Author's Note: I am now back to my regular posting schedule. Also, fun Bolivia!
Disclaimer: I grow closer and closer to my goal of starting to get the money to purchase Fringe.
Chapter Four
A dream has power to poison sleep.
--Percy Bysshe Shelley
The two of them jolt awake at the same time, breathing heavily. Sian's brainwaves have been off the chart for some time and Olivia's been tossing fitfully from the fever and Peter had been trying to convince Walter to at least let him wake Sian with no success. But now it doesn't matter, as they are both abruptly awake and both extremely upset.
"Get it off me get it off me get it off me!" Sian shrieks, trying to pull the electrodes off her skull. "Get it off me!"
"Don't let him," Olivia moans, hair plastered to her face and fever bright in her cheeks. She pleads over and over again, hardly able to catch her breath while wincing in pain.
"Stop with the noise, little girl!" Walter yells, holding his hands over his ears and doing not a thing to stop Sian's hysterical screaming. Promising Olivia he'll be back, Peter hurries over to Sian and pulls off electrodes as quickly as he can.
When she last one comes off, Sian bolts out the door. "Astrid!" Peter calls.
"I'm on it," she calls back, already halfway out the door. The woman is a saint.
"Walter! Walter!" Peter says, tapping him on the shoulder.
"Is the screaming girl gone?"
"She's gone, Walter, but Olivia is very sick. I need you to find me a way to get her temperature down, something strong. Can you do that?"
"Why yes…yes, I can," Walter mumbles, moving over to his chemicals. Peter sighs in relief and moves over to Olivia with a small towel and icy water.
"This won't feel nice, Olivia," he says apologetically before removing her jacket and blouse, leaving only a light tank underneath. He methodically soaks the towel and rubs it over her exposed arms, neck, head. The head from her skin radiates up through the towel, and she moans a little.
"I'm sorry, Peter," she murmurs, eyes glassy and unfocused.
"Everyone gets sick. No need to apologize," he assures her, pulling damp strands of hair away from her face.
"No," she says, struggling to focus on him, and he tries to help by leaning closer. "For this, for all of this. For starting on a lie."
"I'm still here, Olivia," he reminds her. "And I'm staying here, and it's okay. With this work, my father, the pattern, you, Astrid, even the stupid cow…I don't feel like I need to run, not as much."
"Stay," she mumbles. "Stay. Don't you leave me, too."
"I won't," he promises in a whisper, kissing her burning forehead.
Awhile later, Walter's mixed up a concoction and Peter's fed it to Olivia, and she's fast asleep with nothing more than a mild fever when Astrid leads Sian in. The girl is still pale and tense, but she's in the same room as them and that's a start.
"How's Olivia?" Sian asks even though she's giving the couch a wide berth as she goes to sit down at the piano. She plunks out a few random notes.
He can see her hands trembling. "Walter gave her something. She's better, I think," Peter says, sitting down next to her and playing a light melody. "How are you?" Sian doesn't answer, still playing with the keys. "Walter's made something for you, too, to help you sleep, without dreams. But first, could you tell us what happened?"
It takes her a long time to answer, and Walter's impatience is palpable, but Peter had given him a direct order not to speak to the girl at all. So they wait, the piano music being the only thing breaking up the silence.
"I was in her dream," Sian says without any preamble. "That's never happened before. She was lying on a table and this man had her strapped down—" Sian's starting to cry now, so Peter wraps an arm around her—"and there were huge frogs and he had a big needle and a big ugly monster and she was creaming and I was screaming at her to wake up and she didn't hear me and—" Sian cuts herself off by bursting into tears and throwing herself into Peter's arms. He holds her tightly and strokes her back, and wishes that he could take this away from her.