TANGLED AND ENTANGLED

(This story came out this way, and there wasn't anything I could do...)

Here, Now

Olivia unclips her holster from her belt and places it on her desk. She drapes her suit jacket over a chair and walks tiredly to the cabinet in the kitchen where the whisky is. She knows she should eat something first, but the idea of cooking is just too much after the day she's had. Days. Weeks, even.

Whisky in hand, she eyes two slices of bread for a hint of Gus - the sentient fungus' cousin, out for revenge perhaps, and then drops them in the toaster. She looks around her small kitchen, unsettled. There is a kind of hush, as though time had stopped and she's standing between one moment and the next. She looks down at her glass, and tilts it. The amber liquid shifts with the movement, and she releases the breath she realizes she's holding. Shaking her head at her momentary flight of fancy, she takes a sip. It's not quite nine, she contemplates calling Rachel, and maybe Ella's still awake.

Another name slips into her mind. Lincoln. She jumps as the toaster pops, then laughs at her foolishness. Obviously she can't call him. And even if it is possible, it'd be a bad idea. Her heart skips a beat as her phone vibrates in her pocket.

"Dunham."

There, Now

Liv peers through the kitchen windows at the crowd in her mother's backyard. Everybody seems to be having a good time. She can see her mother in deep conversation with Mona, Diane Broyles and two couples from down the street. Frank is chatting with Broyles, and two other virologists and their partners at one table, while Charlie and Lincoln are busy being the clowns that they are at another table, surrounded by junior agents and a few more of Frank's friends and co-workers. By the way Broyles keep shooting them bland looks they're probably getting a little too detailed in their description of their so-called heroics. Liv shakes her head in amusement.

She looks down at the unfinished glass of champagne she's holding, tilting it side to side. She's getting married, who'd have thought. Olivia Dunham – married. Absently, she takes a sip of the golden liquid, the bitter taste and the bubbles make her grimace, although perhaps the expression is more from the thought of children, and never having any. No matter what anyone says, the chance of her having VPE, as Rachel did, is much too high, and it's a risk she's not willing to take. Frank is aware of course, and fully supports her decision. But still-

"Liv," and he's there. "What're you doing all alone in here? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," she reaches for him, and he comes and holds her close. Liv leans into him, finding comfort in the solid feel of his chest. Whatever happens, Frank will always be Frank, and he'll always be just hers. Unlike certain people she knows. "Let's just fly to Miami now and get married."

He laughs and looks down at her with adoration. "That should go down well with your mother," then looking out the window, his grin widens. "Not to mention your boss. And come to think of it, my boss too."

She gives him one of her irresistible pouts, but before she can say anything, her mother walks in and shoos them back out of the kitchen to mingle with their guests.

Fear And Crossing Over In A Harvard Courtyard

Agent Tim had tried not to sound anxious over the phone, but Olivia knows to hurry anyway. When Walter gets in one of his moods, nobody else but her can calm him, not even Astrid who spends far more time with him. Olivia had long ago reasoned that it had something to do with his subconscious guilt at having experimented on her when she was a child. She'd found out accidentally through one of their cases. She hasn't really confronted him properly about it yet, and he has yet to apologize.

After all these years, Olivia is still quite hesitant to dig deep and bring up anything related to Walter's dead son, Peter, and the other boy too, for fear of driving him back to insanity. He is essential to their investigations, to saving two universes, so she has no choice but to put the childhood abuse at the back of her mind, for now.

Her phone rings again, just as she's parking her car.

"Getting out of the car now, I'll be there in a few minutes," things are quiet in this part of the campus, only a handful of students hurrying down the barely lit pathways. It's starting to get cold, winter is coming and she'll need to get her coat dry-cleaned one of these days. "Just make sure he doesn't have the means to harm himself."

Easier said than done, she knows. Walter can turn anything and everything in the lab into some kind of tool to-

A grey flash to her right catches her attention. And there next to a Black Walnut tree, suddenly illuminated by a lit window, a man in a grey suit stares back at her. Something about the man made her want to reach for her gun. As Olivia starts to walk toward him, the bald man turns his head ever so slightly and after a moment she realizes he is looking intently at something behind her.

Someone. The figure steps into the light. No, it is something, after all. What light there is, make the shapeshifter's skin glisten as though wet. It takes a step toward her. This time she definitely pulls her gun, and fast. A group of kids round the corner, laughing and shoving each other, oblivious to the danger awaiting them. Olivia's mind settles into an alert calmness before rapid action and violence. She automatically aims for the shapeshifter's head. Seemingly aware of her intent, it whips around and runs off into a darkened path between two buildings. She runs after it, with barely a thought for the grey-suited man. Somehow she knows he is a mystery to be solved another day.

