The last time the lights were on, she was met with nothing but the sound of her own heart thundering in her ears; goosebumps peaked on her flesh as hope rushed past her skin. She made her way back to her cot and waited for the inevitable to find her.
It did, one day, although exactly when and how long it took was unknown to her. By that time, her eyes had almost adjusted to the darkness that encased her; light burned her eyes and pain shot all the way down her thinning body, making her clench her toes in protest. She had little strength for anything else.
Ignoring them usually worked in the past, he and who ever else would join him at the people zoo. They wanted a reaction: they wanted her to yell and scream and cry and demand them to let me out of here..! The harder she bangs, the harder they laugh - they're reasons stem from sheer mockery. Eventually she figures it out, they're game, motives and payoffs. Unfortunately, it takes more energy than it does to engage them. They sap her energy no matter what she does.
Today, or maybe tonight, the visitor at the people zoo was rather persistent, banging against the window so hard that her teeth rattled. This time, though, only one voice was screaming her name, a thousand decibels piercing her eardrums.
Funny, a familiar yet distant voice reminded her. That window only carries sound one way, I thought.
The voice screamed for her again, to look up! Olivia! Look at me!
She smirked again, a mirthless muscle contraction that was involuntary. With great effort, she lulled her head against the wall behind her. The voice sounded familiar, like something from another life, another world... her world...
"...Peter...?"
Leave me alone. I'm about to die.
She was certain of that and kept her eyes closed, giving in to the inevitable while the window threatened to burst from the wall. When she finally opened her eyes, she was greeted by the delightful sight of nothing.
The banging stopped, finally and she closed her eyes again, grinning effortlessly, congratulating herself on figuring out their game faster than she had before. She had won and she offered herself this one last victory before she gave in to the inevitable.
Resolvent to her situation, the sheer helplessness and futility of fighting all the time, she let the darkness take her far away from here, this place, and back into the arms of those she loved. Except, she didn't expect it to be quite so literal.
She was moving, but not walking or running, seeing as how she had no strength for either, yet white walls streaked with red rushed past her and an alarming sound prickled her ears. She was engulfed in a strong, familiar scent and she curled herself up, moving involuntarily towards its familiarity and warmth. It gathered her up, this moving thing, pulling her close to its warm body and she closed her eyes in sleep, rather than in death.
The next time the lights were on, she was greeted by familiar faces from her world - their faces, the ones that belonged here, with her, welcoming her back with smiles and dampened cheeks.
"Welcome back, Agent Dunham."
"We were so worried about you!"
A family welcoming back their distant daughter and sister home. She moved her head towards their sounds, while a familiar touch graced her hand. It squeezed carefully, avoiding the IV line that permeated her flesh. She squeezed back and before she closed her eyes once more, she distinctly felt the brush of his lips against her temple and his words rushed past her ears:
"You're gonna be fine."
/
Olivia was groggy.
Her head felt like mush and her body like wet noodles, resting limp in a pot of hot water. She struggled to move against the heavy blanket that anchored her to the bed; her arms felt like lead but she couldn't feel any IV hooked up anywhere.
Someone was rummaging in the next room and she would have called out except that her tongue hurt and all she could do was blink, so she lay perfectly still and hoped someone could hear her. They couldn't, of course, so she used everything she had to push the wool off of her body and struggled to keep her balance as she made her way into the lab.
The lights burned her eyes and the voices of a thousand people hit her all at once, crushing her ears from the inside and making her brain liquefy; she crumbled and crashed to the ground. Someone caught her: a pair of small hands wrapped around her middle, clasping over her stomach and a puff of thick curls brushed against her cheek.
Olivia heard a delicate voice stroking her ears, calming her fears: "That's it Olivia. Just take a deep breath. In and out. Slowly. That's it. That's it..."
Other voices, male, more urgent and forceful, panicked even, boomed in her ears; the ground shook as a stampeded crashed towards her yelling words she couldn't comprehend.
