Samhain Scare
Three : All Souls' Day
It's going to be another long, restless night of tossing and turning; Olivia can tell even as she shuts the front door behind her.
Maybe pushing Peter Bishop away and then running off hadn't been her brightest moment but the sudden onslaught of feelings, feelings that had come out of the blue, with no memories attached, had been entirely too much for her and so she had protected herself, by running away.
She hates that Peter Bishop is making her something she is not; hates that he can make her run away from herself when she faces monsters and unspeakable horrors on a daily basis.
What she hates most is that for three seconds - for three impossibly short seconds - Peter Bishop had made her feel whole.
She's running.
She can't stop, because if she stops running then she'll have to face reality, and she can't do it, not now. So she runs, and runs, and runs.
She runs until the world turns black.
"They found the woman."
It's dark out; even the sun isn't up yet, but evidently, Broyles is.
"Amelia van der Velde. She collapsed outside of Clarissa Hubble's house and was sent to the Boston Medical Center. I have two agents standing guard but you need to get there and question her."
"Yes, sir." It's an automatic response, one she doesn't have to think of as she jumps out of bed and starts flipping on light switches in a familiar pattern that will allow her to leave home in 15 minutes.
It probably helps that she doesn't have to shake off any remaining bits of sleep, since she's been wide awake the whole night. As Olivia shuts her front door behind her, all she can think of is how good it will be to finally have this case behind her, something she's thought about every single case this past month. As she drives off, she can't help the silent hope that enters her mind.
Maybe after this case, things will start going back to how they were before Peter Bishop showed up.
"I didn't mean to hurt them."
Amelia van der Velde is falling apart because even though like Olivia, she can cross universes, unlike Olivia, she doesn't have the protection Cortexiphan offers. The tough agent is secretly trembling on the inside; with her blonde hair and light green eyes, Amelia could almost be her; she could almost be Amelia, this weak, frail, desperate woman who had done the unthinkable and will now probably not survive to regret it.
"Please, you have to believe me. I'd been dreaming of him, my Thomas. He wanted me to find him, so badly. I wanted to bring him back."
Olivia has never told anyone but those dreams of Peter Bishop, the ones she'd mentioned to Walter – they are all empty spots in her memory. Dreams she can't remember, details blurred by a familiar smile, words tuned out as blue eyes pierced her own.
"Okay. Amelia? You need to stop and tell me everything from the beginning." She says softly, choosing to stand over the hospital bed instead of sitting down in the uncomfortable chair next to Amelia's frail form.
"Can you do that?" She asks again, gently. She notes with worry how much energy it takes for Amelia to simply nod; surely Walter must know how to fix this. She makes a mental note to ask him later, at an acceptable hour.
Slowly, gathering her strength, Amelia van der Velde paints a beautiful picture of her and her fiancé, Thomas Harrier. How they'd met at college; how he'd supported her when both her parents had been involved in a freak accident. How when everyone else shunned her as she turned to paganism for solace, Thomas was the only one who stood by her and supported her; anything to make her feel better.
And then a callous mistake – an ugly, clumsy brushstroke – destroyed the entire picture; their lives. Just months after his proposal, Thomas had driven out of their small town to Boston, for a client whose case he was supposed to take on. He'd been here for three days and on the day he was supposed to come back, he called her and told her everything was fine and he would be back that very night and he loved her.
And then he died; another freak accident to haunt her for the rest of her life.
Amelia was devastated, naturally. All alone in life, with not even a friend left, she blindly made her way through the next two weeks, and even his funeral couldn't break her out of it. Eventually, when she did snap, she threw herself into her research, embracing her religion with even more fervor than she had after her parents' deaths.
The dreams started after that; Thomas calling to her every single night, pleading her to find him. And she found that if she wanted something bad enough, she could have it; could feel him again. The academic in her theorized that it was her mind, uniquely open, that allowed her this miracle, and she thought that if she could find more like her, maybe, just maybe, she would be able to bring Thomas back.
So she came to Boston, a place she had never been and had avoided entirely because of the painful memories, to seek out a coven and convince them she was someone she wasn't. Desperation was mistaken for true belief and she was in. It only took her four days to assemble the women and lead them to a clearing near the deserted road where Thomas had been hit. Four days and then it was the day; the one day in the year when the veil between worlds was thinnest.
Together with three young girls, the ones she'd found to be the most gifted and open, Amelia van der Velde closed her eyes and wished, with all her might, to cross through into the world of the dead.
She opened her eyes to find herself in a different universe entirely.
"Olivia!"
