When the world ends

You know that's what's happening now

I'm going to be there with you somehow - Dave Matthews, Glen Ballard

Yesterday

Broyles was reluctant to let his team get too far out of reach. Astrid and Lincoln both had family in the city, and Broyles arranged transportation for them. Walter was taking an MD helicopter to Reiden Lake, his summer home.

"It's peaceful there. I feel closer to Elizabeth when I'm there," he told Olivia as he pulled her into a tight hug. "I wish things were different, m' dear." As he bent to kiss her, his unshaven cheeks grazed hers and her constant ache turned into a stabbing pain.

"Walter, you did the best you could. We all did."

He stepped back and gazed at Olivia. "There's so much I want to tell you," he began, but was interrupted by a call from the co-pilot, notifying him that they were ready to take off. He pulled Olivia to him once more, then stepped away and shook hands with Broyles.

"Phillip."

"Walter."

And then he was gone, leaving Olivia and Broyles standing in front of the window watching a dying city.

"Sir, I'll contact you in the morning."

Broyles shook his head, never turning away from the view, and replied, "If there is a morning, Dunham." At last, he faced her and said, "Go home, Olivia. There's nothing more for us tonight. If something comes up…" His voice trailed off and he resumed his scrutiny of the ash-filled sky.

ooo

There was nothing else for Olivia to do but go to bed. She'd already talked to Rachel and Ella in Chicago. She'd tried a bath, but she was too keyed up to sit, unmoving, until the water relaxed her. She'd opened her last bottle of Scotch, a 30 year old Macallan that Walter had given her, but she didn't want to drink herself into a stupor. If it was the end of the world, she wanted to face it head on; and if it wasn't, Broyles would need her tomorrow. So – she pulled her well-worn Northwestern t-shirt out of her bag and laid down to watch the shadows play against the wall as lightning ignited fires and clouds of ash blocked the illumination of a dying sun.

Olivia…

She blinked, focused, blinked again. She wasn't asleep, she could still see the patterns of light and dark dancing on the wall.

She HAD to be asleep. She heard The Voice. She felt his hand clasping her arm, his body snug against hers, the warmth of his body like a furnace against her slight frame.

She closed her eyes and rolled toward the warmth. Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes… and gazed into blue eyes deep as the ocean she remembered from her childhood in Jacksonville and trips to the beach. Eyes that never wavered from hers, that drew her in like the arms that were surrounding her now, pulling her closer to him.

When she was as close to him as she possibly could be, he stroked her hair and pressed his lips, soft, warm, solid lips, against her forehead.

Do you remember? Do you remember me now?

"You're not real. I must be asleep… or drunk… or dead." Olivia's voice was tight. Her forehead was furrowed, as it always was when she was confused and she was struggling to understand what she was seeing.

He chuckled, a low sound that Olivia felt as much as heard, and kissed her wrinkled forehead.

Real is just a matter of perception. I am here. And I'm a part of you that you have to hold onto. You can't forget who you are, Olivia. You can't forget where you're from. You can't forget this.

And then he kissed her full on the lips, gently but insistently parting them. Olivia tried to push him away with her free hand, but he caught it in his own and held her palm to his face as he continued to kiss her, as if he'd been kissing her for years.

Olivia instinctively curved her hand around his cheek and felt the soft stubble. "I KNOW this," she thought, "I know this feeling… "

When he finally pulled away, she studied his face. Deep set blue eyes, surrounded by tiny crinkles as he smiled back at her. Chestnut hair cropped close, not-quite-a-beard, and full lips that she wanted to feel against hers again.

"You've been here all along… what… I don't understand…" Although she knew she should be demanding answers to a thousand questions, she was unable to feel anxiety or panic, just the pervasive calm that seemed to surround her whenever she heard The Voice, his voice. "Why now? We're all just waiting to die."

Shhhh… We're just beginning, Olivia.

And he kissed her again and the thousand questions seemed much less important than the feel of his lips against hers, of his hands sliding under her t-shirt to softly caress her back, of her breasts pressed against his bare chest when her t-shirt was discarded.

Every touch was a reminder of… something, something she couldn't remember but was positive she knew. She knew the weight of his body over hers, the way he settled against her as if he was home.

He knew her as only a lover would – the way his lips brushed her neck over that certain spot that made her tingle; the way his long, slender fingers cupped her breasts and teased her nipples until she moaned into his shoulder; the way his voice murmured in her ear and ignited a fire, made her liquid and longing for him.

As the sky fell and the ground tilted under them, he raised his head and gazed at her.

Olivia… hold on to me. I've got you, I won't let you go.

His eyes never left hers as he moved into her. She twisted her fingers into his hair, and her body met his in a rhythm they both had known forever. There was nothing left; all she could see, all she could feel, was him – the warmth, the calm that his presence always brought her, and the intensity of their lovemaking that was reflected in his eyes.

Olivia…

And as the waves washed over them, the world faded away…

ooo