The club was a moody, intimate thing, full of rich fabric and low lighting. Upscale, to say the least, and Olive thought the atmosphere was a bit over the top, but the darkness did make her job easier. The tables were carefully isolated, burgundy curtains and dark, polished wood creating little spaces that gave the illusion of privacy. Sinatra crooned from well-hidden speakers.
Olive had been circling her target all evening, milling with the socialites and making eyes at him from across the room. She had Ryan Statham cornered now in a table towards the back of the lounge. She flashed another vapid smile at him and shifted closer to him on the deeply padded seat. The account executive from EmTech Industries wasn't bad looking, with a strong jaw and deep brown eyes, but Olive could feel the thoughts that roiled beneath the surface and forced herself to not flinch away. She stroked her fingers over his arm again, feeling the play of muscle beneath his skin through the crisp pressed fabric of his shirt. In shape, even if the muscles were for show rather than from any real physical work. She could kickbox his ass into a pulp without breaking a sweat for all the good his bulk would do him.
She sort of hoped it would come to that.
Statham finished off his scotch, and if he noticed the slight residue that had collected in the bottom of his drink, he didn't give any indication. Four scotches into the evening and he didn't seem to be noticing anything other than her. His hand was roaming up her leg again.
He leaned closer and she tilted her face up towards his, nuzzling him lightly when his lips brushed her ear. "My hotel isn't far from here. Shall I call for my car to take us back?"
Her smile was genuine this time, if for entirely different reasons than he supposed. She made sure her voice was low, slightly breathless. She looked up at him through her eyelashes. "I'd like that."
Nick was on the sidewalk outside the club, another yuppie trying to hail a cab. She met his eyes briefly, flicked them down the block towards the hotel. He raked his eyes over her and grinned before giving up his quest for a cab he didn't want. She could feel his amusement at the barely existent dress, but behind that was carefully contained jealousy, and a low, dark anger at what they knew Statham was capable of doing. Olive resisted the urge to smirk at him, but only just. Statham's hand was at the small of her back again, slipping down over her ass, ushering her towards the car.
The hotel was close by, hardly worth the car, but the journey stretched to nearly a quarter hour because of traffic and pedestrians that crowded the streets of the theater district. Statham's hand was sliding from her bare knee up her leg, pausing only slightly at the hem of her dress. She turned in the seat, keeping herself molded against him, but more importantly keeping eye contact. She pushed away the discomfort of meeting someone's eyes for so long and held his gaze. He liked her eyes. Among other things. His fingers reached the lacy top of her stocking. He made a hungry little growling sound, and pinned her to the seat, lips rough against hers. He tasted like cigarettes and scotch, sickly yellow and sounding like pain. She ruthlessly held her barriers up, not wanting even slightly to feel what he wanted to do to her. It filtered across anyway, and she kept her face carefully neutral, eyes heavy-lidded and lips parted. The car rolled to a stop at the entryway of the hotel.
Statham cupped a hand against her cheek and brushed his thumb over her lips. His touch was heavy, just starting to fumble, and she smiled. She darted her tongue out to flick over his thumb and whispered, "Let's go upstairs."
Olive leaned against Statham and let him guide her through the lobby as she concentrated on setting up feedback loops in the surveillance system in the hotel. She didn't bother to be subtle about it, just nuked them all, and the little cameras throughout the building died little deaths. She could feel Nick's impatience and irritation as he loitered outside the elevator on Statham's floor.
Olive considered for a moment in the elevator that they might not make it to the room, as Statham pressed her against the back wall and gnawed hungrily at her mouth. She thought though a plan that involved smashing his head against the wall and getting Nick to help her drag Statham back to his room, but that always ran the risk of meeting someone in the hallway.
The elevator chimed softly and Olive pushed Statham off of her towards the open door. He stumbled a little as he backed through the door. She wasn't bothering to mask her expression anymore. Nick pushed himself away from the wall and stalked towards them. He fell in step beside them as they made their way down the hall. Statham's eyes were bleary when he looked up.
"Who the fuck are you?"
Nick patted Statham's cheek, smiling as the older man clumsily tried to bat his hand away. "Such language."
Olive pulled the key card form Statham's fingers. "You should hear what he isn't saying." The little light flickered from red to green and she ushered them both into the room.
Nick wrinkled his nose. "No thanks. We need him alive at least long enough for us to get some answers out of him."
Fear was beginning to gather in Statham's mind, a slow realization that he'd been played by a slender blond girl with wide, hazel eyes. That girl was gone now, and cold eyes of her replacement made him shudder.
Nick's grin was chilling. "Mr. Statham, we need to discuss a matter of some importance. Now, we're all friends here, so I trust that we can be completely honest with each other. I understand that you might be hesitant to give up your source of this information, but I assure you, whatever they threatened you with pales in comparison what I'm going to do."
Statham lunged towards the door. Olive's hand darted towards his throat, a quick blow that dropped him to his knees and left him gasping. He staggered up and tried again. She caught one arm and twisted it behind his back. "God, you're a moron."
Nick grabbed Statham by the shoulders and shoved him into a chair and sat on the end of the bed, opposite him. "Where are the weapons coming from?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Statham choked out.
Nick shook his head. "I thought we were friends. There's no reason to lie to me."
Statham's darted between the two of them, lingering on Olive as she pulled a wicked looking hunting knife from her handbag.
