3 years, one month, and twelve days. Or was it thirteen days, Olivia thinks. She opens her eyes and stares at the ceiling. Could it be they'd only been out of amber a week or so? Olivia knows. She can't help but remember but suddenly she doesn't want to, because with the number comes the truth; Etta is dead. The final number doesn't really matter; the tally of days spent with Etta has closed, the count is now complete. There will be no more days with Etta. Olivia closes her eyes again. She needs to sleep; not only to rest, but also to escape the painful truth of what was lost today, for a little while, at least, but she can't sleep. She takes a deep breath and slowly releases it. I should have taken the pill Walter offered, she thinks.
Her body is exhausted and longing for rest but her mind is alert and grimly unwilling or unable to leave the events of the day behind. So, she lets her mind take her back to when she heard the shot, to that horrible moment she knew something had happened to Etta. She sees herself running towards the sound, faster than she'd ever run in her life. There had been no time to question whether or not she would be strong enough to deal with what she knew they were going to find-what they did find.
Olivia buries her head in the pillow, hoping to hide the memory of Etta's eyes growing dimmer and dimmer as she lay dying. Trying to lose the memory of pressing her hands helplessly against her daughter's chest, willing the blood to stop flowing out, but it didn't stop; her cortexiphan powers nowhere to be found when needed the most. Olivia burrows deeper into the pillow, but the memory is still there; Etta dying will always be there, forever and ever.
Three years, one month, thirteen days. Olivia rolls over and stares at the ceiling again. There'd been another time, she remembers, when she wouldn't have been strong enough to face what she'd faced today. Olivia feels a tear roll down her cheek, and angrily wipes it away. Am I grateful, she thinks, at this horrible moment, am I really feeling gratitude? What a ridiculous thing to be feeling. But she is. In some horribly morbid way, she's grateful that today she was stronger, and because of it, she was able to tell Etta how much she loved her and for Etta to know it was true.
Olivia throws the covers off and gets out of bed. She will not sleep this night, there's no use pretending anymore. Besides, she knows she's not the only one who isn't sleeping. She opens the door and leaves the small utility room she, Astrid and Etta had been sharing and goes out into the lab to find him.
Peter has always been a man who needs a plan, a series of logical steps that will lead to a desired solution, but there is no solution to Etta dying. There is no plan and there are no steps that will change that fact. This time, there are no refugee camps to search or leads to follow up on; there is no hope to chase. Etta is gone and Olivia is afraid that it has broken him beyond repair. Peter had pushed her away earlier, pushed them all away and she'd let him, but now it was time for her to bring him back.
She opens the door to their old office. There is no light, only moonlight but she sees him, sitting at the desk, hunched over, head in his hands. His sleeping bag is lying on the floor beside him, untouched. He hears the door open and he turns and watches her enter but doesn't say anything. Olivia starts towards him, then stops, suddenly unsure of him. Does he even want her there? Will his anger, his frustrating grief, keep them all away? She's about to turn around when his voice breaks the stillness of the room.
"Remember that doorway in our kitchen, the one we started marking Etta's height on," he asks.
"Yes, I remember," Olivia says quietly.
"Did you know Walter was doing that here, too?"
Olivia shakes her head. "No, I didn't know that," she answers.
"I found it tonight, of all nights, on the doorway to this office. Right behind you."
Peter points at the door and Olivia turns around. Even with only the moonlight, she can see Walter's precise notations on the doorway, "Etta, 15 months, 10 days…Etta, 19 months, six days….Etta, 2 yrs, 8 months, fourteen days," And then, the last entry, "Etta, 24 yrs, seven months, three days." Olivia reaches out and traces the writing with her finger.
"That last one was only a few days ago…" Peter stops, his breath catching. He looks at Olivia, as if daring her to see the pain in his eyes and look away. But she doesn't turn away, how can she? She recognizes that pain; it's in her eyes too.
Without a word, she pulls him up from the desk and walks him over to the sleeping bag. Olivia lowers herself to the floor and starts to pull him down next to her but he stops her.
"I can't sleep, Liv, I don't want to …" Peter pleads, but Olivia doesn't let go of him.
"Shhh. I know, I know. Just lie down, Peter, just lie down with me," she says softly.
Olivia lies back on the sleeping bag and Peter doesn't fight this time. He lets her pull him on top of her, his head on her chest, her arms around him, one hand gently stroking his head while the other rubs his back. She kisses his hair and pulls him into her warmth and suddenly, fiercely, Peter wraps his arms around her and folds himself into her body, holding her so tightly she can barely breath, but it's okay because it's what he needs; it's what they need. If he is broken, she knows this night will not heal him, it won't heal them, it's just a temporary respite from the numbness they feel, but it will be enough to carry them through this longest night.
Olivia looks up at the doorway, at Walter's last notation, and closes her eyes. Not long enough, she thinks, nowhere near long enough. They hold each other, and somehow, together, they are able to sleep.