A/N: A BIG THANK YOU FOR ALL THE REVIEWS ON THE LAST CHAPTER! The love is overwhelming and wonderful!

Thanks to Ambre for reading, opinionating and generally inspiring :)

I'll try and update 1-2 a week, so it'll be fairly regular and hopefully you'll all enjoy the journey :)

There is no coming to consciousness without pain.

CARL JUNG

Chapter Two: Pain

"OLIVIA!" Twice his palms beat against the thick glass until cracks spread out like spider webs, rippling through the window. "Olivia! Please!" His voice is a half-broken plea, an incantation which holds her prisoner. She cannot look away, cannot escape his desperate call, his haunted eyes. The water rises up in the carriage behind him and soon he is engulfed in it. She stands, watching him slowly drown and he is beautiful, she thinks. But then the glass shatters and water, salty like the ocean comes flooding out towards her. She should run, but where to? The concept of home has become foreign. And she allows herself to be swept up, submerged and immersed. She is subaqueous and weightless and suddenly free. And he is there, those hands which were pressed up against the glass now on her waist. His fingers, warm against her skin under the cool water. His touch like a photograph taken when she was a child. A memory long forgotten. His touch like winter nights and tangled sheets. His mouth pulls into a smile and he whispers something but it forms a bubble and rushes to the surface before she can hear it. She watches it float higher and higher until it disappears. And then he's gone. And she's drowning.

"Livvy! Hey, shhh. You're alright."

Her eyelids feel heavy and she struggles to blink, but she does and frowns against the bright florescent lights. Her throat is scratchy, her mouth is dry and her entire body feels thick with pain. She turns her head slowly to see Charlie leaning forward in the chair next to her bed. His face is a tableau of relief and exhaustion.

"Hey there, kiddo."

"Charlie?" She attempts to clear her throat and he springs up to get her a glass of water. She struggles to sit up and he helps her take a sip. "Where am I?"

"Brooklyn Hospital Centre." He gently puts his hand on her shoulder. "Liv, you got hit in the shoulder and the chest. Doctor said if you hadn't been wearin' a vest it woulda been fatal."

She glances down at her left arm, which is fixed in a blue sling. It hurts like hell, along with the rest of her body. "Ferelli!" She tries to sit up straight but fails.

"Hey, take it easy," Charlie, holds her shoulder firmly. "Lincoln chased him for almost a block. Shot him too, but the sonofabitch got away."

She swallows hard. "So it was all for nothing. And now he knows we're on to him."

"We'll get him, okay?" He waits until her eyes meet his. "We'll get him," he says again, his face filled with conviction.

She nods once and he sits back down with a sigh.

They sit for a while with only the methodical beeping of the heart monitor breaking the silence.

"Liv?"

She turns her head to look at him. His brown eyes warm and in them, she finds comfort. "Who's Peter?" he asks softly.

Two syllables escape his lips and she feels like her heart's about to explode. Her pulse begin to race, she feels it, drumming at her temple. The tiny hairs on her arms stand up as if someone's just opened a window. She has no explanation for this reaction and that scares her.

"I don't know," she says honestly, despite the fact that the heart monitor has begun to play a faster tempo. "Why?"

"You said the name." Charlie's gaze flickers to the beeping machine then back to her face, "You okay?"

"Charlie, when did I say the name?"

"Before you passed out. Just before the EMTs arrived. You called out for someone named Peter."

She turns her head back to the ceiling, taking deep breaths. Olivia's been involved in enough Fringe cases over the past few years to know that she is not okay. Something is happening. She doesn't know what or why or how she's connected, but she's been through enough to know that is definitely not okay.

The monitor slowly returns to a moderate beep. "I guess I was delirious."

"Well," Charlie crosses a leg over his knee. "You've got two weeks to figure it out."

Her head snaps back to him. "Oh, c'mon, Charlie. Two weeks?"

"Doctor's orders," he says with a barely concealed smile.

"It's just my shoulder," she protests. "Besides, you know how many hours you'll have to spend at the office if I'm not there to pick up your slack?" She attempts to lighten the mood. The thought of two weeks alone at home, two weeks with no distractions, two weeks staring up at her ceiling and that crack above the bed…it's almost unbearable.

But Charlie smiles, "As it turns out, Sonia's parents are in town for the next two weeks in time for Sophy's first birthday. Now of course they could have booked into a hotel, but they insisted on being close so they're staying with us. So, if working late means I get to skip cozy dinners with the in-laws..." He shoots her a half-apologetic look. "Look, we'll give it a week, okay?"

Olivia rolls her eyes but returns his smile. "A week. Okay." She looks down at her shoulder and sighs.

"Hey," Charlie says, meeting her troubled gaze, "You're gonna be fine."

...

She remembers lying curled up in the arms of a lover one warm Sunday morning. He looked down at her and quoted a line from a Neruda poem she doesn't remember the name of:

Beneath the earth

beneath your skin

beneath your eyes, nothing.

His voice was soothing, lulling her back to sleep. She had tilted her head up to look at him. "Where are you?" he had asked.