"You'll never get away with this."
Olive pointed the knife at him. "So cliche."
Nick leaned forward. "We know your company isn't capable of producing the weapons, even though someone has gone through a lot of work to make it look that way. You, quite honestly, aren't up to the task of coordinating an independent production site. Someone is feeding you the weapons and you're reselling them. Who?"
Nick watched Statham carefully and sifted through the fears that swirled at the edge of his mind, finding likely targets and amplifying them. It only took a little push and Statham was whimpering, spilling off the chair and scrambling away on the floor. Fear was easy.
Nick stood and followed Statham.
"Last chance."
"Why should I tell you! You're going to kill me anyway."
Nick shrugged. "It's the difference between having a heart attack and something… less than respectable."
"What?"
Nick glanced at him. "'You know, there are worse ways to go, but I can't think of a more undignified way than autoerotic asphyxiation.'"
Olive rolled her eyes.
"Dude, you might as well just tell us."
Statham's voice was shrill with panic. "Why are you doing this?"
Olive shrugged. "It's our job."
They left the hotel together, hand in hand. There was a group of young men peering at the wiring hidden under the front desk at the passed, one of them starring up at the concealed cameras in confusion. Olive smirked at them.
The night was getting chilly and Nick shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. She pushed her arms into the sleeves. Nick looped his arm around her waist and pulled her against his side as they made their way through the crowded sidewalks to their hotel. They were staying not far from Statham's hotel, far enough that the walk and the cold air was clearing and calming their minds. They were silent the entire way.
Olive was out of Nick's jacket and was pulling the dress off over her head almost before Nick closed the door behind them. Statham's cologne clung to the fabric. To her skin. She headed to the bathroom, turning the shower on before stripping off her underwear. She kicked the pile of gauzy black lace under the sink. She could hear Nick talking in the other room, reporting in to their handler. She brushed her teeth before stepping under the hot water.
She was beginning to think he wasn't coming when Nick peeked around the curtain. "Join you?"
"'Course."
Olive ducked under the water and let Nick step into the shower behind her. The routine of their movements was calming, and Nick offered comfort over their connection, pushing it into her skin. His hands settled on her back, rubbing her shoulders.
Olive leaned back into his hands, pulling the wet mass of her hair to one side of her neck. He tightened his grip, rubbing his thumbs in little circles on either side of her spine. She hissed when his fingers hit a particularly sensitive knot. He turned her so her back was towards the water, letting her lean against him. He stroked firm paths up and down her back, and between his hands and the water, she relaxed.
Once she was limp and sleepy, Nick reached around her to shut off the water.
The room was dark, lit only by the light that filtered though the sheer curtain pulled over the windows, and they padded to bed in the darkness. Nick spooned against her back and pulled the blankets over them.
"Olive, are you okay?"
She turned so she was lying on her back, looking up at Nick's concerned face. He didn't need to ask, but they made of habit of using words instead of relying on their connection. It helped them when they had to deal with other people. It helped them feel normal when they needed to feel normal.
"He was an asshole. He deserved to die."
Nick rested his hand on her stomach. "I didn't mean that."
She traced a finger around his, outlining his hand on her skin. "I know." She sighed and stared at the ceiling for a while. "It was the easiest way to get to him." She shrugged and smirked a little. "We could have had you do it, but I don't think you're his type."
Nick smiled a little. "Lucky me."
Olive returned the smile. "I don't like it. You know I don't like other people touching me, but it doesn't matter. Its just work. And it's done now."
Nick leaned close and licked her ear. "For the record, I don't like other people touching you, either."
"Mmmm." She slid her fingers up his arm and curled her hand around the back of his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. "Good."
Now that they were done with the job, New York wasn't half bad, Nick thought.
Nick closed his eyes as he and Olive walked out of shade of the trees, sunlight momentarily blinding him. It was the tail end of summer and the days were still warm, the air holding just the slightest hint of autumn. They had slept late that morning, making the most of the enormous bed in the hotel room. They had been winding their way around the park most of the afternoon, following lunch at the Russian Tea Room, which had delighted Olive with its atmosphere and Nick with its food. Nick had been tempted to charm his way into the kitchen, but Olive was eager to get started playing at being tourists.
Nick swung his arm and squeezed Olive's hand, earning a sidelong smile from her. Sunlight glinted off the waves of her hair, loose around her shoulders. Her eyes were bright and clear, the faint smudgy darkness under them the only visible sign of the nightmares that had kept her awake. Kept them both awake.
"Wanna go see the carousel?"
Her smile widened and she ducked her head, looking up at him through dark lashes. "Can we?"
"Course." He pulled her close and bumped his shoulder into hers. "Anything you want. Hey, you wanna maybe stay an extra night and go see the Statue of Liberty tomorrow? I'm sure it wouldn't be a big deal if we asked for one more day here."
"Yeah, that'd be fun." She leaned against his side as they walked, and contentment radiated off of her, nearly drowning out the lingering anxiety. He turned and kissed her temple, glanced across the pathway and froze.
The chess players were intent on their games, oblivious to passersby. Peter was sitting towards the middle of the row of tables, facing an older man with shaggy salt and pepper curls. He was skinnier than Nick remembered, thin fingers shaky on the chess pieces. He pushed one sleeve up absently, exposing the track marks that spidered out along his arm, mottled bruises that covered his pale skin. Nick's chest felt tight, like someone was choking the air out of his lungs.