Light pierced between her fingers and made its way under clamped eyelids, shooting pain to every nerve ending in her body. The din was all too much for her and she finally collapsed into an infinite darkness that provided her with everything she could not give to herself. She clung to it, desperate, needy, refusing to let it go.
/
Someone somewhere pulled Olivia out and she was once again greeted with the faces and voices that seemed to need her so desperately. They smiled at her, happy and relieved. One, the younger man who kissed her earlier, squeezed her hand and breathed through an obvious wall of suffering. Olivia only wished she could remember their names...
/
He came to sit with her, this blue-eyed man, who had a face that claimed to know her so well. She believed it too, on the rare occasion, and she let him reminisce with her over strange stories of gargantuan cold viruses and tanks that carried memories and laugh - actually laugh - over the sheer insanity of "our lives", which she smiled at.
"You remember being normal?"
"Me? I don't think I was ever normal..."
He laughed at that, nodding in agreement. He played with her hand gently, tugging at her fingers and tracing the outline with an affection that was more familiar than she liked.
"I guess I was never either. I hope that Ella never sees any of this. I hope she can grow up normal, have a normal life, at least."
Her smile faded but there was no other expression.
"Who's Ella?"
/
On her worst days, Peter played Memory with her. Some days they would match the numbers with each other, and some days, like today, they would just match the colours.
Green and red confused her the most - like she was suddenly colour blind and couldn't tell the difference between light gray and dark gray. On days like today, she would look at the cards on the table, place both hands on either side of the cards and think. Think hard. Peter let her too, the answers burning on the tip of his tongue, desperate to escape, to help her, help her... Olivia would look up suddenly and smile but it always faded quickly. She knew that he knew but she couldn't think of anything to say that would make it better or change what was happening to her.
"It's alright, Livvy," he said gently. "We can try again tomorrow."
She smiled again, collecting the cards while he stroked her hair, ignoring the strands that fell out; strands piled on the floor beside her chair.
/
She stopped being able to do the simplest of things: eating, dressing, and showering; some things she forgot and others she had no energy, or ability, to preform. Astrid opted to help her dress and shower saying that she had some experience with it in the past, muttering something about her invalid grandmother and galavanting off to Olivia's bathroom much too eagerly for Peter's liking.
"All of this reminds me of your Great Uncle! Except for crossing over to the other side, of course... Peter, you remember Great Uncle Paul, don't you?"
"No, Walter, why would I?" he asked with more annoyance in his voice than originally intended. "I'm not your son, remember?"
The jab wasn't intentional but it hurt just the same. Walter looked at the floor, brushing his hands against this thighs.
"No, no I suppose you wouldn't," he muttered quietly.
Astrid returned, entering just in time to hear the last part of their conversation and produced a package of Red Vines from her bag - her emergency supply and handed them to Walter.
Peter buried his head in this hands. They were all quiet; the shower rushed from down the fall, producing a full head of steam that threatened to provoke the fire detector.
"What's wrong with her?" Peter asked finally, looking up at his father pleadingly. Walter took a bite of candy, and chewed quickly, fueling the gray cells in his fragmented brain.
"I hypothesize," he said, setting the candy beside Astrid on Olivia's table top and walked to his seated son. He bent down, outstretched his hands and shook slightly, looking delighted in finally being asked a scientist's question. "That our Olivia used much of her strength to keep herself alive while she was imprisoned on the other side! She must have endured torture - both physical and mental - and the isolation she must have suffered -"
"Walter! Please."
"I hypothesize," he started again after taking a moment to pause and collect his thoughts. "That Agent Dunham used all of her remaining strength to protect you, Peter, from the effects of crossing over when you rescued her from the other side."
"Why would she have done that? I'm from the other side, Walter."
"I know son. She must have thought it necessary at the time, at least, on an unconscious level. Oh the brain is a wonderful thing, isn't it!"
