References: question machine (Bound), LSD caterpillars (Bound), same plane of consciousness (Bound), gerbils (The Cure), being fearless (The Transformation), the kill (Johari Window), stepfather (The Cure), shower from the inside out (Same Old Story), if you need me (The Dreamscape)

"How's it going?" Olivia asked as she walked into the lab.

"Waiting for results," Peter said in a bored tone as he looked up from his desk. "Believe it or not, science takes time."

"Do we know anything new about the murders yet?" she asked. "What chemicals were in the toxin? How does it work? How long does it take?"

"You're like a question machine!" Walter exclaimed, beaming.

She ran a hand through her hair. "I'm sorry, it's just that Broyles is really breathing down our necks about this case."

"We haven't been able to identify the exact chemicals used to create the toxin," Peter said. "It's an incredibly complex synthetic compound. Walter's tried recreating it and we've come close but we haven't quite got it."

"We tested our compounds on caterpillars! Would you like to see? We have some expendable gerbils in the back if you'd prefer."

"Umm…no thank you."

Peter laughed. "Good choice. By the way, those were the same caterpillars he was giving LSD to last week. At least they died happy, right?"

"The caterpillars have led us to believe the toxin kills about thirty seconds after exposure, but the flesh starts melting almost immediately," Walter added.

"Are you sure that's how it works for humans too?"

"My dear, I'm not even sure that we all exist on the same plane of consciousness," he said in between mouthfuls of Chinese food. "But yes, I believe so."

"We believe the toxin infects people in one of two ways," Peter explained. "The first person to get infected merely has to ingest it, but after that, they become extremely contagious. You'd only have to stand a few feet from them to become affected by the toxin yourself. So theoretically, only one of the girls in the shipping container would have had to drink the toxin in their water for the rest of them to catch it from her. It works kind of like a virus, I guess."

"Then it would be most effective in an enclosed environment where people are close together – like a plane."

"Or they could put it in the water supply, target the whole city."

"They could, but it's not ZFT's MO as a terrorist group," Olivia explained. "They prefer to attack specific targets to get their ideological messages across as opposed to a widespread, random attack. It's about showing off skill too. Any terrorist with a pipe bomb can kill people in the street. It takes a highly-evolved group of criminals to attack a specific secure location, like a plane or a government building. Anyway, I have to head back. Good work," she said as she left.

She heard Peter's footsteps behind her in the corridor and turned around. "You alright, Livia?"

"Yeah. Broyles is working us pretty hard, that's all."

"OK, well don't let it get to you too much. I know how you push yourself," he said, giving her a kiss that started small and sweet but quickly turned passionate. He wound his fingers into her hair, never wanting to let her go.

She smirked against his lips and broke away. "We have to stop making out at work," she said. "I'm sorry, but we could get in a lot of trouble if anyone found out about us. Fringe Division's under all kinds of scrutiny right now because of this case."

"Yeah, I know."

She sighed. "Lincoln said they're narrowing down some suspects so I might be going on a raid tonight."

"Another one? Be careful."

"I always am, Peter."

"You're gonna be OK?"

"I'm not scared."

"Being fearless doesn't mean your being safe."

She sighed. "I'll meet you at home tonight, OK?"

"You better," he said, touching her face. "I love you."

She smiled faintly and kissed him softly. He'd started saying that again lately, but she still wasn't ready to say it back. "I'll see you tonight," she said before walking off.

The raid was going to be a dangerous one – they knew that from the outset. They'd studied the floor plans and everything, but they still had no idea what strange things they may come across. They were taken to a warehouse in the West District and split up into teams to search the different rooms. It was dead silent. This made Olivia nervous. She couldn't escape this huge sense of dread. Olivia followed Broyles, Lincoln and some other agents through each of the rooms in their allocated sector. They found plenty of lab equipment, but no suspects.

In her peripheral vision, Olivia saw a man suddenly appear from around the corner and raise his gun in their direction. Her eyes went wide. The man fired his shot a split second before she fired hers. Blood spurting angrily from his chest was the last thing she saw before she hit the floor and blacked out.

