A/N: WOW so it's been awhile since I've written—and I definitely need to after the epic episodes that have been playing lately. So here's my continuance of Jacksonville (and first Fringe fic)…because we all see this coming…. "Beautiful Ending" lyrics by Barlow Girl…a beautiful song…
What Is Our Ending
Oh, tragedy
Has taken so many
Love lost cause they all
Forgot who You were
And it scares me to think
That I would choose
My life over You
Oh, my selfish heart
Divides me from You
It tears us apart
So tell me
What is our ending?
Will it be beautiful
So beautiful?
Will my life
Find me by Your side?
Your love is beautiful
So beautiful…
It wasn't that she hated lying. It was a crucial part of her job. You lie when you're undercover, when you don't have enough evidence, when you don't know how to help someone so you offer sick, strange comforting words of 'it will be okay' when it surely will never, ever be okay.
But lying to Peter? It wasn't that she hated lying, but she hated lying—to him. The moment she saw the flicker, the glimmer of a wispy yellow aura that surrounded her best friend--her colleague--her reluctant pseudo partner that had stopped being so reluctant lately--all of the air in her body and everything she thought she knew was sucked away, much like the building the other world sucked away. Like, she suddenly feared, Peter would disappear away too.
Walter's desperate request was lost on her foggy mind. How could he ask her this? To keep something so life-altering away from Peter? Something in his eyes told her that he knew, had known, and as it quickly processed—as two and two became four—Olivia gasped. Suddenly, she knew Walter had taken the other world Peter—or someone had brought him to Walter. All the times Walter mentioned Peter being a sickly child, always tired, always home…
"Walter," Olivia swallowed thickly, not looking into the eyes of the lost scientist. "Peter…our world's Peter…he's dead, isn't he…"
It wasn't a question—just a statement of the facts at hand. Walter nodded imperceptibly. Incredible sadness filling the lines on his weathered face. Lucid words spilled quietly from him. "I'll spare you details, Olivia, but I was different then…I was a bad father, I didn't…care…then. I found my second chance. I wouldn't let that second chance go." He paused, shaking his head. "Even then, I still managed to ruin our relationship. When you brought us back together, I knew it would come to this, eventually. I think I always knew. Memories lie buried, but Olivia, I always knew. And I know that you care for Peter, so you will do me the courtesy of not telling him. Please—he's not ready."
"Not ready to find out he doesn't belong here, Walter? He doesn't belong with you. He doesn't belong with me," she said angrily, faltering on the last sentence. He wasn't hers. He would never be hers—not in this world.
"Please, Olivia?"
She grimaced, lip curling slightly, disgusted but saddened. Because as wrong as it was, as wrong as it may be, she wanted to pretend it wasn't true as much as Walter had been pretending. And, granted Walter had done this to her, he knew once she attained this glimmery-other-world-perception that his secret would be out. His life would be in ruins. And Peter….Peter would be left none the wiser by the two people that cared most about him.
"I can't promise you that Walter. But I will try, until I can't try anymore," she answered bitterly, not looking into his eyes still.
Walter nodded again, as Peter half jumped down the stairs, coat in hand. He noticed the shift in the air immediately, filing away Olivia's strange, callous expression away for later. "Walter, what did you say to Olivia now?" he asked with a smirk, attempting to cut away the tension.
"Oh, sorry son, I was just…asking Agent Dunham what her intentions were with you tonight," Walter replied, the lucidity buried, hidden away with the rest of his dark secrets.
"Jeez, Walter, I swear, I leave you alone for two minutes…" Peter joked, pulling his jacket on and opening the door for Olivia. "Ladies first," he smiled genuinely, a hand on her lower back meant to lead her. She smiled weakly at the gesture. She couldn't look at him.
"Hey, at least he didn't go into his always-use-protection bit this time," Peter laughed lightly, bumping her shoulder with his.
"Yea, at least," she tried to grin back. The glimmer flared, looking akin to a halo flame that seemed to warn if she got too close to its presence, she would no doubt get burned.
