I wrote this a while back but never put it up... I like it. :)
She sat by herself, staring out the window of the diner. This seat was her getaway, her hidden paradise. Today, however, it was the only place she could trust herself to think thoughts she didn't want to think.
First, there was Charlie. Her partner, her best friend, the one who knew everything she did and didn't call her crazy for it. There were a lot of people in this world who couldn't take the pressure they had endured. And now he was gone. Well, he had been gone for some time now, she just… hadn't known. The shape-shifter had taken everything about Charlie, and killed the original. The new-Charlie had tried to [i]kill her.[/i] But that didn't help to ease how much she missed him.
Then there was John Scott. Okay, she had moved on. He probably would have too, had he been alive. But it was very hard to forget someone you loved. She knew that from experience. He had been her umbrella when it was pouring outside. He had been her curtain whenever the world wanted to put her on display. He had loved her, and she had returned it. When he died in her arms, she put her love for him into her work in the Fringe division. She did everything she could for Charlie, Broyles, Walter, Astrid, and Peter.
Peter. His world was in black and white – black being everything he was hiding or scared of, white being the people he loved, his father (who he didn't want to admit he loved), the career he put every part of himself into. She admired that about him. Plus, he had always pulled her back when she stepped too close to the edge, always protected her like she had always pictured John would. He was sarcastic, he was a genius… and he wanted her to be safe. It wasn't really surprising to find she was already falling for him.
"Olivia, dear?" the waitress said, putting away the final dish and taking off her apron. "We're about to close up."
Olivia looked up and smiled softly, getting up. Her long blonde hair danced in the little breeze she made from standing up so quickly. "See you tomorrow," she said quietly as she left. The waitress waved and began putting up the chairs.
Her car was parked right outside the entrance. She hurried to it with her thick sweater pulled around her slim figure. It wasn't until she closed the door and stuck the key in the ignition that she noticed a folded up piece of paper. Tentatively, she reached out and picked it up. Common sense told her to be cautious – okay, it was the common sense that came with working around dead bodies with all their brains liquefied, seeing shadows kill people, and worst of all, proven to have been treated with a drug as a child.
The handwriting was familiar. She knew whose it was in an instant. The recognition sent a jolt down her spine to her stomach.
To: Olivia Dunham
I don't really have anything important to say, but wanted you to know that this is your life. No one else can take it away from you, and if they do, I'm not going down without them. You've shown me what it is to be a true part of the family again. I admit, getting my father out of a mental facility wasn't my best idea of a day I would come to cherish, but still, he's my father.
This is your life, are you who you want to be? This is your life, is it everything you dreamed that it would be? When the world was younger, and you had everything to lose.
That's This Is Your Life by Switchfoot. You should listen to it sometime.
PS. I think your phone is dead. Or lost. Or turned off. Maybe all three.
Olivia blinked her blue-green eyes a couple times, trying to comprehend why he couldn't have told her this in person. Thinking quickly, she found a stray pen and the notebook she kept in the back.
She jotted down a quick reply, drove down to the little house that belonged to the Bishops.
The clock on her radio read seven o'clock. So they were probably still up. Sure enough, as she knocked on the door, she heard the Spongebob theme song blaring inside. Walter was just strange sometimes. Strike that, all the time.
Peter opened the door, yelling at his father over his shoulder. "Walter, will you turn that off before the police come!? Oh, hey Olivia." Walter leaned around until he could see Olivia and waved. She waved back to the man who could easily be someone's grandfather.
Peter rolled his eyes, stepped out onto the porch and closed the door. "Sorry about my father. Its days like today I could put him in a sound-proof room." He laughed a forced laugh, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "So, uh, did you get the note?"
"Yeah, I was wondering about that."
"Just thought that it might make you feel better, after what happened with Charlie. Plus, I wanted to try out my new pen." He pulled out a long silver pen from his pocket. He took the note for himself and wrote on it "From Olivia."
The end flashed hundreds of different colors, churning like a boiling rainbow. It was simply amazing to watch, even as it faded.
Olivia looked up into his brilliant blue eyes. "That's probably the weirdest pen I have ever seen," she said truthfully.
"Well, what do you expect? My father made it."
They both laughed at that, more easily than before. Just like Walter. Strangely, their laughter moving them physically closer, until there was only a couple inches from their faces…
She was surprised at how that had happened, but was even more surprised when he closed the gap and kissed her. Surprised, but didn't fight it. On the contrary, she closed her arms around his neck. Kissing Peter wasn't like kissing John. It felt right, like they could be together. Broyles knew Olivia worked best with her team, and knew that Peter would leave if Olivia was relocated. So he was kind of stuck.
After a few seconds, they broke apart, avoiding each other's eyes. "Well, um…" Peter started, but trailed off.
"See you tomorrow?"
"Yeah."
As she left, a little dizzily, he read the note she had given him.
Heard that song before. It's my favorite. Stalker.