When Olivia regained consciousness, Lincoln was pinching her nose closed, holding her head back as he leaned over her. She coughed and sucked in huge gulps of air. He jumped back. "She's breathing again!"

"Dunham, are you alright?" Broyles asked urgently.

She felt a huge pain in her stomach. She looked down and there was no blood, just a bullet lodged firmly in her vest. "What happened?" she asked, her voice coarse.

"Liv, you got shot, but you're gonna be OK. You lost consciousness."

She remembered being taught at The Academy that if a bullet hits your vest in the stomach, the force of it can stun the diaphragm and stop your breathing, suffocating you. She looked around at the medics kneeling beside her, but also noticed that a few feet away some more medics were frantically working on the suspect she shot. She leaned up but Lincoln tried to hold her back. "Liv, you need to rest."

She just pushed past him and scrambled across the warehouse floor to where the man was lying on the ground, pale and coughing up blood as medics tried to keep pressure on his chest wound. She froze. He didn't look like some monster who was trying to kill her anymore. He was just a man now.

"We're losing him," one of the medics muttered, frantically treating his wound. Moments later, the man stopped breathing.

"No," Olivia whispered. "No, no, no, no, no…" She looked him over, unable to think of how to save him. She brought her hands together over his solar plexus, giving his CPR.

"Agent Dunham, he's gone," Broyles said sympathetically.

"No, he doesn't get off that easy. No." She started another round of compressions, her hands starting to tremble. "Come on, you son of a bitch, wake up." Her calculated compressions became furious, pounding fists against his chest. "WAKE UP!"

Lincoln came and put his hand on her shoulder. "Liv, stop. There's nothing you can do."

"No, I can't be responsible for this," she said, her voice breaking. "Lincoln, I can't have killed this man, please…"

He grabbed her blood-stained hands and pulled her away from the body. 'Liv, he's gone."

"No, I have to -"

"Olivia! He's gone."

She staggered and tears came to her eyes. The room was dead silent and everyone was looking at her, not in condemnation but in pity. She felt sick to her stomach. And then she ran.

Her mother's church was quiet and dark, lit only by rows of candles along the walls. Olivia had lost whatever faith she had years ago, long before her mother stopped bringing her here, but she still found solace in this place. But not tonight. Sitting in the dark, she still felt hopeless, worthless, and entirely alone. For some reason, she tried to remember the prayers she was taught as a child. Hail Mary, full of grace…she thought, but after that her mind was dark as an empty barrel.

"Are you alright, dear?" a friendly nun asked her.

Olivia knew that if she opened her mouth she'd just start sobbing, so she only nodded. But her weeping face gave her away. The nun sat down next to her, handing her some tissues. Olivia took them gratefully and wiped her face. "Would you like to talk about it?" the nun asked.

Olivia shook her head.

"Dear, has someone hurt you? Is there anyone I can call? The police? Maybe a friend?"

Olivia thought about it. There was only one person she could think of who would know what this was like. She handed the nun her mobile phone and asked her to call Lincoln Lee.

It didn't take him long to get there. He hurried to the pew where Olivia was sitting, thanking the nun for calling him as she left the two of them alone. He knelt facing the altar and crossed himself before sitting down next to Olivia. She looked at him quizzically. "You're Catholic?"

He gave her a weak smile. "Only on nights like these. Is there anything I can do, Olivia?"

She shook her head, wiping her eyes. They sat in silence for a long time, shoulder to shoulder. After a while she let out a sick, wet choke of a laugh. "You know I shot my stepfather when I was nine? He'd hit my mum and I just wanted him to stop. I shot him twice, and they said that he couldn't be saved, but he didn't die. He recovered." She chuckled acerbically through her tears, although it sounded like a sob. "I shoot this guy once and he's dead on the spot. Isn't that ridiculous? Isn't that the stupidest piece of shit you've ever heard in your life?"

Lincoln looked to her solemnly. "Liv, it wasn't your fault. You had no choice."

