Olivia: A Collection of Drabbles
By: AlleyKitty13 =(^.^)=
Hehe, I forgot to mention it in the last chapter but I own nothing , I claim to own nothing, I am a complete non-owner!
Ahem…enjoy.
Remembering Red
Peter
He remembers when he first got the call from Broyles it seemed like any other case. All business, all bring-your-father-and-meet-me-at-this-obscure-address-at-some-god-awful-early-hour.
But when Broyles told him to contact no one, especially Agent Dunham, Peter knew something was wrong. Broyles sounded strange, almost as if he was lacking his usual tough exterior and apathetic tone. So Peter listened without question, woke his father, and drove to Manhattan Memorial.
He remembers being met at the door by a petit nurse who ushered them into a dark observation room. Broyles was gazing intently through the window into the next room, but he walked over to intercept them before Peter could glimpse what was so important, what new phenomenon lay beyond that glass.
He thinks he remembers Broyles telling him to keep an open mind, to not jump to conclusions, only to be interrupted by Walter's quiet, "oh dear god…"
He thinks he remembers rushing over to see the next horror case he was supposed to solve.
He knows he remembers his world turning upside down the second he saw what lay beyond the glass.
She looked like she had been starved for weeks, her ribs visible through the soaking hospital gown she wore. Her hair was soaked as well, but instead of being darker it was shocking white like those victims that were being scared to death. Her arms were so thin, and she trembled as she tried to curl in on herself, to hide herself from the world.
There was no doubt in his mind which Olivia it was.
He remembers Broyles telling them some civilian found her; he remembers Walter demanding to know why no one was helping her, and he remembers seeing the pictures of the two EMTs she had set on fire. But he felt so detached, as if he's watching his life, as if this sick reality is happening to some other Peter.
He remembers Broyles calling out for him not to go in the room, but his feet lead him to her bedside. She's trembling, shaking from fear and exhaustion.
"Please make it stop. I'll be a good girl. I'll try not to remember. Please make it stop," she whispers into her arms, and his heart breaks even further.
He reaches out a hand - to touch her? to comfort her? to make sure she's real? – and she jumps away, finally looking him in the eyes.
Her eyes are completely bloodshot; no, green, no white, all red.
"Please make it stop," she begs him, and as she tries to reach for him, hands missing their target, he realizes that she can no longer see.
He's going to kill those sick bastards.
"Please make it stop," she begs again, bringing him back to reality as she finally grasps his shirt. "Please…"
He thinks he remembers holding her close and running his hands through her hair.
But all he can see is red.