Pain, Fear, Love
By Cortexikid
Author's Note: I am a long time fan fiction writer who has been out of the game for a while. Hope you enjoy my first venture back to the fan fiction world.
Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe, sadly. But if I did, I would be damn proud of that amazing finale.
Pain. It is universal. Troubling, weakening, soulless.
It is powerful, gripping, bold.
It casts a shadow overhead like a cloud blocking out sunlight.
This are all too damn poetic for Olivia Dunham. Her plush lips twist in a self-sardonic manner, as her back presses against the cold, white wall. She would scoff at her notions had she had the energy. Shaking her head of anomalous hair, she taps the sole of her foot softly on the floor.
Pain is more kinetic, more than mere words could ever describe. Touch, feeling, the physical pain is always fresh in her mind. She has experienced physical pain, time and time again.
But the emotional hurt…
She rests her chin on her knees, taking a deep breath, shutting her eyes.
Nothing could prepare her for this.
Darkness, it is so familiar and yet so foreign to her. She remembers, or rather, tries to remember how she felt as a child, in the darkness.
Back when she was afraid of something.
The fear is bubbling under the surface, she knows this. The pain and fear mix together, yet not entirely, like oil and water, pain sits just above fear, closer to release.
The fear she can push down, if need be. But the pain, that is the problem.
She tries to eliminate one to deal with the other but it is pointless, they walk hand in hand like the dynamic duo they are.
Then there is the third.
The one she tries to forget…to push out, for the sake of her sanity.
Love.
That is her downfall. No matter how hard she fights it.
She laces her fingers together tightly, squeezing with deliberate force as the image floods her mind. Soft lips, warm, a rake of scratching stubble against her cheek, a strong yet gentle hand pressing her lower back.
There will be time for a plan, she is not giving up by any means. There are things in life that are just too damn important for such…weakness. But now, for a moment, a small, grasping moment she needs control, to be in control of something.
She has always been good with numbers. Her locker combination, her best friend in High School's license plate number, the combination to a scientist's hidden safety deposit boxes…everything was neatly catalogued into her memory like an encyclopaedia.
But numbers are not all her mind has catalogued. There is an entire section stashed away in the dark corners marked "Do. Not. Touch." and his name is all over it.
Peter.
She gasps as the release of pain spreads like wildfire in her veins. Her head lowers into her hands, her breathing becoming shallow. She will not let the salty traitors escape her eyes so they remain tightly shut, two incisors darting out to chomp on her lower lip.
She will not let the sound escape.
The sound of pain and fear and love.
For the walls have ears and eyes that are all judging.
And she is strong.
She has to be.
For herself, for him and for her side.
She was always good with numbers, numbers she could trust and even though a wise man once told her when you've been up all night, time is just a matter of semantics, she must keep track of it. She needs to focus. To keep certain thoughts at bay.
So, opening her mouth a fraction for the first time in days she brings herself to whisper into the gloom;
"One, two, three…"
Reviews are appreciated. =]