Olive stilled next to him, a tiny, shocked sound escaping from her lips. The despair that bled out from her along their connection was crushing, and Nick felt tears welling up in his eyes. They had, when they allowed themselves to think about it at all, always assumed that Peter was somehow okay, that he was better off alone and away from the ZFT. Away from them. It was a fantasy, of course, and being confronted with the reality of the thing was more than he could take.
That it had been Olive's decision to cut Peter off from them made it that much worse.
Nick tightened his hand on hers. Her could feel her mind working through their options, training taking over and shoving aside the emotions that wanted to overwhelm her. She ran each scenario in rapid succession, offering the data to Nick as if they were deciding how to best approach a target. It was, in essence, a tactical decision. Was Peter - this Peter-stranger with his ragged jeans and fading black eye - friend or enemy? Could they bring him in and use him to their advantage?
Nick could feel tears slipping down Olive's cheeks, and thought the better question was could they bear to bring him in, knowing that whatever had brought him here was her fault. Nick's thoughts scrambled along behind hers, trying to offer suggestions. It was just too much, though - he'd never been as good at being impassive as she was. He couldn't separate the pain of seeing how broken Peter was from the need to make a rational decision. Olive's fingernails were biting into his hand. He could feel her decision to walk away before she started moving. Nick could feel her heart breaking, could feel his following after. They hesitated too long, though, and Peter's head snapped up and swiveled towards them.
Even sunken and bloodshot his eyes were familiar, a deep blue that that dredged up childhood memories and half-remembered dreams. Emotions clawed at the wall between them, sharp and painful, before the connection frayed and the barrier she had constructed reasserted itself.
Olive turned away and leaned against the low wall lining the path. She concentrated on not curling into a ball and sobbing. She clenched her fingers over the edge of the wall, rough stone biting into her skin. She leaned her weight on one hand, and drug the knuckles of the other along the stone, scraping hard enough to draw blood.
"Miss? Are you okay?" It was the man who had been playing chess with Peter. She couldn't find any words so she just nodded. He reached out to her, a gesture she was sure was supposed to be comforting. She flinched away before his hand could land on her arm. The scowl on Peter's face was hateful.
"Peter, what did you do to this nice young lady?"
Peter's eyes were hard. "Think you've got things a bit backwards there, Dom." He spat the words, never looking away from her eyes.
Pain twisted her face, brought fresh tears to her eyes. "I didn't…"
Nick's voice was even. "This isn't a conversation we should be having in public, guys."
"This isn't a conversation we should be having at all. I've got nothing to say to either one of you."
Peter turned to leave and Nick caught his arm, pushed his fingers under the sleeve of Peter's shirt to curl against his skin. "Sorry, Peter," Nick murmured softly before Peter's eyes widened in outrage then his face relaxed and he slipped into easy compliance. Nick turned his attention to the chess player.
"We're all right. We just need to talk some things out with Peter. You can go on home."
He nodded readily. "Yeah, sure." He turned and began packing the chess pieces into a wooden box.
Nick scooped Peter's backpack up off the bench and turned to leave. Olive was staring at the ground, lips moving slightly as she counted pebbles imbedded in the concrete of the sidewalk. Nick frowned at her bloody knuckles when he took her hand. "Come on. Let's get back to the hotel and figure out what the fuck we're going to do."
The hotel suite was easily twice the size of their entire apartment. It was lavish and ostentatious, and Nick didn't really like it, but Olive's eyes had gone wide at the sight of it. He had to admit that the view of the park was pretty nice.
Getting Peter through the lobby required considerable effort on Nick's part, convincing the staff to ignore the junkie that he was towing along by one skinny wrist. His head was pounding by the time they got to the room.
He dumped Peter in one of the chairs, and turned to Olive just in time to see her disappear into the bathroom. Nick rubbed at his forehead, trying to will away the dull pain. "Shit."
Nick turned at a sound behind him and saw Peter rubbing his face as he straightened in the chair. The look of mixed outrage and confusion was so familiar that Nick felt like crying. "You fucking kidnapped me?"
Nick walked towards him, hands spread in supplication. "Peter…"
"You fucking kidnapped me. Right out of the fucking park. You… what the fuck did you do? Fucking mind control? You can mind control people now?"
"Peter, come on…"
"You're fucking psycho, both of you. You abandon me and now you kidnap me?"
Nick clenched his eyes shut and pressed his fingers to his temples. "Peter, shut up. God, shut up my head is fucking killing me, just shut up for a minute."
Peter snapped his mouth closed and glared. He hissed under his breath. "Fucking asshole."
"Don't call him that." Olive was standing just outside the door to the bathroom. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and the messy waves of her hair gave her a feral look. She had a wad of tissues pressed to her bleeding hand.
"You," Peter leveled a finger at her, "do not get to tell me what to do."
"Both of you just stop. We just." Nick swallowed against the nausea that was swimming in his stomach. The pain of his headache was starting to prickle down the back of his neck. "Look, we need to talk this out and figure out what we're going to do."
"We? There's no fucking 'we', Nick. I'm leaving unless you're planning on stopping me."
"Peter, don't. Please. Let's just…" Nick swept his eyes over Peter's form. "Jesus, dude, are you okay?"
Peter lifted his head and stuck his jaw out. "I'm fine, no thanks to either of you."