She doesn't want to turn back and face him; she really, really doesn't. But it's time for work now and he could help – in fact, he's probably here to help. And she'll be detached and he'll be nice enough to not bring it up and then she will go back to avoiding him, later, when this is done and Amelia, the girl who so resembles her in more ways than one, is safe. She can avoid him later, and this is why she faces him now.
"Peter," She smiles tightly, a poor attempt at normalcy. "Good morning."
He's bewildered by her mild manner, and she knows it, but she doesn't acknowledge that anything's changed and so he recovers and follows her lead, charming and nice guy that he is.
"'Morning," He nods, smiling; his smile reaches his eyes, she notes, a small, irrational part of her disappointed by how easily he let her off the hook. But she wants him to ignore last night, doesn't she?
She does.
Or maybe she doesn't.
"So, what's the story?" He inquires casually as she leads him to Amelia's room.
"Walter was pretty much right. She confessed to wanting to cross over, just not to another universe."
"Where else is there to cross over to?" He asks, an even mix of curiosity and smart-ass.
"The land of the dead." She replies evenly, pushing open the door to Amelia's room before he can formulate a reply. It takes him all of five seconds to wrap his mind around the idea and move on, and then he sees Olive in a hospital bed.
Olivia stands right next to him – a safe distance away, of course – but Olive, young, scared Olive, is curled up in a hospital bed, looking sick and dangerously close to death. She moves to look at him and then he realizes.
It's not Olive or young Olivia at all, but Amelia van der Velde, just slightly more scarred and haunted than she'd been in the picture Broyles had provided the team with. But the resemblance is uncanny, and Peter knows it is only Amelia's eyes – free, light, unburdened even at a time like this – that would lead a stranger to be able to tell these two apart.
Peter would know, though. Peter will always know; there will be no more betraying Olivia, not even unwittingly.
Not anymore.
"Walter, please tell me you can save this woman." Olivia implores; it isn't fair – Amelia never asked for any of this, and they see enough death on the job. Amelia might be one of the few they can save, and Olivia wants to give it a shot.
"I'm not sure, Olivia," Walter admits slowly, reluctantly. "I could try, of course, but you yourself saw what crossing over did to Belly. Some things are not mine to decide." The old scientist sounds upset, and Olivia knows, instinctively, that this was once a topic of debate.
"William Bell crossed over too many times, Walter. You and I know he probably went back and forth more than a dozen times; probably two. Amelia van der Velde has only ever crossed once, and she did it with her mind, not with harmonic rods or drugs or anything else William Bell or Walternate used." She's reluctant to bring up the other Walter Bishop, but he makes a fine example.
"I… I could try, I suppose. Yes, yes, I could try." He is off in a world of his own, and Olivia knows to leave him alone. "Astringent! Help me clean up this mess! We're having a visitor!" Walter calls gleefully, hollering for his assistant. Olivia slowly backs off, thinking that maybe she'll grab some lunch for everyone, almost crashing into Peter as she turns around to leave.
"Penny for your thoughts," He remarks with an easy smile, his arms automatically reaching out to steady her. Olivia's mind is embarrassingly blank as he comes into contact with her, their close proximity an apparent threat to her mind.
"You wouldn't want to know," She whispers darkly before leaving.
She has a feeling he already knows her deepest, darkest thoughts.
Three days pass – three days of Walter's crazy experiments on a horrified Amelia; three days of Astrid's exasperated screams as even she loses her temper; three days of Olivia missing out on all the entertainment because she's avoiding him, and he knows it.
Peter misses her; misses the way this new her is still unnerved by his very presence, something his Olivia had learned to accept and even welcome; misses the way her eyes widen and her cheeks flush when he makes an inappropriate comment.
He misses the way her eyes sometimes lock onto his and tell him, I want to love you, so much.
Three days pass – three days of constant paperwork, making up excuses for Walter's crazy purchases; three days of calling Astrid for updates and feeling sorry for the stressed Junior Agent; three days of avoiding Peter and missing him and wanting him.
She can't believe herself; the way her body and heart betray her and how badly she wants to be with Peter, if only because she misses the way he teases her and the way he looks at her and how, sometimes, she can lose herself and for a split second, just look at him and think, he loves me.
It's been three nights of frustrated tears because Olivia wants to remember so, so badly.
On the fourth morning, she knows she can't avoid him anymore; doesn't have it in her to keep fighting, not when her waking moments are spent desperately coaxing her brain into remembering and the little sleep she has is marred by the fact that it only serves to highlight how very alone she is.