"So, Olivia some how protected me with her mind -"
"- Thereby leaving herself completely vulnerable to the effects of crossing over - yes! Exactly, son!" Walter threw his hands up into the air, delighting in Peter's progress.
"But then why isn't her face melting off like Mr. Jones' did?" Astrid piped up, crossing her arms over her chest, letting them rest against her red sweater.
Walter turned to her, excited that she had finally joined in the discussion. "Because, Agent Farnsworth, she was my and Belly's finest work! She was our greatest achievement - our most successful solider ... she still is, in many ways... she still is..." he patted Peter's arm affectionately and turned to leave the two standing in the kitchen.
"Walter, wait! So what do we do for her?"
"For who?"
"For Olivia."
"Oh. Nothing we can do, son. She's going to die."
He left them then, standing in the kitchen, with the weight of the world crashing down on their shoulders.
/
Olivia much preferred apple sauce to the protein shakes that Astrid made for her. It might have had something to do with the taste - sweet and light, like late summer or early autumn before compared to the chalky protein shakes - or it might have had something to do with Peter's thumb when it brushed over her chin when he fed her. Sometimes he would let it linger there for a moment or two, feeling her delicate skin before it flaked off beneath his touch.
"It's not so bad," he said gently, tracing her jaw line with his index finger. "You look like an old oil painting - elegant and classic." His voice reassured them both; his blue eyes found her green, locked on and refused to let go.
"I'm sorry, Liv," he said heavily, never breaking eye contact. "I'm sorry I couldn't get to you sooner. I'm sorry you used everything you had for me. I'm sorry -"
With great effort, she raised her hand and placed her fingers over Peter's moving lips.
"Peter. Please." Her tongue was thick, her voice raspy and dry: floating up out of her hollowed body.
She closed her eyes, gave into gravity, and fell forward. Peter caught her by the shoulders, regarding her carefully. Her hands found his cheeks and she pulled him in to her lips, touching them together. Olivia grazed her lips over Peter's, feeling the delicate skin against her own, basking in the wet that moistened her mouth.
It wasn't a kiss, not really. Their lips touched but neither pressed into the other the way they did on their first kiss or the way they had previously fantasized about it. She had felt light, tentative, not desperately afraid like she felt before. Skin on skin, they brushed over each other; paper over silk, creases smoothed and satisfied. He clenched Olivia's feeding spoon in one hand while keeping the other resting on her cheek.
When she pressed in closer, he resisted by pulling back but why he thought she was suddenly going to start listening to him was beyond her and she leaned in as far as she could without falling off her chair. His hands came up instantly and guided her towards him and their lips found each other again and took over their delicate acts.
Olivia opened her mouth to Peter's tongue carefully which guided itself over her teeth, playing with her, darting and probing; she moaned into his mouth, gripping his arms tightly with her long, ragged nails.
She slumped against him breathing heavily. Her breathing slowed and she suddenly went limp in his arms; Peter pulled her close, whispering her name over and over and over.
Olivia died to that sound.
/
They buried her in a plain pine coffin as close to Charlie Francis as they could possibly get, beneath a lush sycamore tree.
"She'll be alright here, safe from heavy snowfall and scorching sun," Astrid pointed out helpfully between wiping her eyes. No one responded, yet everyone agreed.
More people attended the the memorial service than anyone, or even Olivia, would have anticipated; a woman of smaller stature and bright red hair watched from afar beneath the guise of black sunglasses and a matching black hat.
People stopped to give flowers and condolences, pecking Rachel's cheeks and ruffling Ella's hair. Peter said nothing to anyone which was what everyone had expected. The only voice came from Walter who hovered close to Olivia's tombstone:
"Don't worry, Agent Dunham. Everything will be fine, you'll see. Peter too. You'll both see..."
Astrid came up behind him, took him by the hand, and led him to her car.
The family, sans one, drove home in silence.