Olive's voice was soft, but it didn't mask the pain behind her words. "We didn't do this to you."
"Bullshit, Olivia. You abandoned me and there wasn't anywhere for me to go. You cut me off without any backup knowing full well that there were people trying to kill me. Fuck, they're still looking for me for all I know."
"They're not." Her words where clipped and rang with a dull truth that brought Peter up short.
He licked his lips, running his tongue over the chapped skin. "What?"
"The men who killed Walter are dead," she said in a flat, quiet voice.
Peter turned to her.
"I killed them, at least some of them. They were part of a bigger organization, a splinter group. I'll kill them, too, but they're too strong now. I have to wait. I'm sorry."
"Olivia…"
"I tracked them down about six months after Walter was killed. They didn't want me to. Our handlers, I mean. The organization. I thought… I thought you wouldn't be safe unless I did. They thought I just wanted revenge, because they think you're dead, but I just wanted you to be safe. I didn't want them to hurt you."
The words were out of his mouth before he even thought about them. "So you hurt me, instead."
For a moment he felt her as clearly as he had when they were children. Hot pain flashed over their connection, followed by a cold longing that was so intense he shivered. The tears that had been welling in her eyes spilled down her cheeks. Then it was gone, and her face twisted with rage.
"I didn't mean to!"
"It doesn't fucking matter what you meant!"
"Stop it, both of you just stop!" Nick spent the last of his resources bending them to his words. Peter slumped back in the chair, eyes rolling back briefly before closing. Olive swayed on dizzily on her feet, and Nick crossed the room to guide her to the bed. She curled up and Nick kissed her temple, whispering against her skin, "Sorry." Her eyes fluttered shut and she slipped into unconsciousness.
Nick sank into an overstuffed chair and dropped his head into his hands.
Peter blinked his eyes open slowly. Late afternoon sun was streaming in though the windows. He was crashed on someone's couch and it was the most comfortable thing he could remember sleeping on in a long time. Someone had pulled a blanket over him.
He frowned and pushed himself up onto his elbows, then looked around the room in confusion. Nick was nowhere to be seen, and Olivia was curled on the bed, a similar blanket drawn over her sleeping form. Her hair fanned out over the pillow, and with her face relaxed in sleep, she looked impossibly young. Memories clamored, then spilled over him, the years together when they were children rising to the surface of his mind. Peter rubbed a fist at the tears that welled in his eyes. He turned away and shuffled towards the bathroom, limbs still heavy from being unconscious.
Nick was standing at the counter looking pale as death under the fluorescent lights. He tossed pills into his mouth and chased it with a deep swallow of water.
"Drugging yourself?"
Nick shrugged.
Peter fidgeted in the doorway. "What is that?"
"Lithium and Olanzapine. I take an experimental mood stabilizer, too, but that's only once a month."
Peter frowned. "Nick…?"
"I've never been exactly stable. After… things got really bad for a while. I couldn't handle it on my own, so better living through chemistry. Helped Olive, too. She didn't have to work so hard to keep me even."
"Yeah, but…"
"Peter, I don't really think you have any room to judge me for medicating myself."
Peter hugged his arms around himself.
Nick met Peter's eyes in the mirror. "If you're going to leave, I want to you to go now, while she's asleep."
Peter clenched his jaw and stared down at the tile. Marble, he thought - really nice stuff. "So you call the shots now?"
"We both do. Depends on the situation."
"Why the fuck did you bring me back here if you were just gonna make me leave again?"
"Didn't really have much time to think things through at the park," Nick said.
"Do you want me to leave?" Peter felt sort of pathetic for asking, and winced at the pleading note in his voice.
Nick stared at the countertop before turning towards Peter. "If you come back with us, they're not going to let you go again. You'll become part of our team and work with us in the field. If you're not willing to be partnered with us they'll find some other use for you away from us. Away from everyone. That is not something you want to have happen. It's not something I want to have happen to you, and I sure as hell don't want it to happen to Olive. Even though the connection between you is still walled off, I'm pretty sure it will come back if you stay near us and I don't want her to have to go though that."
"So this is all about her? What's best for her?" Peter's voice hissed.
Nick met his eyes evenly. "Not gonna lie, man, I will do anything to protect her, even from you. Especially from you. It almost broke her when you left." Nick held up a hand to cut off Peter's protest. "I know you didn't want to. I know she fucked up, but that doesn't change how much damage it did to her. To both of us. I'm not going to let that happen again."
"Whether I stay or not, she's still going to go through it again. Unless you're going to force me to stay, I don't see any way around that."
Nick dropped his eyes.
"What?" The frown that creased Peter's forehead deepened. "Why do you want me to leave so quickly?"
Nick refused to look up. His voice was quiet. "I can manipulate her short term memory. She won't remember even seeing you."
"Jesus." Peter ran his shaky fingers through his hair. "You'd do that to her?"
Nick's eyes snapped up then, cold and hard and Peter took a step back from him. "Fuck you. You don't know what it was like. She couldn't do anything, she couldn't function and I wasn't strong enough to hold her together on my own. They were going to take us out of the program, cut their losses and study their mistakes. I had to think about the best way to kill her and then myself so they couldn't use us."
"Nick…" Tears welled in Peter's eyes.
