FOOTPRINTS IN THE SAND
In which I attempt to give Charlie some closure, and bring a little Bolivia. Oneshot. Quite Angsty. Not really a Songfic. P/O, Olivia/Charlie friendship.
Disclaimer: Don't own a thing.
You walked with me.
He doesn't fully understand how it happened. One minute she was chasing the suspect, gun drawn, hair flying out behind her, as perfect and powerful as always, and she was closing in on him, heels clattering up the stair well, beating out an increasing rhythm, and everything was going as always… he was behind, hovering, and she had everything in her control.
The suspect was hardly older than twenty, and he was running with his hood up and his hands in his pockets, and neither of them were ready when he spun round from the top of one flight of stairs with a gun drawn and pounded three bullets into Olivia's chest.
She went limp, and from where she was, about three steps away from the boy who'd they'd only wanted to question, she fell backwards down the stairwell, her body arching like a pale, perfect ragdoll, and she clattered to the floor, her own gun spinning away, head stilling painfully against the concrete.
The gun landed at Peter's feet, and he didn't have a choice. The boy in front of him was staring in horror at the woman, sprawled awkward on the floor, his face slowly turning a shade of green. The gun was still warm from her grip, and Peter didn't take his eyes off her as he put two bullets in the boy's head, without even a shudder at the recoil. And then he threw it down beside him, and fell to his knees beside her.
It was such a mess… there were three wounds, two in one shoulder and the other lower down, almost reaching her stomach… and her torso was a mess of shredded flesh and blood and singed clothing – and as if that wasn't bad enough, both her legs were splayed in awful directions and one of her arms was bent underneath her. Blood was pooling on the floor, and somewhere inside him he knew he shouldn't move her, in case of spinal injuries, in case he made it worse… but he couldn't abide by that, and he lifted her broken body into his arms, stroking her hair, holding her to him.
Her eyes were flickering to his face, and they were alive with pain.
"Peter…"
His hands found themselves cupping her face, stroking her cheek, but he couldn't ignore the warm blood flowing out of her, and no matter how he tried to hold pressure to those wounds, he could feel the blood oozing through his shirt, sticking to his skin… marking him forever… "Shhhhhh… don't try and speak…. Just hold on for me…"
The agent who'd been following them was already radioing for help, and he didn't want to move her anymore… he didn't want to break her anymore… because suddenly, this whole thing was irrationally his fault… he should never have agreed to join her, Fringe division would never have been started, she would never be lying in her own blood now… "Shhhh… it's going to be all right…"
She was gripping his shoulder with her uninjured arm – that had to be a good sign, surely? And she wouldn't tear her eyes away from his, and somehow he wished she would… he wished she would blink and avert her gaze and stand up and be herself again, and…
She let out a tiny moan, and her grip on his arm began to loosen.
"It's gonna be ok…" he soothed, but the fear was rising like bile in his throat, and he was nothing without her, "You hold on for me… do you hear? You hold on…"
Her eyelids were flickering again… "Come on, Liv… stay with me…" His lips pressed to her forehead gently, "Please…"
**
Searing pain was spreading all over her body. Apart from her legs… she couldn't feel her legs… everything else was burning, white hot flames, and her vision kept darkening, turning red. All she could see was Peter's face, eyes full of tears, whispering things, things she couldn't hear because there was a roaring in her ears she couldn't stop, and she had to hold onto him, because he was slipping away…
His lips pressed against her forehead, and somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that was strange… Peter didn't touch her, not really… but then, Peter didn't cry, and here he was, holding her and crying, like there was no tomorrow…
There wasn't pain as such, not anymore – more a spreading numbness, like she'd slept in an uncomfortable position and she was waiting to regain the feeling in her legs, her limbs, her entire body…
"Come back… please, Liv, come back…" whispered through her ears, and she heard it and couldn't distinguish it all at the same time. She couldn't see Peter's face anymore, only his eyes, and there were tears in them – why was Peter crying? Why was she looking up at his face from this angle? Why could she taste blood, why was everything spinning out of focus, disappearing into the blackness…
"Livia…" she heard murmured, but it wasn't enough.
She could hear the sea.
**
The FBI medical team waiting outside the building wouldn't ever forget the sight they were met with that day. They pulled into the road, and were rushing, their speed and efficiency perfectly practiced to be as successful as it could be, when they were all stopped short. There was a man walking out of the building, his face dark with blood and dirt and emotion.
