VII.

It'd been his idea to head back to her apartment first, because she hadn't been able to sleep in an actual bed for nearly two days now, and strangely enough, he was feeling tired as well. Olivia certainly didn't seem happy that Peter made it clear that he wasn't going to stay anywhere but her apartment, but he wasn't about to leave her alone, not when he still feared for her life. What he'd told her had been mostly bullshit: that Walternate would no longer be going after her because of what the Observer had said; really, he had no idea.

When they arrived, at an ungodly hour of the morning, she tossed him a blanket and pillow and gestured to the couch, before shutting the door to her bedroom and leaving him alone. It was exactly as they'd left her, though he hoped that they'd come on better terms than when they'd left. Olivia still hadn't warmed up to him, though her words gave him hope. The mere fact that she hadn't thought he was completely out of his mind after he'd told her their story was a reason for optimism.

He feigned sleep, unable to do more than lie there with his eyes closed, still dressed in pants and a button-down, his suit jacket and tie thrown across the back of an armchair. He could hear her, tossing and turning in her bed, and wanted to do nothing more than to join her, if only because of the reasoning that they could not-sleep together. Olivia had always struggled with insomnia, and in the past, they'd spent sleepless nights together, talking, watching television…doing more. That was before the world had forgotten him.

An hour passed, and he faded into a stupor, not sleeping, yet not quite awake. Worried was an understatement, because truly the fate of the universe was resting on his shoulders, and he was coming up blank with ideas. His only faith rested in Walter, though that faith was strong, because if anyone could think of some way to cure the world's problems, it was his pseudo-father. A light flickered on in the kitchen, and he heard the cadence of her bare feet on the tiled floor.

Peter waited a moment, giving her time to herself, listening as she bustled about, apparently attempting to keep the noise down in case he was sleeping. Then, he pushed the blankets away and swung his legs over the edge of the couch, standing and moving toward the doorway that led to the kitchen. She sat at the table, her back to him. One hand was cupped around a steaming mug of what he presumed to be coffee (caffeinated even at this time of night, of course; she never drank anything but), the other at the back of her neck, beneath her hair. She removed it as she heard him make his presence known with a clearing of his throat.

"I guess sleeping didn't work out so well," he said, his voice more sardonic than joking. It would've probably been in his best interest to not turn the situation into something worse than it already was, but their condition didn't lend itself to helping him out with that.

Olivia shook her head, still not looking at him. "When the world is ending, the last thing I can do is sleep."

He moved toward her, taking a seat across from her, his eyes on the top of her head, her eyes staring into the depths of her coffee cup. "We have time," he said softly, now in an effort to reassure her. "Our universe isn't going to fall apart right this instant. We have time to fix it."

"How much time?" Now, their eyes met, and hers were darker than he'd ever seen them. She looked so utterly exhausted.

"I don't know."

"Well, that's no help to me. If we don't know what we're working with, then that's just another disadvantage we have to deal with, and we are already dealing with more than we can handle."

"We'll fix it."

"Bullshit." There, she'd called him on it. He'd always been so quick with a retort, but not then, because this was Olivia he was facing. He couldn't con her into believing his words; she could see right through him, had always been able to.

"We can try." The words came out strangled, past the lump in his throat, because he was having trouble containing his emotions. Here he was in her kitchen, and his mind still held many memories of sitting in this very room, discussing the latest case over breakfast, as they got ready for their day. And on the couch he'd been sleeping on, where so much had happened, and at the same time, nothing had. His life was a paradox—he didn't exist, his memories didn't exist, and yet, they did. "I promise, Olivia, we'll try."

Her hands rested on the table between them, and he wanted nothing more than to reach out and wrap his own around them, to offer what little support he could. But he feared it would only make it worse, because he knew her trust in him still wavered on the edge of non-existence, and he didn't want to destroy the slight bond they'd already formed.

"You should try to get some sleep," he said, gesturing with a pointed them back toward the door.