"I was going to shoot her." He lifted his hand and pantomimed the motion against his temple. "Do as much damage to her brain as possible. I've seen what they do to soldiers who can't be trusted in the field. They dig though their minds and get everything they can, and throw them away when they're done. I won't let them do that to her and I'm not going to make her go though loosing you again, so yes. I'd do that to her. I'd do it to myself if I could figure out how."
Peter brought his fist to his mouth, pressing his knuckles against his lips. He clenched his eyes shut and tears spilled down his cheeks.
Nick stared at the skinny, shaking creature that used to be his friend and felt tears on his own cheeks. "Peter, I don't want you to leave, but you need to go now if you're going."
"What the fuck would I even do if I did come back? I'm a junkie and a thief. I didn't finish the fucking training. What the fuck good would I be?" Peter backed against the wall and slid to the floor. "I should have died with Walter."
Nick sank to his knees and scrubbed the tears from his cheeks. Peter was shaking his head back and forth, just slightly. Nick thought he probably wasn't even aware of the motion.
"I can't. Please, I can't leave again."
The tile hurt his knees as he crawled towards Peter. He was shaking when Nick wrapped his arms around him.
"Please. I miss her. I miss you. Don't make me leave again."
Nick tried to push comfort and calm to him, but the emotions slid off the wall between them. Peter sobbed in his arms, incoherent now, and even without the tug of feeling Peter's emotions in him mind, Nick was crying, too.
Nick settled against the wall with Peter against his chest, sprawled half on his lap, half off. From the other room he could feel Olive crying. Nick rubbed his hand over Peter's back feeling the knobs of his spine through his thin shirt. Nick lost track of time, unsure how long it was before Peter's sobs died down. Nick shifted on the cold floor. Peter pulled away from him and scrubbed at his face with one hand.
"I'm going to call in, get a car to take us back. Take a shower, you reek. You can wear something of mine."
"I've got clothes, asshole." Peter sniffled miserably.
Nick rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Whatever, Peter, just go take a shower."
Peter retrieved his backpack from the other room and dropped it to the floor. Loose change clattered on the counter when he emptied his pockets. He stripped off his clothes, wincing at the sight of the mottled bruises along his ribs. He wondered if someday he'd learn to keep his stupid mouth shut. He leaned against the counter and peered into his own bloodshot eyes.
The water was a hot as he could stand it, coursing over him and running dingy gray for the first few minutes. He watched it gurgle down the drain, and thought it was perhaps a little heavy-handed for a metaphor. Washing away one life to start another.
Or more accurately, to return to another.
After he'd left Boston, he'd fled blindly. In a sense, he'd never stopped, running as much from the people who murdered his father as the organization he'd been raised in.
He braced his hands against the wall and clenched his teeth against a wave of nausea. He was starting to ache, and even under the stream of hot water he felt chilled, almost shivering.
There was a brief knock on the door, then Nick opened it. "Clothes, dude. I'll put 'em on the counter."
"Yeah."
The door snicked shut again and Peter turned his face upward, wincing as the water burned his eyelids. He told himself the tears were from the heat. When he couldn't stand it anymore he scrubbed himself clean with one of the absurdly soft washcloths.
The room was steamy when he stepped out of the shower. The clothes Nick had left him were a set of dark gray sweats with a ragged hole in one knee. Peter pulled the pants on, ignoring the boxers that were on the counter. He prodded his bruised ribs absently.
Peter riffled though his backpack, fishing under his clothes and a few dog-eared paperbacks until he found the battered pencil tin at the bottom. He popped the tin open and rattled the few needles and the blackened spoon back and forth. The little envelope had a couple grams in it, the fruits of his labors from panhandling and pickpocketing his way through the theater district a few nights in a row. He tapped out a little pile of gray powder into the spoon.
Peter stared at the rest of his stash, and it wasn't the first time he considered using it all at once. He figured it wouldn't be a bad way to go. By the time he started ODing, he'd be too far gone to care. The spoon clinked softly when he sat it down next to the sink. He leaned against the counter, pressing his hands against the cold marble before reaching for his lighter.
Nick dropped the phone back to the table and took a breath to steady himself.
"A car's coming?"
Olive's voice was soft, barely registering over the sound of water from the bathroom. Nick sat on the bed next to her and put his arm around her shoulders.
"Yeah. They're coming from the office here. Be like twenty minutes."
She nodded and leaned into him. "It's not even possible"
Nick frowned. "It's just coming from the downtown office."
"No, Peter. What are the chances we'd find him? Just run into him in Central Park."
Nick shrugged and pulled her closer. "Dunno." He thought about it for a moment. "Maybe you wanted to find him?"
"No," she said, and the word was clipped.
"Not consciously, but maybe there was still some kind of connection there."
She made a little negative sound and looked towards the bathroom where the water shut off. "I don't think this is a good idea."
Nick shook his head. "We can't leave him here alone again."
She reached up and laced her fingers through his. "What are they going to do to him, though?"
"I'm not sure."
Her voice was barely a whisper. "I won't let them hurt him."
"I know."
She turned towards Nick and buried her face against him. Nick kissed her forehead. "It'll be okay, Olive."
She nodded and pulled away, tilting her face towards his with a shaky smile. He brushed a quick kiss over her lips before leaning his forehead against hers. He pressed gently against the gossamer wall between them, waiting for her to let him in before sliding warmth and comfort over their connection.
