A/N: I know I've all but abandoned this piece in pursuit of devoting time to other stories (and since Entrada rolled out). I do have some rough chapters to this piece plotted that I've decided to finally post once I'm done doing some quick editing. It's all AU now since Season three is finished, and I haven't decided if I'll put this on permanent hiatus or continue it. I guess we'll see.

-S.

It's cold and wet when he wakes the next morning, the rain pelting gently against the window to his bedroom. The noise should be soothing, but it only makes his stomach knot more at the heaviness of what he was to face that day. He wonders when he finally gave into the exhaustion of sleep.

He twists to look at the clock, just after 9 in the morning. He fingers the grit in his eye and rolls on his back to stare listlessly at the rainfall. In a few hours time they were going to electrocute Olivia in an attempt to restart her.

It doesn't sound any less crazy now as it did when Walter first suggested it. And it was crazy, he knows—but he still doesn't have any better solutions to bring her back. He had to trust Walter, had to believe this would work. What other choice did they have?

He rises to his feet as he rolls himself out of bed. Everything feels stiff; his knees crack loudly to accentuate his worn body. He feels the dread creep in low to sit smoldering in his abdomen but he pushes it aside. It was going to work.

He's out of his bedroom and padding down the hallway to the bathroom. The floorboards creak under his footsteps and each groan sounds like an accusation.

"Walter?" He calls down the stairs to an empty house. Walter must already be at Massive Dynamic or he never came home. Peter's not sure which. He isn't interested in spending any more time in the musty house than necessary.

He twists the handle to the hot water and hears the pipes whine in protest as the water sprays, filling the small bathroom in its foggy heat. He watches himself in the mirror before he's completely obscured by the steam. He stares back, hunched over the sink, hands astride keeping him upright. His eyes are dark and tired, his unshaven face pebbled in dark spots. He looks like hell.

"Here we go." He tells himself, scrubbing a hand over his tired face. He wants to both get out of the house and to Massive Dynamic to see her, and go back to bed to sleep for a few more house to avoid having to bear witness to strapping her down with electrodes.

"Get a grip." He chides, stripping down and stepping into the shower to let the hot water beat away on his tense muscles.

It's just after noon when he rolls into Massive Dynamic, tense and tired from the short flight from Boston. He feels nauseas as the elevator lurches upward, leading him to the twelfth floor and he sucks down the bad coffee in an attempt to keep alert.

The doors open and he freezes: the doors just opened to Olivia's floor. The Other Olivia's floor. Their Olivia was moved up to the next floor yesterday for prepping. Floor thirteen, how fitting he thinks sardonically. His back tightens under his coat and he's not sure why he stopped here. He has to catch the side of the closing door before he's out of the elevator, stomping down the hallway to get it over with.

He peaks into the other Olivia's room. She's sitting relaxed on the bed, her arms propped behind her head, justs staring at the ceiling, looking more comfortable than he feels. When she catches him staring, she lets out a smile. "Any luck yet?" She asks through the window. She's off the bed and sauntering to the window, a grin pulling at her mouth. "Let me know how she is, will ya?" She laughs.

He spins on his heel and makes his way to the stairs next to the elevator, throwing the heavy door open and stomping up the steps with so much force the sound reverberates off the concrete. His face feels hot and angry as he makes it to the correct floor. He swings the door shut with a clang.

Down past a few empty rooms he finds Walter shuffling around, preparing an ancient looking machine on a table that Peter recognizes with a twang of apprehension.

"Peter!" Walter exclaims excitedly when he notices his son. He sets down the electrodes on the empty bed and makes his way to Peter with outstretched arms. "Just in time." He smiles in a way that makes Peter uncomfortable.

"She's not a science experiment, Walter." Peter rebukes curtly. The smile fades from Walter's face and Peter instantly regrets his anger. He looks down at his father and notes his clothing.

"Did you sleep, Walter?" He asks in a kinder voice. Walter's already back to the machine, fingering the electrodes and Peter suspect that he's trying to work out nervous energy. The small box isn't larger than a briefcase, it's outside cased in wood with two knobs on the face flanking a meter like a watch. Walter looks drawn, stricken as he checks and double checks the electrodes winding their way out of the box like legs to some sort of bizarre jellyfish.