Drooped across his arms, like a child's toy, or a hunter's carcass, was a woman, and he was holding her weight effortlessly, her curtain of blonde hair hanging nearly to the floor, from a head bent towards him, and her entire body was a mess of blood and broken bones and open wounds… and she wasn't moving.
And he let the paramedics take her from him, but he was never far away, and he didn't want to read their grim expressions, and he didn't want to understand their pointed looks. He wanted a last few minutes to believe in hope.
**
I see my life flash across the sky.
She was on a beach, sat amongst the sand. The waves were breaking gently a few metres away from her, and the sea was perfect, crystal, undisturbed. She was wearing – ok, she wasn't sure why the heck she was wearing a pants suit on a beach, and the light wind was whipping her hair around her face. She hadn't felt a sense of calm like this in so long… this was the beach her mother had taken her and Rachel to one summer when she was a child… the one year her stepfather hadn't been able to get out of work… the one year he hadn't ruined it for her…
Everything was too white, but she couldn't be thinking about that now. Everything was quiet, beautiful.
Someone sat beside her, and she turned her head to look at him at the same moment as he took her hand.
John Scott was smiling at her.
"Olivia…" he breathed, and she couldn't help the smile that danced across her lips, but it was more reserved, more reigned in than before, and John seemed to read that.
His hand over hers was so real and solid, and his smile was so genuine, and his voice was so rich and real, that she was speechless.
"It's ok, you know." He whispered, and seeing her frown, continued, "I'm gone now, Olivia… and you're happy now, maybe even happier than you were with me… and that's ok… I won't forget you…"
His hand cupped her cheek, and that was vaguely familiar, but not with John, and as she was mulling over her confusion, he seemed to face, and she could see the beach behind him through him.
And he was gone, as quickly as he'd come. Something about that unsettled her, and she stood up. Something felt unusual about her legs, but she wasn't going to worry about that now. Ever since she was a child, there had been something perfect and calming about walking down a beach aimlessly, and that was what she intended to do now. Instinctively, she seemed to know which way to walk, and it was when she started walking she realised she had bare feet; bizarre with the pants suit, but the feeling of sand between her toes was soothing.
The sun was setting in front of her, which was peculiar, because she was sure there'd been midday sun a moment ago… and suddenly there was someone ahead of her, and she broke into a run, and for the first time in her life she wasn't taking this for granted, running was truly beautiful, and the man in front of her was smiling at her, and she could tell from his eyes that this was her friend, this wasn't some usurper, and tears were streaming down her face before she practically bowled Charlie Francis over.
She clutched his shirt and sobbed into his chest, and he was stroking her hair, and again, that strange, unknown familiarity crept up on her, but she pushed it aside, because it had been six months since Charlie's death, and she hadn't felt this happy since that day.
Charlie's death… made this whole experience worryingly surreal…
"God, I've missed you." She found herself breathing, and he took her hands, and smiled across at her.
"It's gonna get easier, Liv."
She shrugged slightly. "God, I felt so awful… killing that thing…"
"It wasn't me… you know that…" She'd been told by so many people, but somehow it was only hearing it from him that made it ok.
"I'm so sorry, Charlie… it was all because of me…"
He shook his head. "I knew the risks, Liv… I don't want you to blame yourself… you can't go living your life like that…"
Living your life. Now that was a problem.
"Charlie… where am I?"
He shrugged slightly. "I don't even know. This isn't my place. This is your place."
She frowned, and hugged him again. She'd never felt so much like a child as she did in that moment. "I'm scared."
"I think you know what you have to do."
She shook her head, though the realisation was building in the back of her mind.
"I don't."
He raised his eyebrows slightly, a smile on his face. "Don't be stubborn, Liv. You're strong; you're strong enough for this…"
There'd been gunshots… pain… blackness…
"I can't do that, Charlie… not again…"
He was nodding. "Yes you can. I know you can." He held her at arms' length, by her shoulders. "You're gonna be fine."
It was enough to make her start crying again. "What if it's all too hard, out there? What if I want to stay with you?"
"Olivia… look at me… this isn't my place… I'm already leaving…" She noticed then that she could see the beach through him, just as she had with John…
"Don't go." She breathed. "I can't do this on my own…"
The smile on his face was brotherly, fatherly even, and he ruffled her hair lightly. "You're not alone. You haven't been alone for a long time… You're just too damn stubborn to see it…"
That was it, that was what was missing… Peter.