XOX
She was able to pass half the night as if nothing was amiss—thanks in large part to copious amounts of alcohol and a smoky bar. After two hours, everyone looked like they were from the other side. A little hazy, a little blurred, a little different. But they weren't, they were from here and he wasn't, and her circular logic always brought her back to that.
Peter had stopped drinking after his third beer, instead taking to observing the agent. She'd been fine when he'd opened the door earlier, bright smile and pretty, sparkling curious eyes. She was used to Walter's antics, but given Jacksonville and the Cortexiphan incident, her views on Walter had changed—and he could see why. But at the building, when she'd been so distraught, so afraid, she'd turned to him, and that had given him the small bit of courage he'd needed to know she might want what he wanted. What he didn't know even he had wanted until that moment.
But as she ordered yet another shot—mixing her third kind of alcohol, when she was already sorely past tipsy—he was getting worried, and suspicious. He grabbed the shot before she could toss it back, handed it to the couple next to him with a smooth "it's on me" and closed the tab, effectively stopping her only ability to turn off her ability.
"Why did you do that? I thought we were having fun?" she demanded, pouty and slurred. He ground his teeth, pulling her out of the bar. He gripped her shoulder, balancing her swaying body, leading them a few blocks away to gather his thoughts and hopefully attempt to sober her up a least a little bit.
Once he'd collected himself, he stopped her, one hand holding her shoulder, the other hand out between them. She swayed to a stop, confusion present in her clouded eyes. "Olivia…look, I know a lot has happened to you in the last couple days…and honestly, years…but if you didn't want to go out tonight, if you didn't want…whatever this is…you could have told me, and I would have left well enough alone. We're friends, I didn't mean to push anything on you. So I can take you home now, and we'll call it even—or you can tell me what's wrong, because you can't even look at me right now."
Her eyes were closed, and she hadn't even realized it. His words were kind and they washed over her painfully, mocking her secret promise. What ifs were a big part of who she'd become—what if she had been a normal little girl? What if she never knew of the pattern? What if she never met Peter? What if she never joined the FBI? All the what ifs in the world wouldn't help her now though. She was in so deep, and a world of what if didn't exist, because she was here now.
"Will you open your eyes, please?" he whispered pleadingly. She squeezed them shut even tighter, biting her lip and damning Walter Bishop for this. The sadness in his voice was heartbreaking—he thought it was his fault, thought he had pushed too hard, gone too far. It wasn't that at all. It would never be that. Hot tears were welling behind her eyes. She'd created her own impasse, her own catch-22. Tell him and lose him, don't tell him, and still lose him. Either way, she couldn't win this one.
She didn't want to see his eyes when she told him, see his face fall at the weight of her words. She knew she could lie. She could tell him just friends was all she wanted, she wasn't ready for this change. But that would be too obvious a lie, a lie he'd see right through.
Olivia swallowed hard, opening her eyes. She didn't have a choice.
"Peter…there's…there's something you should…know…"
His forehead knit in confusion and apprehension, suddenly worried. "Olivia, whatever it is…" he trailed, the hand between them coming to her cheek, like it had at the building when she'd been so afraid. "You can tell me, you can trust me…"
She broke, heart shattered. Like the glass snowglobes Nina crashed together. Two worlds colliding that weren't meant to be.
She moved her hands to hover on either side of his face, the other world glimmer licking her hands as it jumped and flickered and glowed. Like fire.
"Hey, Liv, come one—you're scaring me," he whispered soothingly, wanting to know, not wanting to push or pry.
"Peter…you…" she gulped in air, breathing seemed to be failing her. "You don't belong here."
He gave a confused grin, not understanding. "What do you mean Liv? We're standing in the middle of a sidewalk at two in the morning—you don't belong here either."
The grim smile she gave did not help his understanding. She shook her head slightly.
"No, Peter, you don't belong here," she managed to say, thick sobs ripping her apart. He still didn't understand, as he carefully pulled her into his arms, trying to calm her down. "Take me home, please?" she murmured, overtaken by exhaustion and barely heard over her cries.
"Sure, no problem Liv," he answered, leading her home. Her statement spinning around his mind, her tears only increasing for reasons he did not comprehend.
XOX
She unlocked her apartment door numbly. Peter hovered in the entryway, unsure what she wanted him to do.