Part II
Peter had the most intense dreams about Olivia in the following weeks of her death. He couldn't see her but he could feel her, hear her, she was all around him, pushing and pulling him as if a tornado had picked him up and spun his world all around. She called him from around corners, through forests, deep in the dark, surrounded by dense fog that always foreshadowed the worst in the best horror movies.
He woke up with a start, screaming her name, the blankets twisted around his feet, a cold sweat dampened his skin, gluing his hair to his head. Out of bed, he got half way down the hall before he realized that he had been dreaming. Peter hung his head for a moment, forgetting to breathe; the wall supported his weight for a moment before he turned and headed back to bed.
/
He started sleeping with his iPod on, just to drown out the sound of her voice. Night after night, she called out to him and every morning, he was convinced that he was loosing his mind. He could have asked Walter for some psychedelics or psychotropics or some other combination drugs that would no doubt cure his sudden on-set schizophrenia, but the thought of speaking to anyone about hearing, actually hearing, dead Olivia's real life voice terrified him. He closed his eyes against the soft jazz that filled his ears, ignored the sound of her voice; it called his name throughout the rest of the night.
/
Peter woke up rock hard and considering the dreams that he had been having all night, it wasn't much of a surprise.
He dreamed about Olivia: cherry red lips, a dance floor beneath sparkling diamonds in a darkened sky... he'd take her on the balcony or on the piano bench. Sometimes they would take their time, caressing each other with strong hands and soft lips, gasps as their only form of punctuation... sometimes she'd just hike up her skirt and give him full and instant access...
Peter.
He jumped out of bed, shorts hanging around his ankles; a chubby cock bobbing in midair.
"What... what the fuck is this?"
It wasn't just her voice this time. She was here, with him, beside him, yet she was no where to be seen.
Peter.
He found her then, suddenly, she was in his head and he could feel her - her consciousness somehow mixed with his. He had sudden new memories of a summer camp he had never been to and the happy birth of a niece from a sister he never had.
"Ol... Olivia...?"
Peter felt her sigh, his chest heaved, contracted and expanded without any orders from his brain. A strange sense of calm touched him during harrowing chaos: she was here, with him. His Olivia, back, some how...
"Olivia... how.. I mean...?"
Peter. We should talk to Walter.
He, not her this time, breathed, sucking much needed air into his chest.
"Right. Walter. Let's go talk to Walter."
Peter.
He stopped at the sudden sense of urgency he felt come over him.
"Yeah? What is it?"
First, pants.
"Right. Sorry."
He found his boxer shorts on the floor covering his toes, pulled them on, and went to talk to his father.
/
"Walter! Walter!" Peter shook his father, who woke with a snort.
"Oh. Good morning, son! Did you make me an omelet? You know I don't like a lot of green onion in my omelet. Is that why you're waking me, son? Did you make one with too much green onion - ?"
"Walter!"
It suddenly occurred to Peter that he had no idea how to ask his father what had happened, what he had done to him, to them, how Olivia, who had been dead, was suddenly in his head so perfectly clear, so he just stood there, dumbfounded, hoping that his father was secretly psychic and somehow knew what Peter needed. He didn't, of course.
"Is something the matter, son?"
"Yeah, Walter. Something is the matter."
"Not the omelet, I hope."
"Walter," Peter breathed. "Why can I hear Olivia's voice in my head? Why can I feel her, Walter? Why can I feel her inside of me? What did you do, Walter? What did you do to us?"
Peter's eyes were wide, blazing with an intensity that focused Walter and silenced Olivia; Peter took a step back when he felt her go quiet. It was as if he had just woken from a dream, everything was bright like the break of day; as if she had never really been there.
"So," Walter said slowly. "You found her, did you?"
"Found her? Found her? Walter, Olivia is in my head! I didn't just find her! And you put her there, didn't you?"
Walter looked everywhere but at Peter. He smiled a mirthless smile that disappeared as quickly as it crept up.
"You were so sad, son... I... I couldn't save her but I couldn't lose you over her death... not again. Not over something that would have broken you so severely... I just couldn't, son... You need eachother, you and Agent Dunham. She needs you too, Peter."