She ignored him. "When you told me about your life—about our life, in the past—you said that Walter had taken you from the Other Side and raised you as if you were his own son." Peter nodded, and she continued, "Well, I'm happy for you, that'll you'll be able to see him again." It was strange, he thought, for her to say something so empathetic, when she'd just previously been so hostile toward him, though her tone still was a strange mixture of sympathy and antagonism. Olivia stood then, dumping her half-empty coffee cup in the sink before leaving him alone in the kitchen without another word.

His legs itched to follow her, and if it had been any other situation, he would have. Their timelines had been torn apart, and she was now living a life separate from the one they'd lived together, the one he still existed in. He, selfishly, considered it to be unfair that he remembered her, while she still so stubbornly refused to remember him, and who he was to her. It wasn't her fault; truly, it was his own. He'd made the decision to allow her to live, while he passed into non-existence, and what he'd believed to be death. But he'd been forced into something worse than death—living without her, and without Walter, as he had before.

#

He never slept, and from the looks of it, neither did Olivia. He found her again in the kitchen in the morning, hovering over the coffee pot.

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day," he said, leaning against the counter, her back turned to him. She did not acknowledge that she'd heard him. "Coffee isn't much of a breakfast."

She turned, pressing a mug into his hands, avoiding his eyes. She was already dressed for work, in her familiar neutral colors, her hair twisted back into a neat braid. "We can stop on the way to the lab to get you some clothes. By the looks of it, you've been wearing that outfit for a while." It was true. He'd been given the uniform of an Observer, though still had no idea of their normal routine—perhaps the Observers were able to avoid usual human necessities, but he certainly was not.

She allowed him to shower, and had set out a t-shirt and sweatpants for him that would do until new clothes were bought. He didn't ask why she had clothes that fit him; he didn't think he wanted to know the answer. After they'd made the quick stop, the trunk of the car loaded with a couple bags of clothing, they were off to the lab, and Peter's stomach was eating away at itself.

"How long are you going to stay with me?" she asked on the way, her voice even, betraying absolutely no emotion.

He could've told her that he never expected (read: wanted) to leave, but he feared it would be too overwhelming, and so, he simply replied, "I don't know."

"Well, now that it's come down to this," she continued, "I'm not going to let you leave until this is all settled. Whether you fix this or not, you're not going anywhere until it's over with."

At least she still wanted him to stick around.

The Kresge Building looked almost as if it were glowing in the morning sunlight, though Olivia took no notice, striding through the doors with Peter hot on her heels. It was the same building, the same hallway, and yet, it had a different feel to it. Darker, somehow. Despite the horrors they'd gone through in that very lab, it'd always been like a second home, where they'd made just as many good memories as they had bad, if not more.

This was not a home. It was simply a lab; a cold, dank room, that smelled of chemicals, and nothing more. There was no waft of cinnamon, or some other pastry or fried food. There was no music. There was barely even any light, except for that which flickered from the overhead fluorescents. If there hadn't been movement from the corner of the room once they entered, Peter would've thought the entire place to be abandoned; a trap Olivia had set for him.

It was Astrid, hurrying toward them in a flurry of limbs, nearly throwing herself onto Olivia, then stopping herself, for a reason Peter couldn't quite pinpoint.

"Thank God you're back, Olivia," she gasped, and Olivia nodded, her mouth tight. "We were all so worried, we had no idea where you were—it's not like you to go off like that, but I'm glad to see you're alright."

"It wasn't my choice to leave unannounced, believe me." She gestured toward Peter, who'd been standing a little ways off during the greeting, eyes roaming the laboratory. "Agent Farnsworth, this is Peter Bishop. He'll be…working with us, for the time being."

"'Bishop'?" Astrid repeated, with a snicker. "Not any relation to Walter, I wouldn't think?"