Olive winced slightly at a distant pain, then her eyes went wide. Even through the wall between her and Peter, Nick could feel the rush of euphoria, the hot spike of pure pleasure. Nick scrambled away from her, nearly running to the bathroom to throw open the door. Peter grinned up at him from his seat on the floor, needle still dangling from his arm.
"Jesus Christ, you didn't overdose did you?"
Nick dropped to his knees in front of Peter, pulling the needle free and pressing a wad of toilet paper to the bend of his arm. "Peter!"
Peter's eyes focused for a moment, intense blue around pinprick pupils.
"How much did you use?"
"Enough." Peter blinked slowly. "It's cool. I'm fine."
Nick hauled him roughly to his feet, grabbing the sweatshirt off the counter and shoving it into Peter's hands. "Get dressed. The car's on its way."
Nick shoved the last of Olive's clothing into the suitcase. She was sitting next to it, watching but silent. She hadn't complained that he hadn't folded anything. Her eyes matched Peter's, tiny black dots surrounded by pale jade, his high bleeding through the wall to her mind. Peter was curled up in a chair across the room, not looking at either one of them. He was swallowed up by Nick's sweatshirt, staring blankly out the window where late afternoon sunlight was painting the city golden.
On the side table, Nick's pager started to vibrate, chattering against the dark wood. He zipped Olive's bag shut and sat it next to her.
"Time to go."
Olive rose automatically, slung her bag over her shoulder. Her eyes were fixed on the floor.
"Peter. Come on."
His head rolled against the arm of his chair, looking at Nick upside down. "What?"
"Get up. We're leaving."
He blinked slowly at Nick but stayed in the chair. Nick crossed the room and pulled him to his feet, careful not to touch his skin.
"Hey. Let the fuck go of me."
"The car's here, Peter. It's time to leave."
After a moment Peter scooped up his backpack and trailed after Olive towards the door. The rode the elevator down in silence and Nick headed through the lobby to the black sedan parked just outside the front door. The driver nodded to him.
"Mr. Lane. Ms. Dunham."
Olive threw her bag in the trunk and got in the front seat, slamming the door.
"Guess she gets shotgun." Peter looked shaky and slightly green.
Nick took his backpack and put it in the trunk along with his own back. "You're not gonna puke in the car, are you?"
"Time will tell."
Nick rubbed his temples.
"Fuck."
The sky was starting to darken, dull red bleeding across the sky. Nick stared out of the tinted window and fought the urge to sigh. Again.
Olive was slouched in the front seat of the car, hunkered down far enough that she was barely visible. She'd raised the privacy glass immediately and not glanced towards the backseat since they left New York. The wall she was using to block off her emotions was just as effective.
Across the car, Peter was leaning against the door, as far away from Nick as possible. Nick swept his mind towards him again, feeling around the space where Peter's emotions should be, but there was just a strange, Peter-shaped hole. It wasn't even like Peter was hiding; he just wasn't there. However Olive had used her ability to cut Peter off from them, it was more than Nick could bypass easily.
Peter pushed one sleeve up and scratched at his wrist. Nick stared at the bruises at the crook of Peter's arm. "How long have you been shooting up?"
Nick didn't think Peter was going to answer, but eventually he turned his head away from the window. "What the fuck do you care?"
Nick shoved his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt and turned back to the window. "Fine. Whatever." Nick huddled in on himself, nursing the hurt he felt. Across the car, Peter cleared his throat.
"I just do it off and on. It helps, a little." Peter pulled his sleeve back down and tucked his hand in the cuff. "I mean, it doesn't actually help, but it makes me at least not care."
Nick turned a little in the seat so he could face Peter. "Have you been in New York this whole time?"
"No, I went to Chicago first. I don't fucking know why. I always sort of thought I'd keep going, go farther west, but I never did. I uh. I sort of fucked up there and had to leave pretty fast, and this guy I know was going to New York, so I went with him." Peter flicked his eyes over to Nick. "You were on vacation?"
"No. Well, sort of. We'd been um… working. And we were done, so we took a couple days off."
Peter's voice was flat. "Working."
"Yeah."
"You." Peter frowned. "You actually work for them, like how they trained us? You're soldiers?"
Nick's shoulders lifted in a shrug. "Well, yeah. What else would we be?"
"It's fucking crazy, you know. The whole spiel about how they're saving the world." Peter leaned across the car and pointed at Nick. "Bell's a lunatic, and so was Walter."
"That's not true, Peter."
"Bullshit. They wrote that stupid book while they were tripping, and now they've got you running around doing their dirty work for them."
"So why are you coming back with us?"
"Fuck you."
Nick slumped in back in his seat.
Peter fidgeted with his seatbelt. "So… what were you working on?"
Nick stared at the back of Olive's seat. "We needed some information about something."
"That's nice and vague."
"Peter, I know you were my friend. I know you're supposed to be doing this with us, but I don't even know you anymore. I don't know if I can trust you."
"Nice, talking to me about trust. You think I'm ever going to trust her?"
"You have to. We can't work with you unless we can trust each other again."
Peter watched Nick across the car. After a while Peter said, "You're different."
"No shit?"
"What did they do to you?"
Nick was quiet for a long time, looking out the window at passing cars. "Nothing. We just… grew up, I guess. We're soldiers now."
They were both quiet for the rest of the trip.
The ZFT compound outside of Boston was settled on a sprawling estate. The adjacent boarding school housed their training facilities. Nick supposed that on the surface it looked completely normal. The car crunched to a stop on the gravel driveway.
