How many times do I have to lose you, to keep you for good?
The question rang in her head, over and over like a clanging bell. She hadn't been able to answer him then, not in the way he wanted anyway, just dodged his pleading eyes and mumbled something about wrapping her head around everything. God bless Walter, he'd walked up at the perfect moment and cut short what was becoming an incredibly painful, awkward conversation.
She looks down at her hands, tracing creases, scars, remembering.
A cocky, confident young man approaching her in a Baghdad hotel, reading her like a Vegas card dealer and giving her a once over all in the same glance.
Flirty banter amid birthday wishes and prolonged goodnights.
Phone calls and phone calls and nights at the bar, coy glances and card tricks and dares.
Soft touches, long embraces, alluded feelings.
You belong with me.
She smiles, remembering each moment in crystal detail. And then she begins to remember the other things…the things that she had long since forgiven but never forgotten, that still made her chest bind and left her head in a storm.
She wasn't me.
Throwing away bed sheets, clothes, little mementos that raked like nails.
Watching him step into a monstrous machine that might take him for good.
The day he walked into Fringe division, announcing he knew her….that fuzzy line between her memories, and those of another version of her, lost somewhere to time.
I did those things with my Olivia.
I know it's you.
After all we've been through; I will not lose you again, Olivia.
I never want to lose you again.
Her head starts to hurt, and she slouches lower in the lab chair. The amber throws the moonlight back in a faint golden glow across the walls and floor. She's thankful for the quiet this time of night; the others have taken up residence in the old cafeteria – Walter, to his glee, discovered the soft serve machines still work and insisted they bed there from now on – and she is alone, accompanied only by the soft hum of a few electronics. On a whim, she meanders to her old office, picks the lock and settles into the chair (for being over twenty years old, she's amazed the damn thing is still holding up, let alone fairly comfortable – the thought gives her a moment of ironic humor thinking of her own twenty year hiatus). Head still aching, wishing she could stop her thoughts from racing, she pulls open a crusty desk drawer, and lo and behold – a bottle of Irish whiskey still sits faithfully within. She's not sure what twenty years can do to an open bottle of whiskey (either age it to further delight, or make it something akin to poison), but she chances a sip anyway. A coughing fit moments later has her leaning decidedly toward the latter, and she tosses the bottle in the dusty trash bin. She finds an old rag in another drawer, and wipes away a thick layer of dust from the top of the desk, revealing the smooth wood, and lays her cheek against the cool surface. How many nights did she lay like this, so many years ago? Pouring over case files, nursing coffee and hard liquor in turn, dozing off from sheer exhaustion, only to wake half way through the night and barely drive herself home safely to bed…only to be woken early to start the whole routine again?
She's sure those long nights aged her well enough. The amber probably made up for an already accelerated process. She feels her eyelids growing heavy as she entertains the menial logistics of chronologically being over fifty.
A soft rap on the doorframe jolts her back from sleep, and she blinks away the blurry haze to find Peter standing in the doorway. (Another familiar sight from a bygone era, she thinks.) "Liv?"
"Hey." She leans back in the chair and crosses her arms – she shifts uncomfortably as she becomes aware of a jutting spring that hasn't withstood the test of time so gracefully – and watches him carefully step into the small space. "Something up?"
"Other than you? Nah." He grins halfheartedly at her and she smiles back, relaxes a little. "Just noticed you'd wandered off somewhere. Wanted to make sure everything is ok?"
She nods silently, feeling the double meaning behind his question, and reminded all too quickly of the last one she evaded.
How many times do I have to lose you, to keep you for good?
He doesn't ask it again, but its sitting there, white and very big in the corner of the small room. She knows what she wants to ask, Did you really ever lose me? But she knows and he knows it happened. She left. She chose and he chose they both felt the loss. And they feel it now more than ever, since fate threw them back together into a strange future with a grown daughter who was barely learning how dandelions grow only a few weeks ago…and suddenly it becomes clear to her. They didn't just lose each other.
They lost a lifetime.
The sudden anguish must be clear on her face, because he rushes over immediately, eyes full of concern. "Olivia?"
She barely hears him, barely sees him as she imagines all the things that have gone by. Etta starting school, prom, young loves come and gone, questions never answered and the uncertain first steps into adulthood, becoming the woman she is today…Sundays in bed reading the paper and sipping coffee, swapping kisses in the early morning sun, Walter's extravagant breakfasts, Peter's piano serenades…
Realistically she knows many of these things would not have played out normally, after the invasion began. Normal just doesn't seem to like her very much. But who was there on Etta's first day of school? Who was there the first time her heart was broken? Who was there to tuck her in at night, every night, and tell her that someday everything was going to be ok?
By now she is biting her fist, hard, fighting back tears that have already begun pricking at her eyes. Peter wraps her in a careful hug, still not sure how close is too close, and rubs her shoulder gently, murmuring softly to her. She sinks back down onto the desk, burying her head in her arms and sighs away the sobs that are threatening to work to the surface.
Peter pulls away, gently rubbing her back as she struggles to compose herself. His fingers stroke through a lock of hair, and she remembers every gentle caress, every strong, warm embrace that ever kept her from harm.
She lifts her eyes, slowly, to his, pain and a thousand apologies etched into every fleck of warm hazel. He pulls her close without a word, wrapping her in those same strong arms, and she buries her head into the warmth of his shoulder.
I never want to lose you again.
You belong with me.
How many times do I have to lose you, to keep you for good?
She wakes to the same hazy overhead lights, head resting gently on Peter's shoulder. She doesn't remember settling on the floor with him, but here they are, backs resting against the wall, his arm around her and head just leaning on hers. She moves to gently untangle herself, his head lolling back to the wall as he groans something about the time.
"Early. Peter.."
"Nngh..yeah?" His eyes droop open and he smiles at her, then to mock suspicion. "Why did you let me fall asleep against the filing cabinet?"
She smiles back as she stands, "Good for your posture. Coffee?"
"Posture my ass. I'm gonna be walking like I got kicked by a horse after sleeping like that. And yes, coffee. Absolutely coffee." She takes his hand and helps him up, chuckling at his groans and expletives. She's out of the office and halfway across the lab, Peter hot on her heels, when he stops suddenly. "Olivia?"
She turns back and the questions are clear in his eyes.
"We'll talk later…ok?"
He just nods his acknowledgement, some disappointment and some relief revealing themselves in equal measure, and follows her from the lab to meet with the others.