"Oh yes, Son." He waves Peter off. Peter makes a face at Walter's wrinkled clothing and Peter holds out the extra cup of coffee in silence. Walter looks at his with a brightened expression, taking it and opening the lid to smell the contents.

"Extra squirt of peppermint." Peter answers Walter's unasked question. It's strange how well his can communicate with his father now. He's not sure if he's comfortable with it yet. Walter takes a satisfied pull from the cup and they stand in silence, Peter's eyes never leaving the machine.

"How is she?" He asks without looking at his father.

Walter's mouth turns upward, the coffee too hot to his liking. He almost forgets to swallow before answering, coffee dribbling down his chin.

"She's perfectly fine, son." He soothes, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. He sees Peter's eyes are unfocused, staring at the wooden box with a mixture of horror and disgust warring on his face. Walter recognized that face of worry well: a face he inherited from Elizabeth. He places a hand on Peter's shoulder, pulling him from the trance to face him. The line in his forehead darkens and it makes Walter's heart break a little.

"Maybe we should call Rachel." Peter says aloud. It sounds like he's asking permission. Walter lets go of Peter's shoulder, his face hard.

"It's the only way, son." He says in a way that allows no more discussion. A sharp turn from Peter and Walter's looking at his son in defiance, "Do not forget that you are not the only one who wants to see Agent Dunham safely returned." Peter's jaw clenches and he has that dark look of anger flashing in his eye it makes Walter shrink a little. The moment turns sour in the air.

"Peter, when did you get in?" A voice asks behind them, pulling two heads toward the door. Nina walks in, and noticing the tense moment between the two, smiles warmly. "How was your flight?" She asks sweetly.

"Fine." Peter clips, turning away from his father and glaring down at his cold coffee. She nods at Peter before moving her attention to Walter.

"She's ready." She says and Peter's back stiffens again. The coffee sloshes in the cup and he looks down to notice his hand shaking. He hides it from Walter but Nina notices it, taking Walter by the arm and leading him to the open door.

"Walter, why don't you go check on Olivia before we move her? Make sure she's comfortable?" She says brightly, and Walter nods with a small smile. He turns to look toward his son, But Peter's eyes stay trained on his coffee. He looks back to Nina, who smiles encouragingly. Walter slips out and disappears down the hallway.

Nina's heels click on the linoleum as she comes to stand aside Peter, staring down at the box.

"How are you doing?" She asks straightforward. Peter's mouth pulls a little, rolling his tongue around in his mouth.

"Fine." He answers.

She nods, pursing her lips and sizing him up.

"It must be difficult," She starts, wrapping her hands behind her back. Peter's head tilts upward in question, "having been deceived by someone you care about." She notes in a way that makes Peter think she's not talking about Olivia at all.

He nods, feeling the catch in his throat, and swallowing it back down. Nina places a soft hand on his shoulder, giving him a quick awkward pat.

"Is this the right thing?" He asks more to himself than to Nina. The box seems menacing now, frightening almost.

"Sometimes the right decision isn't the easiest." She laments.

"What do I tell her?" He feels his guard slipping, his voice barely registering above a whisper. The unsaid things he's most terrified about pulling to surface and making themselves known.

"I've known Agent Dunham for some time." Nina says, letting out a heavy sigh. "And you know as well as I that she's strong. If anyone can make it through it, it's her. " There's a note of pride in her voice that Peter wishes he could match.

Peter allows himself for the first time in days to smile. It feels foreign on his face, like someone else's.

There's a thunderous crash down the hallway, filling the quiet of the room with bursts of sound. Nina lets out a little gasp of surprise as Peter drops his coffee, feeling it splatter like a mini bomb when it hits the floor, spraying his legs.

There's another crashing noise followed by exclaiming voices, little clips of words that Peter can't make out. He bolts out of the room, eyes wide in shock and surprise, wondering what in the hell was going on.

He sprints down the hallway toward the noise, his heart beating furiously in his chest as his feet thunk on their way to Olivia's room. He's in a full sprint when he makes the short distance there, almost sliding across the floor in his hurry. He scans her room with a hard glance: Walter's face down on the floor, surrounded by overturned lab equipment. A security guard lay crumpled beside him. Fear almost crippling him as he slides on his knees to Walter, turning him over to check the damage.

