Inspired by a comment from wjobsessed. I actually wrote the first two paragraphs the minute I finished reading the comment, but then I wasn't sure how to end it. Yesterday I finally went back to it, and voila. Hope you enjoy! Review! Warning - if you are easily disturbed, I don't know if you should read this.

Disclaimer - Not mine!

Peter POV

Noun 1. self-condemnation - an admission that you have failed to do or be something you know you should do or be.

I tasted blood in my mouth as my head smacked against the wall. I struggled upwards, my brain hardly functioning enough to comprehend what I was doing. The world spun, making it hard to stay upright. I spat out the blood and what might have been a tooth – although it was hard to tell. Gasping for air, I focused on her, her body poised to attack again. She started forward and instinct made me grab a chair (the closest thing to me) and hurl it towards her. As it hit her she stumbled back, and guilt washed over me.

"Olivia, please! Stop this!"

She shoved the chair off her and forced her way back up, still advancing. Whatever they'd done to her, they got rid of her ability to feel pain, because she certainly didn't seem fazed by the fact that she had just gotten hit by a heavy piece of furniture.

"Look at yourself! This isn't you!"

She continued advancing, and I turned to run. Somehow, she had covered five feet in three seconds, because she was behind me, twisting my arm behind my back. I screamed, struggling for one brief second before a sickening crack echoed throughout the room and a wave of pain came over me. I retched with the overload of senses as she shoved me to the ground. My right arm dangled limply, twisted at a strange angle.

"'Liv! Remember who you are! You used to like to listen to music, remember? You asked for classical and I told you no. Do you remember that? Remember Charlie?" I asked, "Remember, he used to help you out, all the time. And Astrid – don't you remember the fun we had together?"

The last time I had seen either one of them, Charlie had been bleeding profusely from a chest wound, and Astrid had been lying in a pool of her own blood, eyes closed, chest still. Charlie had been struggling to perform CPR, but it was difficult considering how weak he already was. If the ambulance hadn't arrived by now – and judging by the silence and lack of police coming in to help me, it hadn't – he had definitely died from blood loss. And if he was dead, then Astrid had no chance. Walter was safe in FBI headquarters, although for how long, I wasn't sure. No one would question if Olivia demanded to see Walter – after all, that was what she did every single day.

"What about your sister," I offered, desperate to find some other way of stopping her. She was kneeling on my chest, making it almost impossible to breathe. "Ella!" I suddenly burst out, remembering the name of the sweet little girl I had only gotten a glimpse of, "What about Ella? She's only," I actually wasn't sure how old she was, but I offered up a pathetic, "a little girl. Remember her? Why are you doing this?"

"No one else can know," she was muttering furiously, although I didn't think she was talking to me. "It has to stay a secret." She raised her voice, "You know too much. You are going to ruin it. You're a criminal; you'll spread all the secrets to our enemies. You'll kill us all."

I couldn't argue with her – I was a criminal. But I wasn't willing to back down, "What about Charlie? And Astrid? They work for the FBI – they work with you! Why did you kill them?"

"They're dangerous. They know too much."

"What about you, you know quite a bit of information too. And Broyles – he's in charge of this whole thing."

"When I'm finished here, I'll get rid of Walter and Broyles. And then Rachel and Ella – they know too much. And then we'll be safe."

I could see her discarded gun a few feet in front of me. Slowly I dragged my broken arm forward – and nearly fainted with the pain. It wasn't so much that my own death was imminent that prompted my sudden desire to stop her, although to let's face it, a couple months isn't enough time to override the twenty years of self-preservation. Still, it was the thought of her killing all those other innocent people that turned my stomach even more than when I had seen Astrid and Charlie dying at her hands. Those two had once been her closest friends – closer even than I was, since she had known them for a much longer time. If those bastards who had taken her could make her kill them with no remorse, than I had no doubt that she would finish off her list. And at the moment, all I could see was a cute little girl handing her Aunt Liv a 'Magic 8 Ball'.

Suddenly, the pressure on my back was gone, and I pulled my uninjured hand out from under my chest and grabbed her gun. I got up unsteadily and turned, holding the gun – hoping that it would be enough to provoke her into stopping.

"I'll do it," I cautioned as she adjusted her grip on her knife. My whole body throbbed – a few ribs had to be broken.

"But Peter," her eyes softened – I was strongly reminded of a small girl when she looked up at me, her face in full innocence mode, "I love you. Don't hurt me. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

I hesitated, "Olivia?"

She took a step toward me, tears welling up in her eyes, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I killed them – I'm sorry. I didn't want to. It's like my body wouldn't listen to me. Please – Peter, believe me. "

"I do," I told her, half shocked by my comment. Isn't this what I wanted? But why was I still reluctant to put the gun down and embrace her? Maybe because her hands still gripped the knife.

"Liv, put the knife down."

"Wha –" she looked down as if she couldn't believe she was holding it, "Oh…I," she made a move as if to put it down and then her posture changed. She lunged towards me.

The next three seconds were a blur. Part of me was reciting the tricks to disarm someone with a knife. Part of me was wondering if she would kill me quickly or slowly – and how much it would hurt. And then I was brought back by a loud bang, and the sight of her body crumpling to the ground.

"Liv!" I dropped the gun and ran to her side. Her chest was heaving, the blood coating her shirt, practically dying the whole thing red.

"Peter?" her voice was full of confusion, her hands by her side, limp.

"Shh, you'll be alright. You'll be fine. Just look at me, you'll be fine, okay?"

"Where am I?" she was barely speaking above a whisper.

"You're safe." I whispered, my hands trying to stop the bleeding – but it was too late.

"Good," she whispered. "You know, you kept me going. They were doing all sorts of things and…I was so close to giving up, but then I thought of you, and I knew you'd find me."

Yeah, I found her alright. Two weeks too late. "Yeah? Well I'm here, and you're gonna be fine."

"My chest hurts," she sounded so confused.

"Yeah, well, it'll stop soon. I promise – you'll be okay soon."

"I'm cold," she whispered.

"Yeah? It's pretty cold in here. We'll get you out in a sec. Charlie's just getting the EMT's. And we've missed you." I knew I was crying, but she didn't seem to notice – or if she did she was chalking it up to me being glad to have found her.

"I'm tired."

"Okay," I struggled to keep my voice in check, "Maybe you should just close your eyes. It's been a rough time, right?"

"Yeah," she smiled, her eyes already closed. "Thank you," she breathed, "You always take good care of me. After the tank, and now…I think I like you."

"I think I like you too," I whispered. Her breathing slowed, and then stopped. I kept holding her body, the tears falling onto her face. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, it's all my fault. God, 'Liv, I am so sorry."

I wandered the building, holding her bridal style, until I found Charlie and Astrid's bodies. She was in his arms, both of them looked peaceful. I laid Olivia down, kissed her forehead, and retreated to the room where she had died. I took the gun from the place I had dropped it. No matter how badly I wanted to hold her in my arms, it wasn't the place for me. I was a murderer, and I didn't even have the excuse that evil people had messed with my head until I wasn't in control of my own actions.

If she wasn't in the world, I didn't want to be either. And it was only fitting that I died with the same gun I had used to kill her. I held the gun to my head, then stopped, and instead placed it in my mouth – a last kiss with the woman I would have loved, if given the chance.

"I'm sorry."