Thanks so much to all of my reviewers! I've never written a multi-chapter fic before this one, but your kind words of encouragement made it so easy. This chapter just about wraps up the plot (it's a lot longer than my usual), but the next one features the gang at the beach!
Disclaimer: I own nothing…except my mother's delicious pasta sauce recipe, which has been handed down for generations. Beat that Prego! (Sorry, I have absolutely no idea where that came from.)
Olivia could barely see by the time she reached the first line of trees. What had begun as a light rain had become a torrential downpour, forcing her to slick back her hair and squint in the darkness. She pulled Peter behind the nearest tree with her and felt her thigh for her glock. It wasn't there. The gun must have fallen off when she saved Peter.
"Peter, I don't have my gun," she hissed.
He frowned. "Should we go for back up?"
"I don't think we'd survive the trip back to the car," she admitted. "It's an open field most of the way. We'd be sitting ducks."
Peter nodded tersely in agreement. "Then we'll just have to beat her some other way."
Both of them stopped talking when they heard Miranda fly overhead.
"Come out, come out wherever you are!" she called.
"Oh god, this is like a bad horror movie," Peter muttered.
The air sizzled as Miranda shot a bolt dangerously close to where they were both standing.
"Split up!" Peter commanded her. Olivia nodded and squeezed his hand briefly before slinking away into the darkness.
…
"Call Walter Bishop!" Peter yelled into his phone while trying to simultaneously dodge Miranda's lightning bolts. He squatted down and took cover behind a shrub, chanting, "Pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up…"
"Oh, Peter!" Walter exclaimed, finally picking up the phone after eight agonizing rings. "Astrodome and I made the most delicious tapioca pudding in the lab today. It was always your favorite when –"
"Walter, focus!" Peter cut him off. Suddenly Miranda flew by overhead once again. Her heavy winds ripped the limbs from the nearby trees, forcing Peter to duck and roll to a safer location behind an outcropping of rocks.
"Are you still there, Peter?" he heard Walter ask.
"Yes, Walter, I'm still here," Peter growled back. "Olivia and I are running for our lives from a sociopathic teenager with superpowers, who is currently shooting lightning at us. We have no gun and no back up, and I was just hoping that you would have an idea."
"Shooting lightning, you say?" Walter paused, deep in thought, leaving an anxious Peter awaiting his answer on the other line. Without warning Peter felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up on end, a sure sign of electricity in the air. He turned around slowly.
"Hello there," Miranda Pratt said cheerfully. She looked terrifying. Her once polished and put together wardrobe ensemble was now ripped to shreds. Curls stood out in all directions, looking dry and fried. Her blue eyes glinted dangerously. Her right arm glowed white with the lightning bolt she was about to hurl at him.
Peter dived to his left and felt the heat of the electricity just graze the side of his body.
"Any ideas, Walter?" he cried frenziedly into the phone as he sprinted away.
"Yes," Walter replied confidently. "Ground her out."
"Like a lightning rod. That's brilliant! But how?" Peter murmured to himself. He turned on his heels and threw himself behind a willow tree.
"Do you have a source of water nearby? A lake perhaps?" Walter asked.
"No, but I do have a pool…" Peter trailed off and began to sprint again. It would be dangerous, but doable. All he would need would be some wires and some sort of metal conductor, both of which he had already seen amongst the pool equipment. And of course, someone reckless enough to help him.
Suddenly Peter ran into something hard, knocking him to the ground and causing him to see stars. He looked at the remains of his phone, which lay cracked on the forest floor.
"That one's going on the company card," he said in a daze.
"Peter?" a voice said.
Peter shook his head to rid the last vestiges of the hit from his system. "Olivia?" he ventured.
"I guess we ran into each other," she said, crawling toward him.
Peter could hear the wind whipping through the trees, a sign of Miranda's impending approach. He placed his hands on Olivia's temples and forced her to look him in the eyes. "Olivia do you trust me?"
