…It's got a working fireplace in the bedroom.

Nursery?

Nursery?

Nursery.

Even if she didn't have eidetic memory, she doesn't think she would ever forget the half crooked smile on his face that morning when she'd voiced something that had been on her mind for some time.

A baby…

She'd wanted a child so badly. Their child. She doesn't know if Peter ever thought about it before Etta. She guesses not. How could he really, their lives had never given them the chance.

But she'd thought of it many times. Since that first night they spent together after that case in Brooklyn, in the aftermath of the long hours of passion, as a calming bliss overtook her and she had lain in his embrace as he gave into sleep, thinking just how perfect her life was right then and how much better it was about to get.

Together, they would have everything Mrs. Merchant had shared with her husband and more, she had thought. A lifetime of memories with the person she loved the most, of the many happy experiences and joyful events that they would have in years to come.

They'd have children someday and soon, she was sure of it. Two little girls, one blond and one brunette, both with their father's eyes and she would love them both so much, and Peter would too.

He'd make such a wonderful father, she had thought with a smile on her face as she saw him sleep, his arms around her gentle but possessive.

And even when things didn't exactly pan out the way she had hoped they would, a year later when she was once again lying in his arms and he had her pulled impossibly close, pressed against his chest, his hold more possessive than before ( understandable given the events of the day), she couldn't help thinking the exact same thing.

There was never any doubt in her mind about how much he had wanted their baby, unexpected as her pregnancy was. She had seen the genuine joy in his eyes, the hope for the happiness that had eluded them for so long, that had almost been torn away from them but a few hours ago.

She hadn't let herself think of the fact that they had almost lost their child earlier without even knowing of her existence (it was a girl, she just knew). She wasn't going to dwell on that.

They were done losing each other and their chance at happiness.

This was the beginning of their lives together, of their family.

And months later, as she had held her baby for the first time with Peter by her side, her soul mate and her miracle child… fighting tears of happiness for once, she had believed it with every fiber of her being.

That every step she had taken in the last four years had been towards this, the momentous collision of their paths, the tumultuous intertwining of their lives. It was never about the end of the universes or the future of the worlds. It was for this moment.

This was the fait accompli destiny had in store for them all along.

Everyone who knew her was always keen to point out the stark resemblances between her and Etta. But she had only ever seen Peter, seen his mischievous blue eyes and the roundness of his cheeks on her cherubic face, his soft curls that had made her blond hair bounce in the sunlight, the faint traces of chestnut at the roots. She had seen in her daughter his vivacity and his charms, the promise of his razor sharp intellect and his penchant for trouble.

And she'd been glad for it. Loved her baby all the more for it. No mother would wish for her child, the haunting ghosts of her past, the burdens that she never seemed to shrug off, the self-destructive strive to make every problem her own at great personal cost.

Her favorite memories of Etta have always been those of her with Peter.

She didn't think she could be any more in love with him. She discovered she was wrong when she saw him with her; saw how capable he was of affection and tenderness.

Rainy Sunday mornings the three of them would snuggle in their bed together, as she would try to playfully fight Etta for her favorite spot , curled up against her daddy's chest, a position fiercely guarded by their daughter. She would then settle for her head against Peter's shoulder (on rare days, when Etta was feeling particularly benevolent, mommy was allowed to share though) and they would watch cartoons, while the raindrops fall on the window panes quietly.


"What?" She had asked him once as he looked at her with an odd expression, while she was curled up next to him on the couch as he rocked their week old baby gently in his arms.
"Nothing, I bet you never thought you'd end up raising a child with the guy who once stuck electrodes to your chest and helped you into a rusty tank of water while you were high on acid."

"I've done stranger things." She had shrugged, a smile playing on her lips, as she looked at her sleeping daughter, looking absolutely tiny in his large arms.

"Ok, but gun to head… four years ago, you'd have never trusted me with a kid right?"

"There's no one I would trust more."


"It's my birthday today daddy. You have to do everything I say."

"Like he doesn't do that every other day." She had almost snorted, giving her husband a meaningful look.

"Kiss Mommy."

"Good, Your Highness?"

One month and five days later, they lose her for the first time.

And twenty one years later, they lose her again.


Her first thought as Etta takes her last breath is of Peter.

She doesn't think of her dead daughter. She can't allow herself to. Doesn't even see her. She only sees him, face rife with denial, brokenly saying the same thing.

No, no, no…

In hindsight she's grateful to Walter for being the cruel voice of reason, for forcing Peter to leave the building with them while she simply moves on autopilot.

The weak have it easy. They get to surrender to the loss, to be decimated by its power, to lose hold over their sense of reality.

They get to be selfish and angry and not worry about the world's fate while they spiral into their cocoons of pain.

She's never had that luxury.

She'll survive anything, such is her fate. Her destiny has been to live through every ounce of pain this world throws at her, to not succumb to the salvation that comes from being destroyed by grief. To always be ravaged by misery and then be still left standing to fight some more.

She'll survive this too…

Even if survival only meant getting through the ordeal of taking one breath after another and not much else…

But only if he was by her side.

If she lost him, then there's nothing left… and she can't lose him.

Not again, not ever.

Walter may have guessed at the truth when he echoed her fears earlier, but he has no idea, no one really does except her.

She knows better than anyone what he is capable of. The timeline may have been altered, but she knows all too well, his capacity for violence, his combative history, the true nature of his rage when it was unleashed, especially when the people he cared about were involved.

Today she had seen in him what she hasn't seen in many years, decades really. A glimmer of that cold and calculating conman, the one who could go to any lengths to get what he wanted.

But he's not driven by personal gain any longer, its grief…. raw and painful grief, and above all its vengeance.

She doesn't think such motivation is any better.

And it scares her so much, scares her to see that cloud of darkness over his head.

It could take him away from her again, to a place from which there was no returning.

And she can't have that at any cost.

There are many things this world has wrenched away from her, over and over again and she has somehow found it in herself to believe it was still worth saving.

Even if it's a world without her daughter. She'll do it for her sake, for her brave little girl, for every Etta out there whose mother won't have to watch her die in front of her if she can only have the strength to keep going.

But a world without Peter is one she can't save. She's lived in that world and it isn't worth anything at all.

Since she's been out of the amber, she's been skittish, slow almost glacial in reaching out to him, in assuming that place in his life, she had once held without question. But her daughter's death has made her realize she can't take time for granted any longer.

She watches the tape and remembers just how much she needs him. How much she's always needed him. And suddenly the urgency to be with him, to have him hold her in his arms and soothe her pain is overwhelming, almost involuntary, as she pulls out her phone, needing to hear his voice, wanting to tell him everything she has kept to herself for so long.

She won't build walls around her anymore. She won't shut him out and she won't be shut out.

She'll save him from the destruction of revenge, from losing the things that made him who he was.

She'll save him from himself and she'll save the world too.

For Etta…