AN: Haven't done Fringe yet, and this has been digging in my mind all night. There are spoilers, and a heavy amount of angst. And sadness. Plenty of that. Besides, I've been meaning to use that poem for ages. The quote in the end is also very, very fitting. I also recommend watching that episode.
Where I live we got hit with a snowstorm last week, since then up to now we had no power, cable, wifi, you name it. But we got a generator and I watched all of season two, three, and up to Subject Nine of Fringe on my iPad. So, yeah. I'm up to date. Except for the latest episode, so, shh.
And about my other stuff, Ad Lucem is still a WIP, I also have other projects on my plate that are waiting to be written.
The title means an act or token of remembrance, and in Roman Catholicism, a Mass for the repose for the souls of the dead. How cheerful.
Please don't favourite this without reviewing.
Disclaimer: I'm not the creators of Fringe. The proof: There isn't a J or an Abrams in my name. The quote in the end is own by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. Shockingly. I also don't own that. Also don't own the Pablo Neruda poem either.
WordCount: 2K
Title:Requiem
Summary: He thought by changing their future would leave a happy ending. A future with Olivia dead, a world falling apart, a father in madness, and an unborn child. Peter thought nothing could be worst than that.
Because of you, in gardens of blossoming flowers I ache from the perfumes of spring.
I have forgotten your face, I no longer remember your hands; how did your lips feel on mine?
Because of you, I love the white statues drowsing in the parks, the white
statues that have neither voice nor sight.
I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice; I have forgotten your eyes.
Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to my vague memory of you. I live with pain that is like a wound; if you touch me, you will do me irreparable harm.
Your caresses enfold me, like climbing vines on melancholy walls.
I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every window.
Because of you, the heady perfumes of summer pain me; because of you, I again seek out the signs that precipitate desires: shooting stars, falling objects.
-You Will Remember, Pablo Neruda
A man breathed.
Two worlds were now balanced.
Machines beeping.
Time changed.
God. What happened? Peter looked at the skyline from his hospital room, and the same dusky hues slowly transition to the tranquil shades of nightfall. An invisible hand threw the silvery stars across the canvass of night like marbles rolling to each other. The shadowy echo of a moon slowly regained a reflective glow. Peter thought how similar it was for him, to be merely an apparition, and now welcomed back to the folds of reality.
The coldness of the room bit into his skin. Goosebumps erupted all over his flesh, reminding him that he was here. Alive. In a single Peter-piece. He absentmindedly looked at his hand to see if there were any changes. There was a slight circlet of pink skin that made bracelet around his wrist. A faint dashing of freckles and scars over the back, but his eyes stopped at his fingers. One in particular.
Grief stabbed him as Peter remembered the coffin being set on fire, the reminder of Olivia becoming nothing more than ashes doomed to be forgotten in a watery and cold grave. Peter clenched his hand into a fist and focused on the simple image of Olivia alive. He opened his eyes to half-expect to see his wedding band. But the familiar golden ring wasn't there. An ache grew as he reminisced the day he proposed.
The flood of images that came after that made him feel so old and so young. Foreign facts he knew, like how Olivia would look at Ella as if she was the child they couldn't have; and then the ones that he already knew, like how she took her coffee black with one sugar, it all collided with each other, mixing the present and future together. He was two Peters meshed in one body, a soul that lived enough sorrow for two grown men.
What happened? Peter thought again. Is this a dream? Memories of sharing a life with Olivia danced though his mind almost teasingly. He remembered being somewhere, scraping at the boundaries of wherever he was, trying to push his way through. He then remembered Olivia's frightened expression, a foggy recollection of shapes and sounds. Then he could almost feel the freezing pond water, the sun's rays hitting his face. The numb wave of shock when Broyles couldn't remember him, being admitted to the hospital. And now this.
Did Peter cheated his destiny? Was he meant to be lost?
The sounds of footsteps stopped. Peter turned around to see Olivia. Dear god, it was Olivia. She looked the same, her hair a faint shade of golden blonde, serious eyes glinting in the light, her expression oddly stoic, but wavered when their eyes met. The picture of her body on the ground, eyes wide in death, a hideous red hole in her forehead superimposed itself over the reality.
No! She was alive. Olivia was alive. But the image stayed, mocking him of what fate he cheated from all of them. What their destinies might had been. Lachesis might had cut that string, but not again, not when he was around.
"Olivia," Peter breathed, "thank God you're here." Seeing her was like having a blindfold being taken off. He was aware of the widening of her eyes, the sharp intake of her breath, and the absence of her wedding band and engagement ring.
I love you.
If there was one thing that Peter most missed from that horrible future, it was that. He missed being married to a woman who he would walk through fire for. He missed having someone to sleep next to at night, someone to have a future with. That was ripped away, all too soon.
"Who are you?"
No.
No.
NO!
A desperate urge to cry clawed its way up his throat. This was dream—it had to be! How else would that explain this impossibility. A mantra ran through Peter's head. Thisisadream. Thisisadream. Thisisadream. Olivia, his friend, lover, and wife starred at him with a distant expression. Nothing of familiarly flickered over her face. He never felt so alone in his life. So afraid.