Even in the darkness Peter could see the flecks of gold reflected in her emerald green eyes. They narrowed in determination. "Of course," she said.
"Then we need to get back to the pool."
….
….
"Look for wires and something metal," Peter told her. Olivia scoured the dark pool deck for a few moments before the meaning of his words sunk in. "You're planning to ground her out, aren't you." Peter said nothing in return. He refused to meet her eyes.
"Peter, that's dangerous! And you didn't even see fit to tell me?"
Peter allowed himself one moment to run his hand through her hair. "It's not that I don't trust you Liv – I'd trust you with my life. But I knew that if I told you, you would want to be the one to do it."
Olivia smacked him lightly in the chest. God she wanted to punch him. "So what's the plan? We just wait for her to come, and then you play the hero?"
"I was hoping that you could lure her over towards the cabana. Then I'll jump from the roof and tangle her up in the wire with the metal on her end, with the other end dangling into the water. Then next time she would try to electrocute someone, she'll only shock herself."
"Peter, I'm in just as good shape as you, if not better. I'm an elite, highly trained FBI agent. Now is not the time to be chivalrous."
Peter sighed. "You promised you would take Ella to the beach. I'm not about to let you break that promise."
Green eyes met blue. Olivia silently acquiesced. "Would this weathervane work as a core?" she asked, holding up a copper weathervane in the shape of a turkey.
"Yeah," he said sadly. "That'll work."
Olivia's voice broke slightly as she fought back threatening tears. "I hope you know that this plan is so ridiculous that they wouldn't even attempt it on Scooby Doo."
Peter laughed.
"Something funny?" asked a haughty voice. That was all Peter had time to register before one of the pool lights broke off and hit him square in the face. Blood gushed from his nose. The ruthless winds whipped each drop back into his eyes, making it nearly impossible to see. Shit. There was no way he'd be able to climb the cabana now.
"Olivia!" he called. He searched for her among the shattered remains of the pool deck, but she was nowhere to be found. The wires and weathervane were gone too. Sneaky devil, he thought, she was going to climb the entire time…but that just wouldn't be Olivia if she didn't.
Now his job was to get Miranda as close to the cabana as possible and pray that Olivia made it out safely.
…
…
Olivia directed her entire focus on shimmying up the drain pipe of the cabana, one foot in front of the other. Of course she wasn't going to let Peter do it. She was the FBI agent; whereas Peter was only a civilian – it was her responsibility. But moreover, Peter was her friend, and she wasn't going to let anything happen to him. She pulled herself on top of the roof and crouched in wait.
A muffled cry escaped her lips as she watched as Miranda strike Peter with one of the pool lights. He immediately started bleeding profusely. She involuntarily started back down towards the ground to help her friend before she steeled herself. Peter is alright, she reminded herself. He would want me to finish the mission.
…
…
"Shit, that was close," Peter muttered to himself as he threw himself behind a pool chair to avoid yet another one of Miranda's blasts. The whole idea to steer Miranda towards the cabana? Yeah, that was proving to be a lot harder than it seemed, especially when attempting it nearly blinded from your own blood in your eyes. Peter sighed. There had to be a better way.
Peter did a number of quick calculations in his head. He estimated that there were about twenty five yards between him and the cabana. If he did a zig-pattern in the space between, he would be able to take cover about every five yards and slowly but surely move Miranda along with him. It was certainly worth a try.
He tested a quick sprint about five feet to his right and ducked under a pool table. Miranda howled in rage but did nothing - his run must have been too quick for her to charge up.
"Bring it on, Sparky!" he taunted her. Now only to do that…four more times.
…
…
Olivia took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. Peter was slowly but surely directing Miranda toward the cabana, and according to her calculations she only had about thirty seconds left. In times of crisis she always directed her thoughts toward the people in her life. As Olivia had once told Broyles, she was an emotional person, and thinking about the people she loved gave her strength.
