She is Olivia Dunham, and so, on the day the world falls apart, she fights desperately to pick up the pieces, to put things back as they should be. Never mind that this is her nightmare come to life, it doesn't matter that she is bloodied and battered, the only thing she needs to do is to find her, to find the one person in her world who hasn't been touched by the weird and the terrible, to protect her innocence for just a little bit longer. So she pushes her way through the EMTs, through the wounded and dying, shoves aside anyone who gets in her way, calls her name all the while, holds on to the hope that in just a moment, she will see that little face peering up at her.
Every second she spends looking for her daughter seems like an eternity to her, as time seems to slow down, trapping her in slow motion while her thoughts and her fears speed ahead. And her fears have had three years to fester and grow, three years to take root in her soul, so today as they spring back to the surface, she struggles to hold on to hope.
She's gone. She can't be gone! She's here somewhere. You know she's not. You didn't deserve her. I love her. I'll find her. She was never really yours. You didn't love her enough. I am her mother and she is mine and I will find her!
But as she searches that sea of faces without finding the one that is as familiar to her as her own, her heart starts to sink. She glances around frantically then, crazy with fear, searching for an anchor as the world starts to blur around her. Now she calls out his name rather than hers, needing to find her husband, because they have always been stronger together, and if he's with her she knows they can find Etta, can save her from the destruction that surrounds them today. She needs him, because together they are unstoppable.
*****
He is Peter Bishop, and therefore, on the day his world is shattered, he will not rest until his family is intact again, until he has corrected his failure. When he finds his wife, when she is alive, she is alright, he begins to breathe again, until he hears those awful words: "No children were brought in."
But he can't bring himself to simply accept that statement, refuses to believe that his daughter is missing until he has confirmed it for himself, so he moves through the chaos with a single purpose. He shouts her name like a plea, hoping against hope that she will be there to hear him, that he can find her and pick her up in his arms and never let her go again.
The need to find Etta is so strong that he is oblivious to everything else around him, doesn't even realize that his wife is also calling out the same name, her voice and his combining to echo their daughter's name across the mass of injured and desperate strangers. But when her voice switches to cry out his name instead, he instinctively responds, momentarily sets aside his search for his daughter to find and comfort his wife.
He has no words of solace to offer her as he rushes to her side, no answers to the fear he sees written across her features. Instead, he simply pulls her into his arms, holds her close as she shivers against him. And as they cling to each other, desperate souls trying to stay afloat in a sea of grief and terror, he speaks the only reassurance that he can give her, the words that become his vow both to her and to his daughter.
"We aren't going to give up until we find her. That's a promise."
*****
As the days go by, turn into weeks, and they are still no closer to finding their little girl, she begins to wish he had never made that promise, because every day they search pushes them closer to the breaking point. And she knows precisely how hopeless their search really is.
She remembers numbers, always has, but now she wishes she could forget the statistics she learned during her training as an FBI agent.
Four percent of children missing for longer than three hours are never found at all. And another two percent are never found alive. Etta has been gone for twenty-three days now.
For every hour a child is missing, the chance of finding them alive decreases exponentially. Twenty-three days is five hundred and fifty-two hours.
The probability of finding her alive today is less than one percent.
She doesn't share these numbers with him, because she knows that could easily destroy him. They have been partners and friends long enough that she sees clearly how close he is to the brink, reads the tell-tale signs that point to his precarious mental state. He barely sleeps, and aside from laying out each successive step in their search, he hasn't spoken to her in two weeks. And when she looks in his eyes, what she sees there scares her. After spending years watching Walter fighting a constant battle for sanity, she knows all too well what madness looks like, and now her husband's gaze is starting to eerily resemble his father's haunted eyes.
The numbers say that she has most likely already lost her daughter, and she is terrified that she is losing her husband as well. So she stays with him, pretends for his sake that she is strong, continues a search that she knows she can't finish because she can't lose him too.
But twenty-six days into their search, she realizes the truth.
They are in Connecticut when it happens, spending the night in an abandoned house on the outskirts of Hartford after a fruitless journey to search yet another crowded refugee shelter. She has lost count of the shelters and camps they've visited while trying to track down Etta, but the end result is always the same - no Etta, but some helpful social worker mentions another place they could try, another pit of swarming, desperate humanity that might hold their daughter. By now, she knows better than to allow herself to hope, but he doesn't seem to have learned that lesson, and so she watches as each failed journey pulls him further away from her, as he repeats the endless cycle of hope and despair.
