing through his heart like a gunshot wound that he won't survive. Except it's not he who's dying.
He walks to her room, hesitant at first but knowing he can't betray her any longer. He watches her lay upon the hospital bed. The monitors beep every so often, a constant rhythm that he can't find comforting. The doctors have told him she's gone, that there's nothing they can do. He doesn't want to believe he's failed her and yet he has. It's obvious to him, seeing her lying there, knowing she'll never wake up, never speak to him again. All he can do is say goodbye and it pains him that she's lost to him. He loved her and he never got the chance to tell her. It's not fair. It hurts too much. Finally he arrived to say goodbye, to see her, touch her, if only for one last time.
He can't say much because he knows she's gone and nothing he says will be for her to hear. It would only be for him and somehow that feels selfish right now. He touches her hair, strokes the soft silky strands and sighs thinking about all he's lost and all that's been lost to him. He can't help but feel betrayed but not by her, only by himself. He should have been there for her. He should have been there with her. Why was she traveling to New York? It's a question he can't wrap his head around and one he knows he may never get an answer to.
He should have been a better man, he should have been there to save her, protect her, take care of her. She deserved better than this. All he can do is say goodbye and he leans down, wanting to kiss her. It seems painfully obvious that this was not how he imagined a kiss between them to be. His head drifts down, half-way towards her only to see her eyes flash open as her lips betray her. She speaks an all too familiar greek saying his mother used to tell him before bed and he wonders how she knew. The moment is quickly lost as her body shoots up in bed with a scream and he can't help but pray she's not in any pain. At least she's alive, she's awake. He feels relieved. It's more than the doctors thought possible. A miracle? He's not sure.
A/N: Thanks for reading and supporting my writing! I've now writing full time and have published a novel Aberrant, a Young Adult Romantic Dystopian Adventure. Be sure to check it out at