She thought about Rachael and Ella. While their presence in her apartment might be trying at times, it was always nice to know that at the end of a long, hard day her family would be home waiting for her. It made her feel connected. Not so alone.
She thought about Walter and Astrid. The two of them were also like family to her, but in a different sort of way. They were some of the only people that she could wholly be herself with – no secrets or "it's classifieds" – because they occupied the same crazy world she did.
But mostly Olivia thought about Peter. Her partner. Confidant. Friend. From the very beginning Peter had seen through the whole tough cop persona, but only now was he beginning to understand what lied underneath: a chip on her shoulder, trust issues, and a fear that she just wasn't good enough to save everyone. And he didn't turn away. Peter was the one person who took her exactly as she was, and accepted her for it.
Olivia jumped. For an achingly short moment in mid-air she was truly weightless: no worries, no cares, no objectives. She just flew, her body as stiff and motionless as a board. But then the moment broke, and Olivia realized what she had to do. She kicked her arms and legs furiously, trying to increase the length of her trajectory and reach Miranda in time.
They collided in mid-air. Olivia latched her legs around tightly the teenager and began wrapping the wire around her as quickly and tightly as possible. Miranda tried to shake her off, but Olivia paid her no mind. She had a mission to complete. She had people counting on her.
Miranda gave Olivia a sharp elbow chop to the gut. "Get off me!" she cried. Olivia hissed in pain, but forced herself to finish the last knot.
Olivia smiled dangerously. "Okay," she obliged, before executing a perfect swan dive into the deep end of the pool. Now came the most dangerous stage of the plan. If Miranda shot a bolt of lightning while she was still in the pool, the current would be closed, and Olivia would be shocked as well.
She broke through the surface of the water and began swimming like her life depended on it. Stroke. Stroke. Ella. Rachael. Walter. Astrid. Peter. Olivia heaved herself over the side of the pool and gasped for air. Peter was at her side in a moment. He grabbed her wrists and pulled her in close to him in a silent gesture of protection.
Miranda lifted her arm to summon her final lighting bolt. However, instead of moving toward its intended target, the electricity traveled down the wire into the pool, causing her to be shocked with the force of her own generated lightning. The entire sky burned white as Miranda screamed in pain, writhing and twitching, before she dropped to the earth like a stone.
…
….
Olivia meandered over to the Paramedic's station, where Peter sat scowling and holding a cold compress to his nose. The authorities had long since arrived to take Miranda away, after first determining that the force of her own electric shock was enough to give her severe brain damage.
"Is it broken?" she asked him.
"Nah," he dismissed. "Just hurts like a bitch."
The two of them sat in an awkward silence for a moment. The time after a mission had always been difficult for Olivia when it came to partner relations. What do you say to someone who had just saved your life? What do they say in return?
"So shouldn't you be at home packing right now?"
She leaned up against the ambulance. "Packing?"
"Packing," he repeated slowly, sounding out every syllable like a dictionary. "It's what people normally do before they take a vacation. You do know what a vacation is, don't you Agent Dunham?"
"Oh Peter, I've got a ton of paperwork to on this case, Broyles probably expects a debrief, and –"
Peter stopped her. "Olivia. Give your self a break. You deserve one. If you so much as inch near your desk I'll be forced to use drastic action." He raised one eyebrow. "And you wouldn't fight a cripple, would you?"
Olivia laughed. "Now get home," Peter urged her. "Ella's waiting for you."
She turned to walk away, but stopped short. "Why don't you come with us?" she asked breathlessly. "You and Walter, and Astrid too, if she wants. We could all use a vacation."
"I don't know," Peter stalled. "Walter's not exactly a bundle of joy when it comes to car trips. And I did promise him that I'd help him out with one of his experiments with the ring-worm."
"Now who's the workaholic?" Olivia teased.
Peter shook his head, appalled with himself. "I never thought I'd ever hear those words in reference to myself. So when you put it like that…it's a date."