And the disappointment today is worse than usual, thanks to someone who thought they recognized the little girl in the picture but turned out to be wrong, because the higher hopes are raised, the harder it is when they are dashed to the ground. She had seen a once-familiar spark come back into his eyes at the thought that today might finally be the day, only to fade back into oblivion as the small blonde head turned their way to reveal the face of someone else's daughter. And now as she sees fully the depth of his despair tonight, she knows something has to be done, before he withdraws so far that she cannot bring him back. So as they settle in on an old couch for another long, lonely night, she speaks his name, breaks the silence that has surrounded them since they left the shelter.
"Peter..."
He doesn't look up, doesn't react at all, gives no sign that he has heard her, even though her voice rings out louder than she anticipated in the silence. And she stops, unsure whether now is the right time to talk, but knowing that she must try if they are going to make it through this, though she doesn't quite know what she wants to say.
Peter... do you think she's still alive? No, I can't go there, not tonight of all nights, not when you're already so broken, when I'm barely hanging on to you and to myself... Or maybe, Peter... we're going to find her; she'll be alright. But I don't believe that myself, and I can't lie to you, can't give you empty promises and false comfort; even if I wanted to, I don't know how...
And then she realizes what it is she needs to say, the only thing that might give them a chance to survive this. She knows it's not what he wants to hear, but she can't lose him to this despair, so she shifts to face him, reaches out and places her hand on his arm. The unexpected contact jolts him out of his stupor, and he looks down at her hand, and then up to meet her eyes, focusing on her for the first time in weeks. And she takes his hand in hers and quietly asks him the question that needs to be voiced.
"Peter... how much longer do we do this? How much is enough?"
Again, he doesn't respond, looks at her blankly, so she continues, making it perfectly clear to him what it is she is asking.
"It's been nearly a month, Peter, and every day we search, we are drifting further apart. So I need to know - when do we accept that we might never find her?"
He still says nothing, but she can see his eyes hardening, as he attempts to shut out what she is saying, pulling away again rather than listen to her. This is what she feared would happen, but she can't turn back now, so she pleads with him one more time, makes one last effort to reach him.
"Can't you see what's happening to us? We're losing each other, and I don't want to go on alone... We need to let her go. Please, Peter..."
She stares into his eyes, imploring him to hear her, to come back to her and comfort her. But no trace of the man he once was remains in those eyes, and when he pulls his hand roughly out of hers and turns away abruptly, her breath catches and she barely hears his angrily muttered response.
"Never."
And the one person in the world who she thought would always be there for her stalks out of the room without a backward glance.
It is in that instant, as her world disintegrates around her, that she recognizes the painful truth. She has spent the days since the Observers arrived fighting to find her daughter and hold on to her husband, but those are battles she cannot win. The truth is, she lost them both in that park, and they are not coming back.
There is only one battle left for her to fight, and it isn't happening here, but in New York, with Walter and Astrid and what's left of Massive Dynamic. That is where she belongs, not here with the man she doesn't even recognize anymore, searching for the child they will never find. So she walls off the grief that threatens to incapacitate her, shoves all her emotions down behind the walls she has constructed over the years, and then slowly pushes herself up from the couch. It takes her only a few moments to gather her belongings, and then she heads resolutely out the front door, on her way to save the world again.
As the days go by, turn into weeks, and they are still no closer to finding their little girl, she begins to wish he had never made that promise, because every day they search pushes them closer to the breaking point. And she knows precisely how hopeless their search really is.
She remembers numbers, always has, but now she wishes she could forget the statistics she learned during her training as an FBI agent.
Four percent of children missing for longer than three hours are never found at all. And another two percent are never found alive. Etta has been gone for twenty-three days now.
For every hour a child is missing, the chance of finding them alive decreases exponentially. Twenty-three days is five hundred and fifty-two hours.
The probability of finding her alive today is less than one percent.