The shapeshifter is just ahead of her, she suspects an ambush of sorts, but she is committed to the chase. They run through small alleyways in between buildings, past statues of dead professors, and courtyard after courtyard. They burst through a small knot of students walking from a library. It crashes against a student who falls and hits his head against a bench. His friends then attempt to block her, but Olivia is already waving her gun and yelling, "FBI, coming through!"

She's used to chasing suspects. She runs most nights before bed. But tonight Olivia is tired. She feels the weariness grabbing at her. Her feet are turning to lead, and it's becoming harder for her to lift them. She feels iron bands tightening around her lungs, and her heart is in her mouth. She slows down. Fear lances down her spine as she realizes the shapeshifter is also slowing down and throwing her looks over its shoulder. It stops abruptly and faces her.

The large courtyard is empty. She is tempted to sink into the soft grass already wet with dew. Having stopped, she feels the cool night air through her sweat-soaked shirt and jacket. She tries to lift her arms but they waver alarmingly in front of her, unable to take proper aim. The shapeshifter approaches. It opens its mouth as though to say something.

Olivia. Olivia, I'm here.

Her arms jerk with surprise and she pulls the trigger. A dark stain slowly appears on its left shoulder. It looks down grimly, and then with a snarl hurls itself at her. Too fast, her next shot skims over its other shoulder even as it tackles her to the ground. They exchange punches and kicks, and at some point she drops her gun. Its translucent skin makes it appear less solid, but each punch it delivers drives the breath out of her. Olivia smacks her fist at its neck, but it moves quickly out of the way and she just manages to clip its jaw. Her momentum brings her to her knees, while the shapeshifter dances away. It looks around for her gun.

Her only hope now is for someone to have heard the gunshots, or for those kids to have called university security. But if they don't get here within the next few seconds, everything is lost. It reaches down for something on the ground. With one last burst of energy Olivia springs for its legs driving it back down to the ground. She tangles herself around its legs but it twists around her arms, and as she looks up, it slams the butt of her gun into her head.

Olivia.

It's that man in her dreams. She can just see him, there, standing above her. She feels a warm trickle down her right eye. She tries to reach up, but her arm refuses to move. Someone else is hovering above her, but Olivia's vision seems to be failing. She hears an intake of breath, a preparation of sorts, and Olivia knows she has reached the end.

Olivia.

Everything glimmers. She hears her own gun going off, but it doesn't seem as important as the dancing light flickering at the edges of everything. Then even as she wonders if it means she has transitioned into the afterlife, pain rips through her, and then again as she crashes down onto a wooden floor.

Gate Crashing The End

Tears runs down her face, mingled with the blood she realizes is dripping from the cut on her head. She had also been shot on the left shoulder. Loud barking echoes painfully in her head, and then a scream.

"What the hell-"

"Agent Francis, call for a medic, immediately," then a strong hand is pressing on her shoulder. "Her head is bleeding too, someone get some towels."

"What's the matter?" she recognizes this voice. It's her own. "How did she-"

"Liv?" Lincoln. It's him. What is he doing here? She opens her mouth to ask, but something in her throat makes her cough, and the pain from that is more than she could take. Agent Broyles is here though, pressing hard on her shoulders. If he's here and is alive, then she must also still be alive. She turns blurry eyes to the other man as he gasps out her name. "Olivia!"

He grabs her right hand, squeezing tight. Through the numbness, she feels his touch. She blinks her eyes rapidly to try to clear it. "Lin- Lincoln?"

"Shh, it's ok. It's ok. We got you," he glances up to Broyles, then to someone else. "Charlie, the medics?"

"ETA six minutes," Charlie? Charlie's dead. She must have said the last bit out loud because he shakes his head at her. "I'm still alive, kiddo. And so will you be once we get you sorted, okay? You're gonna be fine."

"What happened? Who did this to you?" there is a dangerous edge to the other Olivia's tone, but her hand shakes as she passes the towels to some other man who'd started poking at the wound on Olivia's head. This time the pain barely registers. She gives up trying to clear her eyes and just keeps them shut. She's exhausted, surely she can sleep now. "No. No, stay awake!"

A Mother's Nightmare

The front door opens and a woman who had been seeing off some neighbors re-enter her house. Within seconds her world is changed forever. On the floor is her daughter, blood pouring down her face from a large cut on her forehead, and more blood soaking through a towel on her shoulder. She's pale and barely conscious. Barely alive. "Olive?"