"I had a choice. If I'd shot him in the leg or something -"

"He would have shot back. Olivia, listen to me. That man was a trained killer. If you hadn't pulled the trigger, you'd be dead."

"I don't care. Nobody deserves to die like that."

He paused, hanging his head. "The first time I killed someone, I didn't sleep right for weeks. Everyone told me I did the right thing, but I didn't feel any better. I felt less than human, amoral. It shouldn't be easy to take a life. The first time's rough. It doesn't get much easier after that, but you learn to see it objectively."

"Do you ever forgive yourself?" she asked in a tearful whimper.

He shook his head soberly. "I still haven't – not completely. Maybe one day when I'm older be at peace with this," he confessed. "Most cops go through their entire careers without ever firing a single shot on duty, let alone killing someone. But being in the FBI, in Fringe Division, we see the worst criminals and handle the worst cases. It's our honour and our burden. But it's the job." He sighed. "Liv, Broyles wanted me to tell you to take all the time you need. You'll need to see the shrink too, before you're cleared. Or, you know, you can transfer out of the task force for a while, do less-pressured work. There's no shame in that."

"No, Lincoln. This job is my life. Even back when I was just a student, it was my life."

"I understand. But you have to take care of yourself. Do you want me to take you home?"

She hesitated for a moment. "I don't know."

"Liv, go see your sister. Or Peter. It'll help, trust me."

Olivia shook her head, failing to bite back tears. "I don't know I could ever look them in the eye after this. I'm so ashamed, Lincoln. What I did…it was disgusting. I got his blood off me but now I feel like it's in my skin. I feel filthy, I…" She stopped, trying to keep herself from falling to pieces. "I've got to get clean," she said quietly, her head in her hands. "But I don't know how…"

Lincoln stood up. "Come on, Liv. I'm taking you home"

Peter heard a knock at the door that puzzled him. Olivia had a key, so he had no idea who'd be knocking on their door when it was almost midnight. He opened the door to find Lincoln standing there, looking uncertain. "Lincoln?"

"Hi Peter."

"Olivia's not here. I've tried calling, I don't know where she is."

"She's in the car," he said, trying to find his words. "Listen, something happened at work today. She won't stop crying. I didn't know where else to take her."

Peter's confusion quickly turned to panic. "What's going on? Is she hurt?"

"Peter, we went on a raid and Liv…" He trailed off, unsure of how to say it.

"Lincoln! Tell me what's wrong with her right now!" he demanded.

"She was put in a position where she had to defend herself with her service weapon. She was shot in the stomach, but her vest protected her from anything more than a bruise. But Peter, she shot back at the suspect. We treated him on the scene, but he didn't make it."

Peter ran a hand over his head. "Oh my God"

"We talked about it, but she's really upset. I thought you'd be able to help."

Peter pushed past him to run down to the car. He saw her sitting in the front passenger seat, curled into a ball. His heart broke at the sight. He had no idea what to say to her. He never thought this would happen when she was just starting out. Lincoln gave them space by waiting on the steps to their apartment.

Peter opened the car door and Olivia looked up at him with bleary eyes. "Peter?"

He cupped her face in his hands, wiping away her tears. "Yeah, sweetheart. It's me."

She collapsed into sobs then, and he held her fiercely in a tight hug, his hand cradling the back of her head. He had no idea what happened on the raid, but he was unbelievably grateful that she was alive for him to hold. "Livia, sweetheart, I'm so sorry this happened to you," he whispered sincerely.

She just kept crying. She could barely get her words out in between sobs. "I didn't mean to," she choked out. "I was so scared."

"I know, Livia. I can't possibly understand what you're going through right now, but sweetheart, you need to know that no matter what happened tonight, I love you so, so much."

"I tried to save him. I tried so hard," she sobbed, her tears soaking through his shirt. "There was so much blood. I tried but he wouldn't wake up. It was horrible…"

"I know you did everything you could. Sweetheart, come inside with me. We can get you something to eat, go to bed."