"I-I," God, why couldn't he speak? "I'm Peter. It's me." he said the last part strained with emotions bursting at the seems.
I've seen what the two of us together looks like, and it's beautiful.
"I'm sorry," she said in a clipped tone. "I don't believe we've met." her eyes searched him, and Peter fought back the impulse to shout, to scream, to do anything drastic to get her to remember.
Something horrible came to mind. What if Walter also forgot about him? A dizzying sickness grew. Broyles. Dear Olivia. And possibly Walter. What was happening? What happened to his life? It was like Peter didn't…exist. He was simply not there.
Fate and destiny laughed cruelly. How foolish he was to think that he could cheat them, they won and brought a punishment worst than hell. To die was one thing. To be forgotten was another. He was now in a world that no longer accepted him. Every deed, action, and sin he caused was now long forgotten. There was no happy ending to this. A love that was now unrequited mocked at him. A father tipping over the lines of illusion and reality threatened to fall. And the world may never know that a Peter Bishop saved two world.
The future of their marriage could no longer happen. A beautiful child with her eyes and his smile could never be born. Like Peter, that child had a life ripped away. But unlike Peter, he would mourn their child of it's nonexistence.
"Olivia," he begged to his wife. "Please. Oh, God. It's me!"
You belong with me.
Nothing. Nothing of hope remained. Peter closed his eyes and held the memory of Olivia on their wedding day in his mind. She was a vision of beauty and white. Her lips slowly mouthing the words 'I do.' That wasn't real anymore. This was a harsh reality. The woman standing in front of him wasn't his Olivia anymore. A stranger with her appearance, her mannerisms, but nothing of her life. Memories changed, a soul marked by different occasions. She was merely a reflection of the real Olivia. Two woman, both alike and yet so different.
A woman that was barricaded from love.
A father that knew nothing of child's resentment.
And a future that no longer has a happy ending.
This was the world now. It may be fixed, but to have something ripped out would always have repercussions. Maybe one day they would remember Peter, but now he was the man who knew too much. And just seeing Olivia look at him like that chilled him to the bone.
"What is your last name, Peter?" she asked, "and how do you know so much about the Fringe Division?"
He thought by changing their future would leave a happy ending. A future with Olivia dead, a world falling apart, a father in madness, and an unborn child. Peter thought nothing could be worst than that. But this, this was the real world he made. It wasn't what he would ever expect. It may be saved but no good deed goes unpunished. And this was his eternal punishment for challenging the world itself.
How was he to know that the future would be any better?
"I'm Peter," he said softly. "Peter Bishop."
The skin near her mouth tightened and her soft lips pressed together in a harsh line of pink. "The only Peter Bishop I know died as a child. How do you know about the Fringe Division."
Oh, god. No. Thisisnotadream. Thisisnotadream. Thisisnotadream.
"I'm…" Peter struggled to speak, "a civilian consultant. Walter Bishop is my father."
There was a dense silence. An angry snarl came from Olivia's throat. "I don't see what is so funny in your joke. To claim that you are his long dead son is impossible. The dead don't come back to life. And we have no consultants." She added the last part with a dangerous glint in her words.
That was almost hypocritical seeing what cases that they'd solved. Of course, they managed to find out why and how they came back. An explanation for him was among the realms of unbelievable. Even Walter could never find the answer if he couldn't remember his own son. If they couldn't know about what he did, then how could they find the answer on how he came back?
"Liv, sweetheart." Peter wanted nothing more than to just be closer to her. Tears stung the back of his eyes, for one of the few times in his life, he wanted to be known as Walter's son. He wanted a connection to someone here so badly. "You just can't remember me."
Her hazel eyes turned steely at the mention of the nickname. No one probably called her that before. "Then exactly what are you to me?"
Anything could be better than this. Anything. It had to be.
It took several seconds for Peter to answer. Several long and painful seconds. At first he thought what should he say? That he was her friends, husband, and lover? That even though the world was ending, a life together was beautiful? No matter what he would say, Olivia wouldn't believe him. It was hopeless.
Then he thought of the picture that his neighbour drew. The thick lines that created a happy family of three: Peter, Olivia, and the child that they never had. Bright, cheerful colours became smiling faces, flowers, and a rainbow to be a canopy overhead. There was hope in that picture. There was hope when Walter told him that he could change everything. Even in the darkest of times people had hope. If he could believe in the impossible then, then why not now?
Peter concentrated on that drawing, of the stick-figures and their intwined hands. At first, it was hard to describe the new feeling that was growing stronger. It gave him strength, a comforting sense of ease. It was hope he was feeling. A hope for a happy ending.
"You're everything to me," Peter told Olivia in a deadpanned voice. Desperate blue eyes met a confused hazel. "Everything."
Anyanka:Wrong! This is the real world now. This is the world we made. Isn't it wonderful?
[Giles snatches her glowing necklace and breaks free of her grasp, then grabbing a heavy object from his desk, raises his arm to smash the amulet.]
Anyanka: You trusting fool. How do you know the other world is any better than this?
Giles: Because it has to be.
–Buffy the Vampire Slayer,The Wish