"Should I head home, Olivia?" he felt awkward for asking, but he couldn't help her—she wouldn't let him. "I can always leave and maybe we can try this another time?"
Now he was grasping at straws.
All she heard was 'leave.'
He could leave. At any time. Leave, disappear, be sucked into nothingness like the building, cross over into the other world and never come back and maybe, possibly, find other world her there and fall for her and she would be left with nothing but an empty gap, in an empty apartment, in a slowly deteriorating universe.
"Don't go," she whispered. "Please, don't go. Don't leave me."
"Okay, Liv, hey, I won't go," he smiled, worried, but glad she wasn't mad at him. She was no more than a foot away, clenching her fists and wishing she could shut off the aura that shimmered so brightly, declaring that he didn't belong. It was like a child's game; one of these things is not like the other…
"Are you sure you don't want me to go Olivia? You…don't look…you look kind of like you're going to be sick."
She shook her head. "I'm fine, I'm fine I promise…I'm fine…"
"So fine you're definitely not fine? I know you Liv, you're not telling me something. If you want me to understand, you've got to give me more to work with here."
"It's nothing," she resolved. "I'm just…I'm sorry I'm just exhausted. I think I just need to sleep."
He nodded—still feeling awkward and out of place.
"Will you…will you stay, just tonight? I don't…want to be alone right now."
Her expression was akin to the one she'd worn when he'd nearly kissed her at Massive Dynamic. Frightened, scared, lost…desperate to be comforted. So he nodded. "Sure, Liv, I'll stay."
Maybe he'd solve whatever was wrong in the morning. Maybe she'd tell him then.
She smiled, small and almost nonexistent, and went to change.
XOX
They made small talk as she went about brushing her teeth, washing her face. All the while she looked at him as minimally as possible. Something that was starting to irritate him horribly.
She'd thrown an old college tee shirt on and running shorts—her usual sleep attire—forgoing the 'all the stops' lingerie she may have chosen (typically) for such an occasion. But she knew he wouldn't care, and he was more worried for her sanity than anything else at the moment. Her behavior was erratic at best.
She emerged from her bathroom, as he had finished folding his sweater and well worn jeans, placing them on her dresser. She smiled at the boxers—a gag gift from Walter, who hadn't meant it to be a gag—black with little green aliens, and the deep green shirt he'd been wearing under the sweater.
"I figured they were appropriate, with all that's been going on," he laughed. She grinned.
"Sounds about right." Her face fell bit by bit though. Whatever weight she bore was crushing her.
"Olivia—"
"I'm okay," she rushed. "I promise. I just—you're right, it's been a rough couple days. That's all."
He nodded, unconvinced, but turned off the bedroom light as she pushed back her covers, thankful for their comfort.
"Thank you, for staying, Peter," she whispered as she felt the mattress dip slightly. She was on her side, facing away from him.
"Good night, Liv."
He sighed, trying to sift through the events that led up to this. She didn't seem to not want him there, but she wouldn't look at him for more than a few minutes at a time. She wasn't repelled or upset when they'd almost kissed, hadn't been stiff when he'd asked her if she wanted to get drinks, hoping to possibly lead to dinner. She'd been odd and a little erratic earlier, but not until he went to get his coat had she suddenly transformed. She'd been fine until he came downstairs, seeing her shocked, horrified expression. That was what her expression was, a mix of shock, horror, and…sadness. What had caused that? He wanted to know desperately. She was angry at his father—hell, more often than not he was angry at his father. He always said or did stupid things, but he wasn't really known for his tact. In fact, Walter had been pushing them together for some time—talking about protection and dates and purple suits and if she'd call him 'dad' if they got married, that she was someone who could see right through him. Sure, he had a shady past, but apparently, they all did. Whatever had happened had occurred in the five minutes between him opening the door and returning. He closed his eyes, back tracking through her behavior. Tears, her vast consumption of alcohol, not being able to look directly at or near him…don't leave me, please…you don't belong here…no you don't understand…Peter, I'm scared…Peter, I'm scared…
Her terrified expression echoed behind his mind. She was still wearing it now. When she looked at him however briefly.
You don't belong here.