Nick looked across the backseat of the car, out the side window where a group of doctors was gathering, flanked by guards. For a moment he could feel Peter's mind, the terror remembered from their childhoods, before the link dissolved into chaos and broke again. Peter was scooting away from the door, all the way across the seat to pressing against Nick's side.
"I can't. I can't do this."
Nick caught Peter's hand, trapping it under his own against the smooth leather of the car seat. "It's too late, Peter. You don't have any choice now." Nick pushed calm, lethargy over the staticky link, pushed though the shards of terror and pain and Peter slumped back on the seat. Nick leaned close to him and got his arms under Peter's limp form. He could feel Olive sobbing in the front seat. "I'm sorry."
He hauled Peter out of the car and handed him off the one of the orderlies. The swarm of doctors disappeared into the building, trailed by the guards. Nick stared after them and felt more lost than he had in years. Their handler was closing fast, but Nick waved him off. He could not deal with the bureaucracy of the organization right now. The debriefing for their last assignment would just have to wait. Olive was out of the front seat and pulling him towards the car. He followed a few steps before stopping. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand.
"Nick?" Her eyes were wide, afraid and Nick's chest hurt.
"It's probably better if we stay here."
"No. No, Nick, please."
Nick stepped close to her and wrapped her in a hug. He slid his hand under her hair to curve around the back of her neck and pulled her close. "It's just for tonight, to make sure Peter's okay."
She shook her head, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Her tears felt hot against his skin, and her fear clawed at his mind. He distanced himself from her thoughts, not closing off, but putting enough space between them that she wasn't overwhelming him. She clutched at his shirt and whimpered into his skin. "I wanna go home."
"I know, Olive. I know. We need to stay here, though."
He could feel he fine tremors running through her. So far they'd made good on their promise that they'd never stay at the compound again, even for a night, but he didn't see any way around it. He tightened his arms around her before heading inside.
Olive stared out over the grassy field behind the building that served as the compound's medical facility and hospital. It was dark, but moonlight flooded the field, giving it a dreamlike quality. She thought it was well after midnight and exhaustion beginning to wear her down. Behind a line a trees she could just see the boarding school where she and Nick had spent their childhoods.
She frowned. Peter, too, although he'd spent far less time there. Peter had always had Walter, and Walter had tried to protect Peter from the worst of the testing and training.
She and Nick had holed up in a room at the far end of the building, as far away from Peter as possible. She felt trapped. She knew Nick was right about them needing to stay, but it didn't make it any easier to be there. The mental wall wavered for a moment, and Peter's terror spilled over to her, drawing a little keening sound from her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on keeping him out, but before she could do anything, the wall reasserted itself. When she prodded it, it was solid and unyielding. The fear lingered in her mind, though, and she wanted to storm through the building and make them stop hurting him.
Nick was juggling sandwiches and sodas when he flung the door open. "Olive?"
She shook her head and stared down at the windowsill.
She heard him sitting plates onto the little desk that was in the room, heard the snap of him opening cans of soda. He stepped up behind her and rubbed his hand across her lower back. "You should eat something before we go to bed."
Olive looked behind her at the sandwiches and smiled at the one with the crusts cut off. "I'm not really hungry."
"I know, but you haven't eaten since this morning."
She tilted her head at him.
"Come on, please?"
She smiled at him and let him lead her over to the bed. She sat cross-legged and took a plate when he handed it to her. She took a bite of the sandwich, but it tasted like ash. Olive pulled the slices of turkey out of the sandwich and nibbled on them.
There was a knock on the door, and Nick called, "It's open."
"Hey, guys, you still awake?"
Clive Gaston was, as far as these things went, not a bad handler. He wasn't overly intrusive into their work, and didn't really care about details, as long as they completed their assignments. Olive thought he was squeamish, but really, he wasn't bad.
Clive pulled the chair away from the desk and sat near the bed, tapping the file against his leg. "Good work on Statham."
Olive stared at her disassembled sandwich and Nick nodded at him.
"Any problems?"
"Nah. Straightforward. We dosed him with Imfedarel before we left. Housekeeping's probably found him already, called the EMTs."
Olive didn't raise her head but flicked her eyes towards Clive. "We've got the name of his source, or at least the name his source gave him. Details about their meetings."
Nick picked up where she stopped. "His name is Duston Devon and Olive's right, it's probably a pseud. We've got a description that's sort of vague, and some details that are sort of interesting. Statham thought Devon was sick, and gave us a rundown of the symptoms. They're sort of generic, but we can probably work that angle.
"Great. I'll get that in, and make a recommendation that one of the other teams pick this up."
Nick felt Olive bristle and her head snapped up. "This is our assignment."
"Of course, but given the circumstances…"
"No."
Her tone was flat. Nick tried to push restraint over their connection. He wished they'd had a chance to talk before their handler cornered them. They might argue between themselves, and they might occasionally think the other to be completely, utterly wrong, but they'd never show division to their handler or anyone else in the organization.
She ignored him and said, "We can finish this."
Clive watched her a moment. Their handlers were trained to keep their thoughts to themselves, and Gaston was pretty good at it. Nick felt only a whisper of uncertainty before he nodded. "Alright, but if you need any backup, let me know." He looked around the little room. "Are you guys okay in here? I can get someone to set up an apartment in the guest building if you want."
"We're fine," Olive snapped.