So she puts on her big girl pants, downs three cups of coffee (because she can't keep her eyes open without caffeine) and drives to the lab instead of the cold federal building she's been hiding out in for the last three days.
He's there; of course he is. She finds herself hovering uncertainly in front of the door, last-minute doubts filling her being.
But then Peter opens the door for her, as if he'd known she was there all along.
"'Livia, thank God," He breathes, and she can see he's fighting the urge to hold her and comfort himself; to know, firsthand, that she is just fine. "You wouldn't pick up your phone, Olivia, and suddenly Lincoln Lee starts showing up, like some courier boy shuffling paperwork and Walter's findings between here and your office. He wouldn't even tell me if you were alright or if anything had happened."
She frowns; she'd never meant to worry him, and of course Lincoln was being a kid, withholding information because he just doesn't like Peter. His occasional lingering looks aren't as subtle as he thinks; the new agent is almost like a puppy these days, an eager follower willing to take any time she can spare him – it's suffocating, and getting to be a real pain.
"Peter," She says softly, cutting him off from his ongoing rant. "I'm sorry," Gently, hesitantly, she places a hand on his arm, instantly silencing him. "I just needed some time." She offers up an excuse; a peace offering of sorts in its own.
"And now?" His voice has taken on a softer tone; worry replaced with hope and longing.
She doesn't know what's going to happen next; doesn't know if they'll ever work out their stories, but she knows she's here for a reason, and so, at the risk of killing off his hope, she removes her arm and tilts her head in the general direction of her makeshift office.
"Can we talk?"
She notes the way his eyes dim for just a moment, and the way he puts on a mask and an easy smile immediately for her.
"Sure."
She isn't proud to admit it but she wimps out – Olivia Dunham is a coward.
"Olivia!" Walter greets brightly with a wave. She could smile, nod, maybe say something back and then go off with Peter, but a split second of nerves is all she needs to send her in a different direction and have her make her way to Walter as a lost Peter trails behind her, his questioning gaze burning into her back.
"Hi, Walter," She smiles, genuinely happy to see the man after three days; it's getting easier to admit that this is her family right here, Walter and Astrid and maybe, Peter. "How's it going?"
"It's wonderful, dear. Miss van der Velde is somehow helping her own recovery. I theorize it is her state of mind that calms down her body."
"Walter here tried to convince her to take some drugs to speed up the recovery." Apparently Peter's decided that the sooner they get done here, the sooner they get to talk and so he's pitching in with the conversation.
"I merely suggested that some LSD in the form of sugar cubes might help the young woman achieve a relaxed state in which her body would shut down and rejuvenate at a better rate." Walter defends himself, lost in a world of test tubes and brightly glowing beakers.
"It's okay, Walter." Olivia reassures him, fighting the urge to turn around and face Peter. "I assume Amelia declined?" His voice is closer than it was and she almost jumps as he speaks up from just behind her; she can feel his breath against her hair, his arm lightly grazing her own.
"You assume correctly." He says, and she can hear the smile in his voice. She doesn't trust herself to speak; doesn't trust her voice. Nodding mutely, she heads for her office, knowing that Peter will, no doubt, follow her.
He does, and as the door closes behind them, she pretends Walter's delighted call for Astrid to come see 'Agent Dunham and Peter' is merely part of her imagination. It's almost awkward, this silence they share, but Peter seems oblivious.
"Trust Walter to play matchmaker, no matter which timeline it is." He laughs, sitting down. She leans against her desk, hands braced against the surface.
"Was he always like that?" She's greedy for details; details to fill in these little holes Peter's non-existence has apparently left in the timeline.
"Always," Peter smiles, and she lets her guard down, merely resting against the table, arms hanging loosely against her sides. "We had a… fight once," She doesn't miss his slight hesitation as he offers her more details. "After you stopped talking to me for a long while, he invited you over to breakfast, saying it was something important. You came, I was clueless and the next thing we knew, he was gone, there was music on and candles lit."
It's not hard to picture – but then again, nothing's hard to picture when it comes to Walter. Still, it puts her at ease, this memory that seems possible; even something that might have happened, and was just forgotten.
"What happened then?" She's curious about this fight, but their talk is going to be hard enough without past arguments thrown in; for once, she just wants it to be easy, no hard past dragged in. Besides, she's pretty sure this is the part of their story where she came back from the other universe to find that he'd spent the last few months with her alternate. It's the only possible reason why she would do something as childish as ignore him and not even talk to him.
"You were going to leave; I stopped you. And I thought you were going to talk to me this time, but then we got a case." So she backed down even then.