It hit him, all at once.
"Olivia," he said, stunned. Voice tight and tense. Her eyes, never having closed in the darkness, unable to dream of sleep, stared into nothing. She knew. She knew he figured it out.
"Yes?" she asked, very much awake as he.
"Look at me." He said thinly.
She didn't move. All her muscles locked.
"Look at me," he demanded, more desperate now than she'd ever heard.
The tears came back, fresh. "I can't." She gripped her pillow tightly, twisting the ends. The mattress rose; he stood, pacing, before coming to her side of her bed, grasping her arms, and pulling her upright. She gasped at the sudden movement, startling her.
"Why won't you look at me Olivia?" he was getting hysterical, and the intensity frightened her. She looked at the floor, as he held her up. He swallowed hard. "Is it because I glimmer? Is it because I glow or flicker or whatever the hell else this stupid ability of yours does? Is it because I don't belong here!" he was shouting now, and she took it, because she would be shouting too. Like she wanted to scream at Walter, for everything. He was shaking. With rage or fear, she didn't know. She was shaking too.
"Peter…I'm so sorry…" she breathed quietly. He was silent for a long while. His grip loosening and tightening on her arms, still trembling. It explained everything his father had ever said. Every lie, every memory, every time he so much as coughed the horrified way his father would look at him. He didn't belong here. He'd been kidnapped or stolen or simply spirited away from his other world family. He had died in this world, and replaced by the one in the other. He was the cause of the pattern, Walter had taken him through the rabbit hole, and now Wonderland was falling apart. They wanted him back.
He felt Olivia wince, a small whimper of pain, and he saw the white knuckled grip he now had on her upper arms. He let go slowly, backing away.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice distant and disconnected. He turned away, neither wanting to look at the other, and placed his hands over his eyes, as if trying to block out the truth.
He stiffened when he felt her arms circle his waist, her head coming to rest between his shoulder blades.
"Is it…selfish…that I don't want you to leave, or disappear on me, one day when I'm not looking? Or be sucked away like that building today? Selfish that I want you here—no matter how much it effects the balance of the other world? Because right now, I hate that I can't look at you without thinking that at any moment you'll disappear."
Peter turned, crushing her thin body to his, as if she would be the one to disappear. "I don't want to disappear Liv," he whispered, afraid for himself, afraid for her. "I don't want to leave you. I like this world…I…could never leave you…I need you."
She pulled back, watching the swirling, glowing yellow glimmer twist and flutter around him. "It…it almost looks like a halo, like fire, that never dies or dims."
She finally met his eyes, both filled with hot, bitter tears. He grasped her hands, gently moving them away, lacing them with his. He stepped forward, causing her to step back, until the backs of her knees collided with her bed.
She smiled, as sad as all her smiles before, whispering lightly, "You'll always be my Peter."
One hand on her cheek, like earlier, at Massive Dynamic, his smile even grimmer than hers, he kissed her, wrapping his free arm tightly around her waist—so hard she couldn't breathe. It was rough and angry and slow and beautiful—everything they were and everything they felt in the moment. He ran his hands through the long, golden hair he loved, taking in every detail and smell and taste, running them past her shoulders, down the curve of her spine, causing her to shiver, her skin to prickle with goosebumps. He grasped the hem of her shirt, breaking contact, needing to know she wanted this. Eyes open, saying yes, he pushed her shirt up, over her head, letting it fall. She pulled him back to her, he pulling his own shirt over his head then. She stared, for a long time, as his torso radiated the other world glimmer, creating a strange beauty of its own, hands following the aura that he would never see.
He pushed her down, kissing every inch he found. Her neck, her forehead, jaw, shoulder, her collarbone, biting and soft, still angry, still slow. Her hands traced his face, hoping to remember everything—not wanting to forget, should he ever vanish. All the scars each had, every bruise, carefully kissed away; hot teardrops falling on chests and cheeks and lips and every new territory and barrier crossed as the hours escaped the two sad souls.
As their night passed, and euphoria settled fog like around them, words shimmering vows and promises in the coming light, sealed with slow kisses and languid movements—he knew he could never leave this world, not without her, not without a fight.
Not without a war.