"Charlie, I-"
He was nearly invisible, then. "Tell Sonia I love her…"
And then he was gone.
Peter.
And everything they had been, and still were, and could be flashed in front of her eyes like a flicker of a flame.
She could see the first smile he gave her, the tears in his eyes; feel his arms around her as he pulled her out of the tank, fire blazing in his eyes…
Her legs crumpled underneath her, and suddenly her whole body was burning again, and she could hardly breathe, and the sun had set completely, everything was turning to blackness and the pain was overwhelming…
**
I'll carry you when you need a friend.
She looked so small, and pale, and weak… but that heart monitor was the best thing he'd ever heard in his life, because it was steady, and it was real.
He had no idea how she'd survived it. The doctors told him afterwards that she died twice on the table, and they'd been about to call time of death when her heart had started beating again, and none of them could quite explain it. Her spine had been broken, and no one would tell him whether that was from her fall, or from him carrying her out of the building, and though the guilt was building in him, he had to push it down, for now at least… because Olivia was alive.
Rachel was asleep the other side of the bed, she'd been there almost as long as he had, They had one of Olivia's hands each, and he was sure neither of them were ever planning on letting go. The doctors had said when she woke up, if she woke up, it would be touch and go whether or not she'd ever walk again, so she was going to need them – both of them – because she was Olivia, and because she was Olivia she would pretend she didn't.
Eyelids flickered, a strange reverse of them flickering closed, when he thought his world was ending, and seeing her eyes again… was like some sort of heaven.
"Hey…" she managed to croak, and he couldn't say a thing, he was rendered speechless. Olivia's eyes glanced to Rachel, snoring lightly, and half a smile touched her lips.
"I…" he started, but couldn't manage any further.
"I saw John. And Charlie." She breathed, and another time there would have been a thousand sarcastic comments coming out of his mouth, but this time he just gripped her hand, moving from the chair to perch on the edge of the bed, careful to avoid her IV. Every word she said was a forbidden fruit, a gift he didn't deserve.
"I thought you were-" he managed, and she was squeezing his hand back, her eyes full of tears.
"Am I… am I gonna be ok?"
He didn't have the heart to tell her about her legs, not yet. She looked so small and frail, and he was afraid to be the one to break her further. He nodded slowly, fixing his mouth into a line.
"Jeez, Liv, I-"
She reached her hand up, straining with the effort, to cup his cheek. He leant into her palm, giving her a tiny smile.
"Go home, Peter. Get some rest. I'm not going anywhere."
**
The next time she awoke she was joined only by Rachel.
"Oh, Livvy…" her sister managed to give her some sort of hug amongst the tubes and wires, "I was so worried… this is twice in one year, Olivia! You really have to be more careful! And… and Ella's made you about twelve Get Well Soon cards, you know… and I've been in these clothes, in this hospital for three days, and I can't remember what day of the week it is anymore… and Peter… I'm guessing you told him to leave because he never would have otherwise… he's been right by your side ever since he carried you out, that's what the paramedics told me…"
Olivia frowned. "He carried me out?"
Rachel nodded, sinking back into the chair, some semblance of calm washing over her. "The medical team weren't getting there fast enough and apparently he picked you up and carried you out of the building… it might not have helped with your spine, but at least…they think… they think he saved your life, Livvy."
A growing feeling of dread was washing over her, and she remembering the slight floating feeling in her legs on the beach, and how she'd savoured every moment of running.
"What? My spine? Rachel?"
Tears spilled over in her sister's eyes as the explanation came tumbling out of her, fraught with pain and regret.
**
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"What?"
Her face was fixed in a hurt frown that made him swallow and take a step back. "My legs, Peter. You should have told me."
He froze. Her gaze was pained, accusing.
"I… I'm sorry…"
She was shaking her head, "Why… why didn't you tell me?"
His hand crept around hers, and the fact that she didn't pull away was a good sign. She'd only seen his eyes this stormy once… the frantic memory as she slipped out of consciousness.
"I came back for you, you know." She breathed, and his eyes widened slightly but he said nothing, taking a step closer and sitting on the end of the bed.
"I'm so sorry." He breathed.
"What?"
