Disclaimer: I am not Joel Wyman, Jeff Pinkner, JJ Abrams, or anyone else involved in the creation of this show. I am merely a lowly fan who owns nothing but her emotions that are constantly abused by the aforementioned people.
A/N: I've never written fanfic for Fringe before. I tried my best with the characterization, but umm... I give no guarantees.
This takes place several months after the evil episode that was 5x04. I don't pretend to know what's coming this season, so no spoilers other than what's already happened up to the end of 5x04. And a clarification on the summary warning, caution: character death ahead. Turn back now if you no likee.
Walter glared at them.
"You are not listening to me. The plan won't work without a power source. I need a power source."
"Well we don't have the rocks, Walter," Astrid reminded him patiently. "We left them in the ambered lab, remember?"
Walter shot her an unimpressed glare. "Of course I remember, Afro. I am not an idiot."
Peter stepped in to save Astrid from whatever impending tirade his father was undoubtedly about to embark on. "We can think of another way, Walter. You and me, c'mon."
"Actually I have an idea," Olivia said quietly before her husband could lead his father away.
They stared at her unexpected declaration.
It wasn't that Olivia was unintelligent. No, far from it. It was rather that science, engineering, invention, innovation, those tended to be the Bishop boys' territory with a hint of Astrid.
"You need a power source. Here I am," the blonde finished with a slight shrug.
"No. Absolutely not," Peter protested vehemently. The last time had entailed a dead Olivia, and he had no desire to repeat that experience, especially not after losing Etta.
But Olivia plowed ahead anyway. "Nina can get us Cortexiphan from Massive Dynamic, and then the rest is easy. Make me turn on or off a few lights, get my telekinesis going, and then Walter can tune me to whatever frequency he needs."
"Olivia, are you sure you've thought this through?" Astrid asked with concern.
Meeting Peter's eyes, Olivia said, "Our daughter died for this war. I'll do whatever it takes to see it through."
Olivia curled herself into the fetal position.
With the Cortexiphan injections came the migraines, and with the tests came the seizures.
It was a cruel irony that the first test involved staring at lights.
Just the sort of thing a person with migraines would like to avoid.
But alas.
So there she was, lying down in a dark, quiet room having just experienced yet another seizure and trying to recuperate her way through a massive headache.
In her right hand, she clutched the bullet that saved the world.
For Etta, she reminded herself.
She was doing this for Etta.
Walter watched as Olivia glared at a stack of books.
She had moved past the lights to telekinesis, and Walter had asked her to move the pile from the table to the ground while keeping it perfectly aligned.
"You need to concentrate, Olivia."
"I'm trying, Walter!" the blonde snapped. Given the frustration, she'd rather set the whole damn set on fire. But that wasn't necessarily Walter's fault, so as she dropped her head into her hands, she muttered, "I'm sorry."
Walter gazed at her sympathetically. "No need, dear."
Given the situation, he would've gladly gone back to Pennsylvania (even in spite of all the annoyances a long road trip would entail) and found a way to get more rocks.
If only the Observers hadn't destroyed the mine.
"Hey," Peter poked his head into the room. "Time for a break. We got food, but I can't guarantee it's any better than egg sticks."
"Hmph," Walter snorted unhappily. "The travesty that is called food here makes me -"
"Walter," Olivia interrupted him. She glanced around to make sure no one else was in hearing range then continued, "The headaches, they're getting worse. The seizures too... You once said the candle that burns twice as bright lasts half as long."
"Olive."
"You only call me Olive when I'm dead."
Or so she'd heard.
"That's not true," Walter gently countered even though the statement held more truth than he would've liked.
"Do you think I'll burn out?"
Walter hesitated as Olivia looked up at him, and suddenly he was transported back to a time when a three year old Olive looked up at him with the exact same expression, back to a time when she was vulnerable and unaware.
But she wasn't unaware now.
"It's possible," he finally admitted. A pang in his heart reminded him that he was responsible. Well... partially responsible. Belly's involvement was not negligible. "But nothing is ever certain, and I will make sure it is not. Now come along, dear. Sustenance - I refuse to call it 'food' - is calling."
"Please don't tell Peter," Olivia whispered, and Walter paused in the doorway. "I don't... I can't... I don't want him to feel like he's losing me too. I don't want him to do anything stupid."
Walter turned to look her in the eye. "Olive."
"Please."
Pleading eyes looked up at him, and in spite of himself, he found himself nodding his head.
"Go, Peter. They need you," Olivia whispered as she finally stopped shaking.
Peter shook his head. Typical Olivia to tell him to help the others when she'd just gotten through another seizure.
"No, I'm not leaving you."
"Go," his wife insisted as the sound of weapons ramped up again. "You're more useful out there."
They had finally gotten to the last part of "The Plan". Olivia was all tuned and ready to go. Unfortunately, Observers and Loyalists decided crashing their party would be fun.
A loud scream from Astrid finally convinced him.