Olivia caught his eye for a moment. "Not any that he's mentioned." Good. At least she was willing to keep what he'd told her between the two of them, at least for the time being. Their dynamic was strange, though; the use of Astrid's last name, the obvious distance that was a cause of this. Olivia and Astrid had never been particularly close, he knew, but compared to this, they'd been the best of friends. "Listen, can you give us some time with Walter? I know he'd be more comfortable if you were here, but I think it's time for him to be able to deal with some things on his own, too."

Astrid shifted on the balls of her feet. "Well, if you think it'd be best."

She left, leaving Peter and Olivia standing in front of the door. She turned to him. "You told me your entire story—our story, I guess—but I'm going to warn you: I assume that the Walter Bishop I know is nothing like the one from your past." She spoke in a hushed tone, apparently to keep Walter from hearing, wherever he was. "He lives here, literally. He hasn't left the lab for more than a couple hours at a time since he was released from St. Claire's three years ago. He only speaks when absolutely necessary, and when he does, it often doesn't make sense. He doesn't take well to strangers. And, he hates, completely despises, the fact that we've created a Bridge. He thinks the universes should remain separate."

"As do I," Peter interjected, and she shook her head, shushing him.

"I'm just warning you. You may not get through to him."

He followed her to the side room, where he'd remembered Olivia having an office, where she'd worked while not at the bureau. Apparently, in this strange limbo of a universe, without his existence, it now worked as a makeshift bedroom for Walter. The man himself sat on the bed, his back to them, arms wrapped around his body, pulling the knitted sweater more tightly round himself. He was fixated on a tiny television screen in the corner of the room, making no intimation that he'd heard them come in.

Olivia cleared her throat, knocking lightly on the door, though it was open. "Walter?"

He turned slowly, and Peter bit back a gasp—or a wail, as it were. He was more haggard than Peter had ever seen him, his face thin, skin wrinkled and dry. It looked as if he hadn't shaved in quite a few days, and a thin layer of gray hair had grown. His eyes were sunken into his head, dark circles beneath them. He was missing that spark of life he'd always had, even just after being released from the mental institution. He barely looked alive.

"Hello, Agent Dunham." His voice was monotone; he didn't even look at Peter. And he felt it deep in the pit of his stomach, an ache, adding on to the pain of still knowing that Olivia didn't recognize him, either.

It was natural curiosity; to wonder what the world would be like if you didn't exist in it. It was not his own ego forcing him to come to the conclusion that the universe had been a better place when he'd existed; the support was all around, wherever he looked. The man who'd become his surrogate father was holed up in the bowels of Harvard, living no sort of life he'd ought to.

Olivia kept her voice soft, though he could hear the impatience leaking through. "Walter, you have a visitor. His name is Peter. He's going to be helping us with something." She'd strategically left his last name out.

"Peter?" He stood, turning to face the two of them, nearly bent in half at the hip. He hobbled forward. He peered more closely at the man who had, such a short time ago, been a son to him. Peter willed the memories to return, for Walter to remember him, to help him fix the world. "I always told Elizabeth that if we ever had a son, we'd name him Peter." Olivia seemed surprised at this admission. "You look like her, you know. Which is strange, I suppose, since you are obviously not any relative of hers or mine." He frowned, eyeing Olivia. "He isn't from the Other Side, is he?"

"Of course not," she lied. "I know how you feel about them." Here, apparently, the hostilities were not one-sided. Walter was just as antagonistic as Walternate was. "Let's go take a seat. We have to discuss some things with you."

"Can't we wait?" He waved a hand back toward the television. "There's a program on.."

"Walter," she said firmly, backing out the doorway, "this is more important than that, I'm sure."

Peter moved forward, a crease forming in the middle of his forehead, blinking to force back a sudden spurt of emotion. "Please, I'd really like to speak to you."

Walter said nothing, though his acquiescence was evident as he followed the two of them into the center of the lab, where they all took a seat, surrounding a computer that displayed streaming data from the Bridge.

"Peter and I visited Massive Dynamic last night."