"God, Liv, I'm sorry…"
She was frowning again. "What… what for?"
He swallowed, and stared her right in the eyes. "I… they don't know yet… but it could have been my fault… your spine… I carried you… I picked you up and carried you and, God, what if I've-"
She raised her good hand to put a finger to his lips. "Peter, you saved my life…"
He was shuddering, and trying to force it down, and she slid her hand down to her shoulder. "The only thing you owe me is to accept my thanks."
He didn't know what made him do it, but he leant forward and brushed his lips across hers, breathing her name. "Livia…"
She pushed him away firmly, and her eyes were sad. "No." she shook her head, "You don't have to do this."
His eyebrows furrowed. "What?"
She kept his hand in hers, stroking her thumb over the back of it. "I… I'm a mess, Peter… I might never walk again… I… you don't owe me anything…"
He was shaking his head. "I'm not here out of obligation, Liv… I'm here… fuck; I'm here because there's nowhere else I'd rather be…"
For a moment they were both silent. "You know… you know I'm going to have to leave Fringe division…"
He shook his head, shaking her cheek. "We'll take it all one step at a time, I promise."
"I… I don't want you to get stuck…"
"What?"
"I don't want you to get stuck with me because I need someone… because I have Rachel and… and…"
This time his lips brushed her temple, and she couldn't help closing her eyes and smiling. "I want you to need me. I… I think I might need you to need me."
She stared down at their joined hands, a promise, and gave him a smile.
"I was gonna… I was gonna follow Charlie… and then… then I thought of you…" she drew a deep breath, feeling tears rising, "You were the only thing waiting for me to come back…"
"That's not true. There's Ella, and Rachel, Walter, Astrid… Broyles, even…"
She smiled. "But they… they'd all have been fine, eventually. They all have… they all have other people… and…"
He leant his forehead against hers. "You're more important to people than you think, Olivia Dunham. And you're more important to me than you'll ever know."
**
The woman who opened the door looked tired still, and she didn't smile when she saw them. Peter wheeled Olivia through, gently over the doorstep, and she lifted her hand to cover his on the top of the wheelchair, as if to draw some support.
"I was sorry to hear what happened, I should have visited, Agent Dunham… I-"
"Olivia, please. I… I realise that…" she trailed off, and Peter squeezed her hand,
"This is either going to be comforting or you're going to think I'm crazy, Mrs Francis…but after… after I was shot… I… I think I went somewhere…"
Sonia was frowning, but Olivia kept talking in that quiet, urgent voice, and something compelled her to listen.
"This is going to sound ridiculous, but I… I saw Charlie… and he… he told me to tell you he loved you…"
For a long moment the two women stared at each other, and Olivia slowly loosened her hand from Peter's. He took it as a hint and walked into the kitchen for a moment, leaving the two of them.
"Was…was he all right?" Sonia asked slowly, and Olivia let out the breath she had been holding.
When Peter came back in the two women were crying in each other's arms.
**
It took her two years before she woke up one morning and realised she'd probably never walk again. She'd been hoping, like the child who wishes for the present they've already been told they're never getting. She turned her head on the pillow to see Peter staring back at her, eyes wide and blue and beautiful.
"I'm gonna be in that chair forever, aren't I?" she breathed, and he stroked her face, kissed her jawbone.
"I'm-"
She shook her head. "Don't apologise…it's never been your fault…"
He was absent-mindedly turning the wedding band on his finger, still getting used to the feeling. He settled for "I love you" instead of "I'm sorry."
She smiled and kissed him, and then he got up, shoving on some pants before lifting her out of the bed, kissing her forehead as he did so. "We've got to get to work."
Broyles hadn't allowed anyone to close down Fringe division, as it were. Olivia still went to the lab everyday, planned everything, interrogated. For a while it had been near to impossible to watch the others go off to apprehend a suspect, make the visits… but she'd gotten used to it, being kissed goodbye by Peter, the new gun tucked into his trousers at her new eye level.
Peter. He'd been everything, and one thing, all at once.
And she didn't doubt she loved him, hadn't for a long time. She'd seen a changed man in the past two years, and she couldn't ask for anything more. Aside from walking, she had a long, full life ahead of her – ahead of both of them…
And when it was all over, she knew there'd be the beach again, and everyone she'd left behind. And Peter would follow.
You'll find my footprints in the sand.