She pulled away. "I just want to take a shower from the inside out."

"Livia, come inside. Please."

She finally quieted down and nodded, going with him to their apartment. Lincoln was still sitting on the steps. She sent him a grateful look and went on upstairs but Peter stopped. "Thank you for bringing her home, Lincoln. You have no idea how much I appreciate it."

"It's no problem. Call me if she needs to talk, OK? I've been where she is right now and I know how awful it is."

"Of course. Thank you." He gave Lincoln an honest handshake and went back up to the apartment. "Olivia do you want some tea or something?" he asked her, but she just shook her head.

"I'm going to have a shower," she muttered, walking past him to the bathroom and locking the door behind her. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. She was going to start closing herself off now. She always did. He was making dinner for her when he noticed she'd been in there for a really long time - too long for there to be any hot water left.

He knocked on the bathroom door. "Livia, you OK in there?"

"Go away," was her weak reply.

"Not until I'm sure you're alright."

"I'm fine."

"Could've fooled me. Come on, Livia, I'm trying here. Will you let me in?"

"Just leave me alone."

"I'm not going."

Olivia opened the door wrapped in a towel, her hair wet and her eyes red. "What do you want?" she snapped at him. He looked her over and saw that patches of her body were red, indicating that she'd scrubbed her skin raw.

He took one of her hands and inspected it. "Damn, Livia, what have you done to yourself?"

"Don't touch me," she spat, jerking away. Peter pushed past her and turned off the now freezing water, grabbing some lotion from the cabinet. "What are you doing?"

"You're done in here."

"Peter!"

He held her wrist and led her to her room, sitting her down on the bed. He knelt before her and squeezed some lotion onto his hands. "You shouldn't hurt yourself like that, Livia." She ignored him and looked away. He reached for her hand. "This might sting a bit."

He started rubbing the lotion onto her raw skin, making her hiss and recoil at his touch. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Forget it."

"Do you want to get dressed and eat something?" She only shook her head in response. "Should I call Lincoln? Charlie? Rachael? It might help just to talk to them, even if you don't talk about what happened." She shook her head again and he kept rubbing the lotion on her hands and forearms. He placed a kiss on inside of her wrist and put the bottle down beside her bed. "I'll leave you to get dressed. Please come out and eat something when you're done, OK? Please."

She nodded and he left her alone, wondering what he could possibly do to help her. Eventually she came out and agreed to eat something – not much but it was better than nothing. "I'm going to bed," she said after a while.

"OK. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No. I just need to be alone right now."

"Let me know if you need anything. I'm just down the hall."

"I'm OK, Peter."

"If you're so OK then why can't you look at me?" he asked gently, brushing some hair behind her ear. "Olivia, you did what any sane person would have done. I can't imagine how hard this is, but I want to help. Livia, if you need me, I'm here."

"I know."

He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "I love you."

"Don't lie to me," she whispered. "How could you?" Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears and she shook her head a little.

"Livia, you know I do. That doesn't change because of what happened tonight. You have to understand that, OK? Try and get some rest." She nodded and walked down the corridor to her room, closing the door behind her.

Peter went to his own room and fell into a restless, shallow sleep. He woke up early in the morning to a sound outside his room. Getting up and walking down the corridor, he found Olivia in the bathroom again, throwing up into the toilet. He hurried over and held her hair back, trying to soothe her. She wasn't crying – she looked frozen, scared. She was shaking. Her eyes were wide and she wouldn't speak. After a while she settled and went to brush her teeth to rid her mouth of the acrid taste.

"I can't sleep," she finally said, still not looking him in the eye.

He just nodded, having expected that. "Just keep trying," he said. They went to her room and she got under the covers. He knelt down by her side and kissed her forehead. "Do you want me to stay?" he asked. She silently nodded and shifted in the bed to make room for him. He hesitantly got in and held her in his arms, her head resting against the warmth of his chest. It took hours, but they both finally slept. He held her through every nightmare or troubling thought. And he was still holding her when they woke up in the morning.

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