He reached out to stroke Peter's face who lurched back suddenly.
"How very noble of you."
Peter.
"Stop it! Both of you!" Peter glared at the ceiling and Walter regarded it as a perfectly normal reaction. "Walter, tell me how you did this."
"Before she died, I put Olivia into the tank and removed her consciousness."
"When did you do that?"
"Before she died. I said that son."
"Fine. Then, what? You put me into the tank and put her consciousness into mine... oh my God. That's what you did, didn't you? You got me into the tank... Walter. How did you get me into the tank?"
Walter smiled like a three year old who had just killed a bug with his bare hands. "Oh. That was a moment of brilliance, most certainly."
Peter turned burrowing his head in his hands.
Peter. Ask Walter what happens now. Ask him what we're supposed to do now.
"Walter. What should we do now?"
"Why, whatever you'd like to do! You have Olivia back! I suggest that you..."
"No, Walter, she's not back. She's just in my head. How do -"
"... I don't know, son. I didn't think you'd want to..."
Can he build me a new body? Olivia asked the same time Peter asked Walter the same question.
"...Possibly... But there is a chance that we would lose her or you in the transfer process and there's also the considerable problem of re-building ones body... Plus the question of why bother? This body is only as active as the mind, which, I assure you -"
"Just make it work, Walter."
Peter stormed out of the room, slamming the bedroom door behind him.
/
Peter had the urge to kick in a wall and shoot the next person he saw - the latter being a new emotion for him, which he had difficulty filtering.
That one's mine, she whispered softly, noise fluttering around his ears or brain, he couldn't tell the difference.
"Olivia -"
This is weird for me too, Peter. Did you stop to consider that? You don't have to answer since I already know. Do you know what it's like to exists then suddenly not only to wake up in someone else's head? Especially in yours -
"What's that supposed to mean?"
She paused and started ... swimming... over his brain, a curious sensation: Peter could feel Olivia's emotions as clearly as he could feel his own and suddenly he realized that was precisely the problem. She knew him now, fundamentally, to the very core, better than anyone ever had and that disturbed him greatly.
I know, she offered carefully, tentatively, but then he understood her hesitation immediately, making him relax slightly.
I suddenly know everything about you - how you feel, what you're thinking about, what's beneath all of those sarcastic retorts you practice so diligently. It unnerves me too.
Peter paused and closed his eyes. He could feel her most private emotions and thoughts. He could feel her pain, the grief she felt over loosing her family, her sister and niece and a pet cow that enjoyed children's cartoons. The latter made him smile, which made her laugh; tears of joy reached his eyes and he wiped at them with his thumb.
"You know how I feel about you now, don't you?"
Peter felt her swimming again, not offering any particular answer right away even though he already knew the answer. He felt her question before she asked:
Does that bother you?
He didn't answer, but then, he didn't have to.
Peter closed his eyes and suddenly, she was there, standing in front of him, completely whole. Olivia's body was just as it had been before - standing without aid, skin intact, smiling at him as if he was the only thing she could see beneath a rays of bright sunshine.
/
"I know this place. I dreamed about it - no. I've been here before. Olivia, how was I here?"
"You come here in your dreams. I've been here with you too," she answered crypically.
Peter reached out and grabbed her hands with his, pressing her open palms against his chest. She was warm, pulsating beneath his touch; flesh intact, her eyes smiled when she did. Peter's heart tried to beat out of his chest, surging in his ears.
She sighed, releasing the breath slowly, wrinkling her slender nose against the smells of the fading summer day. The wind picked up her hair and blew it lightly off of her shoulders. Olivia closed her eyes against the breeze and breathed in once again. Slowly, she turned her head and opened her eyes, fixing her gaze on Peter's worried eyes.