"I'm here," she said, stroking her fingers down his cheek. "With you."

He smiled then, but his beautiful eyes were filled with sadness.

A month later, he was transferred to the CDC division in Texas. She had loved him, loved him the way she had loved John and the few that came before him. Somehow, though it was never enough.

...

Olivia swallows down the rest of her whiskey in one gulp and refills her glass. She hasn't taken any of her pain medication – it tends to make her drowsy and she resists the idea of sleep. Whiskey's the only thing that takes the edge off – or at least that's what she's telling herself.

She almost jumps when her phone rings and curses herself. As a child she went through a phase when every noise, every yell would make her flinch and she hates to think that she's gone back there.

"Dunham," she says, answering the call, the standard 'hello' having long been replaced.

There's a second of crackled static before her sister's voice breaks through. "Liv, hey. I'm on my way, just stopping for a bottle of vino. So, white or red?"

Olivia brings her hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Aw, Rach, you don't have to do that. I've got-"

"Whiskey," Rachel finishes for her on a laugh. "And maybe that Vodka that was there since last Christmas. Trust me, Liv, this is better."

She smiles, "Okay, point taken. I'll see you soon then?"

"Yeah. Bye."

She puts down the phone and sighs loudly. It's not that she doesn't want to see Rachel, it's more that she doesn't want to see anyone, which she understands is a complete paradox considering her reluctance to be alone with her thoughts, but she feels unbalanced, like she's teetering on the brink of something and she's not quite sure if she's going to fall or gain her ground. It's a frustrating feeling, being on edge and not knowing why. She vaguely remembers the seconds leading up to the gunshot, but it's all become warped in dream-like confusion. She remembers being distracted by something, but all she sees when she closes her eyes is the same spectre, who has flitted through her dreams since before she can remember. As a child, she would dream of a boy, as an adult she dreams of a man. She couldn't describe him if she wanted to. He's all shadows and shade, disappearing with the sunlight and leaving her with no more than empty desire. It's a void she wonders if everyone carries, an unfulfilled part inside which seems to scream "There is more."

She takes another sip of whiskey and closes her eyes. Self-reflection is never good on an empty stomach. Turning her attention back to the files spread out before her, Olivia picks up Lincoln Lee's report of the Ferelli incident. He's a good agent, she thinks, flipping through his notes. Not as self-assured as his alternate, but he has a quiet confidence that she rather likes. He'd be a good addition to the team. She stops suddenly, her eye catching one particular sentence. "…when, after shooting Ferelli in the leg, I noticed that his blood was a silver metallic colour. Based on my description of the blood, chem-division speculates that it may be due to certain narcotics taken by Ferelli." She grabs her pen and scribbles silver blood on her notepad. It sparks something though she has no idea what at this point. She taps her pen against the table in frustration, staring at those two words. They mean something, she's sure of it. It's another few minutes of aimless taping and staring before she's jolted by an insistent knocking on the door.

Olivia smiles despite herself. Rachel's the only person she can think of who is possibly more impatient than she is. She hurries to open unlatch and open the door.

Except it's not Rachel at the door.

The man standing on the other side is completely drenched, his hair plastered to his forehead, his clothes soaked through. He's trembling and breathing hard and staring at her as if he's never seen anything more incredible. "Olivia, oh god."

In two steps, she's in his arms.

For a second, she cannot breath, and it's like she's drowning all over again. Except this is real, she's pretty sure that this is real. His arms around her are solid and tight. He's almost crushing her, squeezing her injured arm against her body so that pain rips through her, but she can barely feel it. All she feels is the icy-wet from his clothing soaking through her own, right to her very skin. Her instincts are clashing as part of her wants to push this stranger away, reclaim her personal space. She slips a hand between their bodies in an attempt to forcefully shove him off her, but something else, something deeper and more elemental takes over and she finds herself fisting his soaked shirt in her fingers and pulling him even closer. It doesn't make sense, but neither does the fact there's this man in her living room, whispering her name like he's known her his entire life.

She tries to speak, but she's in an inexplicable state of paralysis. Like this is happening in slow-motion and she's watching it all from the outside. He smells of rain and smoke, she thinks absently.

His face is buried in her hair and she shivers as his nose brushes her neck, his skin is like ice. "I knew I'd find you." he says in a voice she heard in a dream. He brushes his stubbled cheek against hers and tangles his fingers in her hair, holding on to her as if she is the only solid thing in a vaporous world. "Walter was right all along, when I saw you on the subway I knew. As long as we're in the same place at the-"

"Liv?"

Olivia's eyes fly open as if she's been awoken from a spell of some kind. Rachel is standing in the doorway, her arms hugging a paper bag presumably filled with groceries, her face knotted with concern.

"Liv, why's your door open?"

Olivia stares at her sister for a second, feeling completely disoriented. What the hell just happened?

"I, um…" she clears her throat. "I don't know."

Rachel drops the bag on the ground and walks towards her. "Olivia, god, your shirt is completely wet." Rachel waits until their gazes meet. "Are you okay?"

Olivia slowly shakes her head and confesses softly, "No, I don't think I am."

.