Clive held out his hands. "Okay. Just checking."
Nick watched as he retreated from the room and waited until the sound of his footsteps faded. "Ol. He was just trying to help."
"We don't need his help." She was picking the bread from her sandwich apart, tiny crumbs littering her plate. Another wave of terror swept over she connection to Peter and she clenched her eyes shut. "What are they doing to him?"
Nick shook his head. "Tests. He's probably starting to withdraw pretty badly."
She pushed the plate away from her. "It hurts."
"You can feel him again?"
"Sort of. Not really, but… it's not like it was, not like how I can feel you." She shoved her plate away from her as nausea clawed at her stomach.
Nick took the plate and stacked it on top of his on the desk before he crawled on to the bed. He settled on the bed beside her and she leaned into his arms.
"This is going to suck, isn't it?"
Nick brushed her hair back for her face and tucked it behind one ear. "Yeah, probably."
"I remember what it was like when he was here, but it seems like so long ago."
"We'll get back there again."
Olive's voice was quiet. "What if I don't want to go back there? I only want you to be able to get into my head."
Nick slipped his hand under her shirt and rubbed her back, moving his hand in circles over her skin. "I don't think you're going to have a choice. What you did, cutting him off, I think that only held so well because of the distance. It's not going to stay now that he's back."
"Yeah. I know."
Nick kissed her temple. "We'll figure out how to make it work."
She smiled. "I know."
Nick pulled her down so they were lying face to face on the bed.
"Try to get some sleep?"
"If I go to sleep, I'm going to dream what they're doing to him."
"Just try? I'll be here if you have his nightmares."
Olive smiled and let her eyes slip closed. "I know that, too."
The room was warm, and blissfully dark. Peter was a little foggy on what exactly had happened to him in the last forty-eight hours. A lot foggy, honestly. He wasn't even really sure how long it had been since Nick had kidnapped him from Central Park. Everything since then blurred together. He'd been prodded by more doctors than he could count, been asked endless question by dour men in dark suits. His withdrawal symptoms had gotten worse with each question until he was begging incoherently for something he couldn't even name. Distantly he thought he could feel echos of pain from Olive as the wall frayed and rebuilt itself in turn. The whole thing had a nightmarish quality that made him wonder if any of it was real.
Eventually they'd left him in a hospital room where he'd sobbed himself into a fitful sleep, jolted awake so frequently by the pain and the horrible nausea that he doubted whether he'd really slept at all. Peter was sure he was dying. Absolutely sure, and he wondered if this is what they wanted all along, to get him killed horribly.
"You're not dying, dude."
Peter looked out from under the blankets he'd pulled over his head. His throat burned from throwing up so much. "Fuck you, Nick."
Nick was sprawled in one of the chairs near the bed, wearing a rumpled set of gray scrubs. "You want some juice? I got you some apple juice. You still like that?"
"Oh, what the fuck?" Peter curled into a ball on his side and pulled the blanket tighter around him. "I don't want any fucking juice. I want some fucking heroin, so unless you have any, you can fuck right off." He shivered violently.
"Hey, cheer up, man, you should be on the downhill side of the withdrawal symptoms by now."
"They're doing this to torture me, aren't they?"
Nick sat forward and braced his elbows on his knees. "Yeah, sort of. They're monitoring your responses to the withdrawal symptoms. Pain tolerance, that sort of thing. Brings back memories of our blissful childhoods, huh?"
"God, go away."
"Sorry, man, you're stuck with me." Nick shook the little bottle of apple juice and held it out. "You're dehydrated from puking so much. Drink this or they're going to put in an IV."
Peter glared at him, but pushed himself upright anyway. He crossed his legs under him and sat huddled under the blankets. "If I drink that, I'm going to throw it right back up."
"Just drink a little of it." Nick stretched out a little more, moving the bottle well within Peter's reach.
Peter's hand shook when he reached for the bottle. He managed a few sips before capping the bottle again and letting it drop to his lap. He squinted around the dark room.
"What time is it?"
Nick glanced at his watch. "Early."
A frown creased Peter's forehead.
"What day is it?"
"Tuesday. You've been out of it for a while."
Peter hugged his arms around his stomach and rocked a little as a wave of cramps rolled through his body. "You've been here the whole time?"
"Not here here, but yeah, I've been around. We both have."
"I figured you'd dump me off and go home." Peter toyed with the blanket, running his fingers over the smooth satin that bound the edge. "I mean… do you still live here? You don't, right?"
"No, we've got an apartment in town."
Peter nodded. "I'm going to have to live here, aren't I?"
"For a while," Nick said. "In a few days they'll move you out of the hospital and into one of the apartments here. You'll have therapy and training, be evaluated until they're reasonably sure they can trust you in the field."
"Just like that."
Nick shrugged. "Nah, I left out all the bits that suck. Oh, no, wait; I mentioned the therapy and evaluation. Have fun with that. The training's probably not going to be much fun, either."
Peter hugged his arms around him and clenched his eyes shut.
"Hurt?"
"Yeah, my arms. I hate this."
"You want me to try to get them to give you something?"
"Would they?"
Nick made a face. "No, probably not, but I'd try anyway."
Peter shook his head and lay back down. He stared across the small space at Nick. "Just… stay here?" He cleared his throat against the tightness in it. "I don't want to be alone here."
"Yeah, Peter, I'll stay."