Breaking Point
Written by: Addie Price
Summary: 'It was a war, Peter. And every war has its casualties. I'm just sorry it had to be Olivia who was made to suffer.' Everybody has a breaking point. And Olivia may have just met hers.
Words: 385
Note: An interlude. I know it's short, but it's the best way I could work things out. Enjoy!
I always love hearing what you think!
Rated T for brief language and my own paranoia.
Disclaimer: FRINGE is the property of FOX Broadcasting Company and its associates. I am in no way affiliated with FOX nor do I own any of the characters depicted in this story.
"We all love somebody who's dying."
- Peter Bishop
The apartment is silent. In all her years of knowing Olivia, of training under her, Astrid doesn't think she's ever seen this place so...empty. Granted, she'd only been there once or twice before, but it's still a difficulty to cope with, the hollowness of her home.
The furniture is still there - people are far more interested in apartments that come fully furnished then those that don't after all - but all her personal effects are gone. Everything that made this place Olivia's is gone, boxed up and taken away. Astrid isn't sure what will be done with all of it - turns out, Olivia had a lot of stuff - but it doesn't really matter. What matters is the fact that it's gone.
A small shuffling sounds behind her, causing Astrid to turn and locate the source. Lincoln stands there and walks forward to move past her into the apartment, grabbing the last box on the counter. "Is this everything?"
Astrid finds herself nodding. "That's the last of it."
Lincoln makes his way out of the apartment with the box, struggling slightly with its weight. Astrid takes one last look at the apartment, the sight a powerful reminder to what they've lost. To what they've all lost.
"You coming?" Lincoln has stopped in the middle of the pathway, looking back towards her as she stands in the doorway. Astrid smiles softly at him. "Yeah." She shuts the door, closing this chapter on Olivia's life.
The door to heaven, as it turns out, is not as she expected. It is not a stairway into the sky. It is not an archway of clouds. It is not a set of golden gates in the sky. It isn't even a pathway into the woods or an arch of ferns.
Perhaps the gate to heaven is different for each person. Perhaps it molds itself for the individual that stands before it, presenting itself as the most comforting entryway for them.
For Olivia, it is a door. A single red door in a sea of green ones. It is bright and familiar and warm. She reaches forward to the golden knob and twists it, the door swinging open at her touch.
And she is home. Olivia is finally home.