"I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere," Peter said with his best attempt at a smirk before taking off.
Olivia dragged herself to a corner of the storage room. She closed her eyes and shakily leaned into the wall.
"You can't sleep, Mom."
Weakly, Olivia opened her eyes to see Etta crouched in front of her.
"You can't sleep, Mom," Etta repeated. "Dad's coming for you."
"Etta," Olivia remarked, her voice a mixture of joy and sorrow. "I must be dreaming."
Etta rolled her eyes. "Seriously, Mom? I just said you can't sleep. That means you're not asleep, which also means you can't be dreaming."
And because she didn't have the energy to actually do so, Olivia laughed internally. Sometimes Etta was such her father's daughter.
"Hallucinating then," Olivia corrected herself.
"That's about right." Etta paused as she noticed something. "Your nose is bleeding."
If she could've, Olivia would've lifted a hand to her face to check, but she didn't need to. Now that Etta had mentioned it, she could feel the warm liquid running down her upper lip.
Olivia closed her eyes and let her chin drop to her chest.
"You can't sleep, Mom," Etta repeated yet again. "Dad'll be here soon. He needs you."
Eyes still closed, Olivia said, "Tell me about our adventures."
Her twice-lost child looked at her quizzically. "Our adventures?"
"The missions we went on. All the battles we won together."
She could practically hear her daughter blush.
"Mom, I... I was just a kid," - there was no way Etta would admit to playing make believe as an adult (even if she did) - "and... and they're silly," she finished lamely.
"Please?" Olivia said, invoking the magic word. Did Etta even know it was called the magic word?, she thought to herself. She'd never gotten to find out. There was so much she didn't get to find out, so much about her baby that she'd never know. "It'll help me stay awake."
"Oh, all right then," Etta conceded. "Once upon a time - that is how stories usually start, right? - umm... Once upon a time in Boston, there was a fringe event, and as with every event, only one team could save the day..."
Olivia began to smile.
Peter returned to her a mere ten minutes later.
Rushing over to his wife's slumped figure (she had a strange smile on her face), he tried to rouse her.
"Olivia. Olivia!"
When he got no response, he quickly wrapped his arms around her and checked her right wrist for a pulse.
Finding none, he moved up to her right carotid.
Then the left.
Then the inside of her left wrist.
Then back to the right.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
"No. No, Olivia, no."
She had to come back. She always did.
Brain dead after flying through a windshield? Να είναι καλύτερος άνθρωπος από τον πατέρα του.
Shot in the head by his biological father? Change the future. (Though he had to say, getting erased from the timeline was no fun.)
Shot in the head by his "adopted" father? Pull the bullet out and let Cortexiphan do the work.
Speaking of...
In Olivia's right hand was the bullet that saved the world.
Peter gingerly removed it from her grasp and slipped it into a pocket. He didn't want to see it now, didn't want to think about it. Not until Olivia was alive and well again.
"Come on, Olivia," Peter pleaded as he cradled her body. "Come back to me."
He refused to cry.
She couldn't be dead.
He needed her.
He couldn't lose her too.
"The candle that burns twice as bright lasts half as long."
Peter lifted his head to see Walter and Astrid in the doorway.
"What are you talking about?"
"She's gone, son."
"That's never stopped you before." Peter's voice was desperate. "That's what you always say, isn't it?"
When Walter didn't answer, Peter stared at him and registered just how unsurprised his father was at his wife's condition. "You knew this would happen."
Walter looked away as both Peter's and Aspirin's eyes demanded, "Say it isn't so".
"Olive suspected it would."
"Walter," Astrid lamented.
And because anger was easier to handle than pain, Peter rose to his full height and snapped, "You knew, and you let her do this anyway?"
"I'm sorry, son."
No.
Peter couldn't accept it.
He wouldn't.
Because death never stopped Walter.
Except for Etta's.
And now Olivia's.
And the other Peter's long ago.
But not his.
It seemed cruel that he'd been chosen to outlive them all. Chosen by a man who wanted to play God. A man who was not his father.
It was too much.
"I am not your son," Peter snarled.
He stayed long enough for the bitter satisfaction of watching Walter wince before storming out of the room.
"Peter," Astrid futilely called after him.
He sped through through the corridors, slowing only when he reached the outside.
Peter let the cool air wash over him and momentarily let his mind focus on sweet, sweet Oxygen.
They were getting it back.
They'd won.
And yet he'd never felt so defeated.
He knew it wasn't Walter's fault. Olivia had made a decision, and he knew better than anyone that a determined Olivia got what she wanted.
He'd go back and apologize in a bit.
But in the meantime, his hands pulled out the bullet that saved the world, and he looked up at the sky.
"Take care of your mama for me, baby girl."
fin
Oops... I killed Olivia. I'm sorry I'm a terrible person. But wait! If I killed Olivia, then Joel can't. Right...? That's how this works, yes? *crosses fingers*
Thanks for reading!