"It was the Merchant case, the one where-"
"-Alice Merchant wouldn't let go of her dead husband, and her husband's alternate wouldn't let go of her." Olivia cuts in, wanting to know just how different the case had gone in his timeline; the one with his Olivia.
But are they not one and the same – she and his Olivia? Why else would this be happening; why else would she be feeling this way?
And if they really aren't the same – no. They have to be the same, because Peter can't leave her for another Olivia. He just can't, because she might not survive that.
"Yeah," Peter nods slowly, waiting to see where Olivia is going with this.
"Before they brought in the Amber, I thought I'd give it one last shot. I told Alice that she had to let go, because she'd already had so much while some of us would have to live the rest of our lives with nothing, and nobody. And then her husband brought up their daughters and… that was that." Olivia leaves out the part where she'd mentioned her one weakness to the woman - how she had spent the rest of her life with a missing piece, one she'd never find.
"I told Alice that she'd already had what most of us could only dream of, a lifetime with someone she loved. And then her husband brought up her daughters."
"So it worked out, in the end?"
"It worked out. Everything did; that night, when Walter was still in New York because he decided to stay over, you came. And you told me that you wanted what I wanted – which was our own lifetime."
"And?" Olivia wants to remember, so badly; or at the very least, feel the same sense of conviction she must've felt when she'd decided to go to Peter, if only so that she can do the same now.
"And we were together, Olivia. And it was beautiful, you and me, waking up together at your favorite time of day." He is so sincere, so hopeful.
"Sunrise, when the world is full of promise." She voices out a sentiment she's kept to herself her whole life; something she's never told anyone – never trusted anyone enough to tell them.
But she trusted Peter, enough to let him in and tell him everything and let him love her.
"Olivia." He steps closer, until personal space is a forgotten courtesy not extended to her; until it becomes hard to see anything other than him; hard to imagine a life where she would see anything other than him. "Please, 'Livia, you have to remember. You can't forget us."
You can't forget us.
You can't forget this.
"Peter, I can't." In a rush of strangled and choked up words, she pushes him away – yet again – and runs; runs from the lab; runs from him; runs from the ghost of herself.
Olivia fears her tears might never stop.
It takes Walter only one more day to pronounce Amelia perfectly healthy, and she is back in her hotel room that very night, her last night in Boston before she leaves to face her own ghosts and go on with her life.
As Olivia drives to the hotel address Amelia had left her in case of emergencies, she is at war with herself because this makes no sense at all; what she's about to do is desperate and pathetic and potentially stupid. It's not even going to work and so she's going to break her own heart all over again.
But she has to try.
Two quick knocks at her door alert Amelia van der Velde to a visitor outside her door.
Waves of grief and desperation hit her before she can even move to open it and she knows immediately that it is the young agent, Olivia Dunham – the only person who can carry around that much pain and live with herself. Amelia thinks maybe she knows what Olivia is coming for, but she is unable to reconcile it with the agent's tough character.
Love has made others do crazier things, though.
She opens the door slowly, revealing a red-eyed Olivia Dunham, disheveled and desperate. She knows for certain what Olivia is going to ask of her before she can even pull herself together to make one last desperate plea.
Olivia Dunham is a swirling mess of grief, pain, desperation and lost love; single-minded to a point of reckless abandon, all she wants is a second chance – one that Amelia wants so badly to give to her. As she gathers her strength, she visibly grows smaller, as if she is folding into herself; a form of protection against the world; the cruel world that batters and bruises even now, as Olivia becomes a small child against the forces of nature and fate.
The wind cries outside but it is nothing when compared to the heart-broken Olivia; the night is darker than ever and Olivia stands out against the bleak surroundings, one last pawn in the game, refusing to be dominated.
"Please," She cries.
"Please help me remember."
THE END
And yes, that's the end.
Ouch! Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to throw eggs at a person?
But seriously, everyone. This is how it was going to end all along; in fact, I came up with the last scene and slowly worked my way backwards until I came up with this three-part fic. I really hope I was able to capture that kind of painful desperation Olivia would have to be in to reach out for help in the form of magic, but maybe I failed. I do so hope I didn't, though, because for me that's what the entire story hinges on, this one last scene.
No plans for any sort of follow-up piece to this but we'll see; never know what my mind might come up with next. Thank you all for your wonderful support and it has been, as always, a complete joy to write for the fandom.
Oh, and gold stars to those of you who got the title right!
Why not share your thoughts with me one last time?
E Salvatore,
November 2011.