"And how is Nina doing?" At least their relationship seemed to be intact.

"I'm sorry Walter, we didn't see her. It was late. But that's irrelevant. Peter wanted to see the data, and I thought it would be good to have a fresh set of eyes take a look at it." She brought up the data that had led Peter to the conclusion about the damage the Bridge was causing. "Peter, why don't you explain?" After the cynicism from her the past few days, the civility was unexpected, but certainly welcomed. He knew it was just an act, to keep from scaring Walter off.

He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the surface between them. This man sitting in front of him was just a shell of the Walter he'd known, and it made him, again, wonder why the Observers had brought him into this hell.

Perhaps it was for this reason, to save the universes.

Again.

"I understand you're not a fan of the Bridge." He lips turned up into a sort of grim caricature of a smile.

Walter stared at him. "The universes are meant to be apart. I made the mistake of joining them once before, for the purpose of my own curiosity. It shouldn't be happening again. It's not meant to be."

"Exactly my sentiments." He brought his finger to the computer screen. "All of this data shows that what you're saying is right, that the Bridge is causing more damage than I'm sure anyone intended." Though Walter wasn't aware of it—and Olivia hadn't been until he'd told her his story, and even then, he was doubtful she still fully believed him—it hadn't been Peter's intention to cause so much damage by bringing both universes together. The blame was off of him for now, but the guilt was still there. "So, we need to stop it."

"We can't just stop it." Walter stood, moving toward a chalkboard nearby. Olivia leaned in toward Peter as Walter busied himself with a drawing, his back turned to them.

"I've never seen him like this," she murmured, her warm breath lingering on his ear. "Usually, it's all I can do to just get his attention. You've gotten it, and managed to hold it."

He smirked. "Believe me now?"

She cocked a brow at him, drawing back from him. Walter turned toward the two once again, gesturing toward what he'd drawn on the board. "If we first attempt to break the connection between the two universes, both o ddewill simply fall apart, due to the damage that has already begun to form in the fabric of both. But—!" He paused, the chalkboard screeching as he brought the chalk along it, with the enthusiasm of his movement. "If we repair the damage, then we can safely draw both universes apart, without any further harm."

"Okay Walter," said Olivia, "but how do we repair the damage?"

He puffed out his chest a bit. "Well, Walternate will have to be willing to work with us. Together, we will need to figure out a way to…" His voice faltered a bit, and he looked at Peter, as if truly seeing him for the first time. "Who are you?"

"Walter, I already told you—"

"Yes, yes." He was growing agitated, speaking curtly over Olivia, moving toward the both of them. "I know, but you never mentioned a full name."

"Peter Bishop." It was Peter who said it, keeping his expression as stoic as possible.

"Bishop? Strange. And you look so familiar.."

Olivia's eyes darted back and forth, obvious worry coloring her face. "We should go."

"How do I know you?"

Peter shook his head. "You don't." It pained him to say it; struck something deep within him. It had felt as if he'd been walking through a dream, though now, everything was becoming clearer. This wasn't a dream. It was the cold, harsh reality, of the universe that had deserted him, and these people—strangers, really—had lived without him.

Walter had been imprisoned, and now, this was nearly as bad. Olivia had been killed, and though she was here, alive, she looked at him with mistrust, despite what he'd told her. His throat tightened.

"You don't know me, but I wish you did."

"Peter." Olivia put a hand on his arm. "We're leaving." She turned to Walter. "I'll schedule a meeting with Walternate tomorrow. We'll discuss how to fix the problem then. For now, try to get some sleep, okay?"

They left Walter standing there, in the middle of his lab, quite confused.

"That's all there is to it?" said Peter, nearly jogging to keep up with her through the halls of Harvard. "All you have to do is 'schedule a meeting'?"

"With the Bridge, going to the Other Side is as easy as walking through a door." She patted her side. "And, if he still does try to kill me, now I'm prepared."