Chapter 13: Trial by Ordeal

Emily Dickinson:

If any sink, assure that this, now standing—
Failed like Themselves—and conscious that it rose—
Grew by the Fact, and not the Understanding
How Weakness passed—or Force—arose—

Tell that the Worst, is easy in a Moment—
Dread, but the Whizzing, before the Ball—
When the Ball enters, enters Silence—
Dying—annuls the power to kill.

At the sound of the gunshot, Olivia jolted, and her eyes snapped shut.

She could smell the gunpowder, but felt no pain.

Her eyes opened slowly. She glared at Broyles. "It was a blank," she surmised.

"Of course," he said, putting his gun back in its holster.

Agent Dunham was looking over readings from the monitoring devices still connected to Olivia. "Her heart rate went up when you pulled the gun on her and spiked when you pulled the trigger. The amount of force exerted against her restraints are within normal parameters for someone with a rush of adrenalin. These readings indicate she's as human as I am."

"I apologize for the deception," Broyles said. He released her restraints.

"No problem," she replied, rubbing the bruises developing where her wrists had thrashed against the restraints the moment the gun went off. "So I'm free to go?"

"Not exactly. Until we can figure out how to get you back where you came from, you'll be under the same restrictions as Peter Bishop. We will keep your gun and the communication device you brought with you for the time being. And I would like to share information with you on the fringe cases we both have worked. I already have information on your cases from debriefing Peter Bishop, but as he's a civilian consultant and you're an FBI agent, I'm sure your information will be more complete, especially if you share our Olivia Dunham's remarkable memory."

Olivia nodded. Her heartbeat was starting to return to normal. "What are the restrictions you have Peter under?"

"Unless he's assisting on our cases, he's not allowed to go anywhere outside his house unescorted, to keep his contact with the civilians of our world to a minimum."

"I can live with that," she decided after a moment's consideration. She looked up at him. He was being conciliatory, probably feeling guilty over his ruse. "Can I see him now?"

The door to Peter's cell opened. Lincoln was standing there. "You're free to go," he said.

Lincoln didn't look happy. He appeared upset, maybe a little ill.

Peter stood. "I can go?"

"You don't officially exist, so there wouldn't be much point in pressing charges for the stolen car, and Broyles decided you weren't likely to run away again, since we have what you want."

Peter followed Lincoln out of the cell. "So did you meet Olivia?"

"Yeah. She seems nice."

They arrived at the lobby just as Broyles and the two Olivias came through the front doors. Olivia had showered and been given fresh clothes to wear—probably a spare outfit on loan from her counterpart.

Peter smiled and sprinted to her. "Olivia."

She smiled at him, but her face was drawn and pale. Something had happened to her.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said.

He knew she was lying. He'd always been good at picking up on when she was just pretending to be okay.

It had to have something to do with the tests they'd run on her. He placed his hand on her arm protectively and glared at Broyles and Dunham. "Can I take her home now?"

"Yes," Broyles said. "But don't even think of pulling anything like that again."