"Peter. We have so much else to talk about. So much else to say..." she trailed off but he nodded, understanding her completely. Peter relaxed, picking her hands up off of his chest and dropping them to their sides. Still squeezing her hand, Olivia turned Peter and together they walked hand in hand off of the dock towards an old log cabin. Leaves danced about their feet as the wind cleared a path marked especially for them. They sat together on a bench outside of the cabin in the middle of somewhere, yet no where, watching the sun set, beyond the lake's edge, over the trees.
When next he looked at her, Olivia had her eyes closed once again, a soft smile traced on her delicate face. She stroked Peter's hand with her her own, still tightly bound in his grasp while he wondered how long this moment could last.
"Feels nice being whole again."
He nodded.
"I was always, though."
"Whole?"
"Yes."
"Here?"
"Yes. I'm glad you found me."
"Took me a while."
"What matters is that you did."
Peter was still watching her when she turned suddenly and gathered his face in her hands, drawing him in closer, kissing him gently on the mouth. Ever so slightly, Olivia opened her lips, giving him access to her mouth; she tasted differently, like ice cream on a hot day. Vanilla peach and something that had no name. Peter traced her jaw line with one hand, the other held on to hers for dear life. He prodded her with his tongue and flashes of green and yellow pierced his closed eyes.
He shook away from her, still touching her face and hands. Olivia had no reaction other than the sweet smile from before. Even as the trees caught fire and the dock turned into ash and fell into the lake she did nothing but smile at him.
"Olivia..!"
"Peter," she said calmly. "Peter this is where you let me go."
Confused and frightened, Peter jumped to his feet. "Olivia! C'mon! Quick! We have to get out of here!" He was still clutching her hand, but she didn't move. Olivia sat perfectly still as the log cabin caught fire and crashed in on top of her, engulfing their world of make believe.
/
Peter jumped in the chair, fighting against the straps that anchored him down. The lab's ancient lights swung from side to side as he fought to get up. Sweat burned his eyes and an IV line itched his left arm, rendering it useless.
"...Olivia...!" he managed and a distressed Astrid came running over to him, dabbing at his temples with a damp cloth.
"Peter. Shush! It's okay..."
"Astrid! Olivia... she's here... she's dying... I have to help her..."
"No, Peter. It's okay -"
"No! Olivia!"
"Calm down, son," his father's voice boomed in the background. "We're taking Olivia out of your head. You need to calm down in order for this to work!"
"But... Olivia..."
"She's not actually there, Peter." Astrid locked on to Peter's eyes and he squinted at her, lulling his head to his shoulder.
"Astrid... Astrid, what's going on?"
"We're taking her out of your head. Walter's reversing the procedure that put her in there. He only just figured out how to do it without the tank. This is what you both wanted. You told Walter this is what you wanted. Remember?"
He thought for a moment, swallowing heavily. "Yes... yes, I think so."
"You told Walter that you needed Olivia out... he's taking her out now."
"But... but she was here..."
Astrid didn't say anything; she only squeezed his hand.
We can't do it like this, Peter.
"Olivia!"
Peter. We can't and you know it. Let Walter do this, Peter.
He could feel her slipping, she was taking all of her memories with her, all of her emotions. He was loosing her; slowly he went from being them to just one and In the midst of all of it, he cried out "No! Olivia! Don't leave me yet!"
Peter. Please.
"You have to release her, son, in order for this to work."
"Livvy? Livvy... I can't... not without you sweetheart..."
Peter. You're gonna be fine.
He squeezed his red eyelids shut, tears slipping out from between the hard pressed flesh. He said nothing as she started to slip away. He concentrated on one single emotion and thought of nothing but her.
Peter. I love you too.
She was gone.
/
Flowers on a gravestone beneath a sycamore tree; a once-broken man stands whole, tracing the name with a finger, smiling softly to himself.
"There aren't any happy endings," he whispers quietly to it. "But, at least we got to find that out together. Hey, sweetheart?"
He stands and looks towards another gravestone close by.
"You take care of her for me," he says. "Not that she needs it."
He smiles and walks out of the cemetery, head held high.
END