"Walter!" Peter shouts down at him, tapping the side of his face. Walter's eyes flutter open and Peter feels relief wash over him like a fountain. The guard is already trying to get up beside them. Peter's eyes find the empty bed that should be occupied by Olivia, the clasps of the restraints open.

"What happened?" He grinds angrily at the guard, helping Walter up into a sitting position. Nina rushes into the room behind him, dropping to help pull Walter up. Walter looks at her with a confused smile, sputtering out a gargled "Nina? Is that you?" That makes her rolls her eyes in response.

"She clocked me when I was unhooking her," the man grumbled, rubbing his head, "grabbed my tazer and my gun." The relief Peter felt only seconds ago was replaced with the prickle of panic.

"Which way did she go?" Peter's already up off the ground. He looks to Nina, who's already got her phone out, shouting "Lock down the building." with an air of control.

The guard chucks a thumb to the right and Peter's out the door in a flat run again without looking over his shoulder. He has to be the first to find her. He knows how dangerous Olivia Dunham can be and he knows what she's capable of when she thinks she's in trouble.

He turns the corner in time to see the door slam shut to the stairs. His heart picks up as he throws open the door, scanning the stairs to see if he can see her direction. The door slams the next flight down and he's taking the stairs two at a time to follow her. The door swings open as he barrels through it, arms pumping at his sides.

He turns the corner and is stopped in his tracks.

Olivia stands not fifteen feet away from him, the tazer in one hand, and the gun in the other. He red hair hangs limply down the back of her white hospital scrubs, her bare feet poking out the bottom of the too large pants. She's staring through the window of the room, her arms slack at her sides and her face white.

Peter doesn't dare say anything, slowing his pace to soft languid movements to keep from startling her. He stops breathing, holding up a hand, palm open in surrender. His eyes dance from the gun in her hand to her face. He doesn't bother to shift his focus to where she's looking; he knows what room they're standing outside of.

He's only a few feet away now, he could stroke her cheek he was so close…

"It's me." She whispers aloud, startling Peter. He withdraws his hand, waiting to see what she does next. She turns her head and looks at him, her face sad and confused; her eyebrows knit together almost obscured by the auburn bangs.

"Yeah." He answers back, at a loss to say anything else. He spares a glance in the room: Olivia's off the bed, arms crossed. Her eyes shift between the two. Peter swallows hard.

"How?" she asks and Peter's not sure how to respond. He chances another step in her direction. She tilts her chin at him, looking up at him a foggy stare. There's a flicker of something in her eye that gives Peter a swirl of hope. He doesn't lose focus on the gun that hanging at her side. He could reach out and grab it.

She stares at him for a hard second and Peter clenches his jaw. He can almost see the cogs swirling around in her brain. He stays statue still, afraid he'd break the progress if he twitches. Her face searches his for a moment, her mouth trembling. Peter breaks into a sweat.

"Peter?" She says in a split second of lucidity. Peter sequesters to a smile, a breath rattling out of his chest. He nods, taking another step closer to her. "It's me," he says encouragingly, "it's me." She tries at a smile, turning her head to look at the other Olivia. Peter wants so much to touch her, to give her an encouraging squeeze of the arm, but he's incapable of doing anything other than standing there.

"I'm going to help you." He says in a tone meant for reassurance, but it comes out like a plea. She doesn't look at him, but he continues anyway. "But I need you to give me the gun, Olivia." She does tilt her head at that, visibly shaken. Her face is so white his mind screeches back to the hospital the previous year when he thought she was dead.

Her mouth opens, undecided, as her arm slowly rises, gun outstretched between them. All he has to is grab it.

There's a clang of the metal door hitting the wall behind them behind them. Security caught up with them, two new uniformed men with guns outstretched. One of them yells, "Drop the weapon!"

Peter's head whips around and he outstretches a hand at them. "Back off!" He orders, swinging his attention back to Olivia and his heart drops. All the recognition from before is gone, her face blank and twisted in fury. The gun that he was so close to having his fingers on was now pointed directly at his head.

Shit. He thinks as he raises both arms, waiting.

Shit.