She doesn't share these numbers with him, because she knows that could easily destroy him. They have been partners and friends long enough that she sees clearly how close he is to the brink, reads the tell-tale signs that point to his precarious mental state. He barely sleeps, and aside from laying out each successive step in their search, he hasn't spoken to her in two weeks. And when she looks in his eyes, what she sees there scares her. After spending years watching Walter fighting a constant battle for sanity, she knows all too well what madness looks like, and now her husband's gaze is starting to eerily resemble his father's haunted eyes.
The numbers say that she has most likely already lost her daughter, and she is terrified that she is losing her husband as well. So she stays with him, pretends for his sake that she is strong, continues a search that she knows she can't finish because she can't lose him too.
But twenty-six days into their search, she realizes the truth.
They are in Connecticut when it happens, spending the night in an abandoned house on the outskirts of Hartford after a fruitless journey to search yet another crowded refugee shelter. She has lost count of the shelters and camps they've visited while trying to track down Etta, but the end result is always the same - no Etta, but some helpful social worker mentions another place they could try, another pit of swarming, desperate humanity that might hold their daughter. By now, she knows better than to allow herself to hope, but he doesn't seem to have learned that lesson, and so she watches as each failed journey pulls him further away from her, as he repeats the endless cycle of hope and despair.
And the disappointment today is worse than usual, thanks to someone who thought they recognized the little girl in the picture but turned out to be wrong, because the higher hopes are raised, the harder it is when they are dashed to the ground. She had seen a once-familiar spark come back into his eyes at the thought that today might finally be the day, only to fade back into oblivion as the small blonde head turned their way to reveal the face of someone else's daughter. And now as she sees fully the depth of his despair tonight, she knows something has to be done, before he withdraws so far that she cannot bring him back. So as they settle in on an old couch for another long, lonely night, she speaks his name, breaks the silence that has surrounded them since they left the shelter.
"Peter..."
He doesn't look up, doesn't react at all, gives no sign that he has heard her, even though her voice rings out louder than she anticipated in the silence. And she stops, unsure whether now is the right time to talk, but knowing that she must try if they are going to make it through this, though she doesn't quite know what she wants to say.
Peter... do you think she's still alive? No, I can't go there, not tonight of all nights, not when you're already so broken, when I'm barely hanging on to you and to myself... Or maybe, Peter... we're going to find her; she'll be alright. But I don't believe that myself, and I can't lie to you, can't give you empty promises and false comfort; even if I wanted to, I don't know how...
And then she realizes what it is she needs to say, the only thing that might give them a chance to survive this. She knows it's not what he wants to hear, but she can't lose him to this despair, so she shifts to face him, reaches out and places her hand on his arm. The unexpected contact jolts him out of his stupor, and he looks down at her hand, and then up to meet her eyes, focusing on her for the first time in weeks. And she takes his hand in hers and quietly asks him the question that needs to be voiced.
"Peter... how much longer do we do this? How much is enough?"
Again, he doesn't respond, looks at her blankly, so she continues, making it perfectly clear to him what it is she is asking.
"It's been nearly a month, Peter, and every day we search, we are drifting further apart. So I need to know - when do we accept that we might never find her?"
He still says nothing, but she can see his eyes hardening, as he attempts to shut out what she is saying, pulling away again rather than listen to her. This is what she feared would happen, but she can't turn back now, so she pleads with him one more time, makes one last effort to reach him.
"Can't you see what's happening to us? We're losing each other, and I don't want to go on alone... We need to let her go. Please, Peter..."
She stares into his eyes, imploring him to hear her, to come back to her and comfort her. But no trace of the man he once was remains in those eyes, and when he pulls his hand roughly out of hers and turns away abruptly, her breath catches and she barely hears his angrily muttered response.
"Never."
And the one person in the world who she thought would always be there for her stalks out of the room without a backward glance.
It is in that instant, as her world disintegrates around her, that she recognizes the painful truth. She has spent the days since the Observers arrived fighting to find her daughter and hold on to her husband, but those are battles she cannot win. The truth is, she lost them both in that park, and they are not coming back.
There is only one battle left for her to fight, and it isn't happening here, but in New York, with Walter and Astrid and what's left of Massive Dynamic. That is where she belongs, not here with the man she doesn't even recognize anymore, searching for the child they will never find. So she walls off the grief that threatens to incapacitate her, shoves all her emotions down behind the walls she has constructed over the years, and then slowly pushes herself up from the couch. It takes her only a few moments to gather her belongings, and then she heads resolutely out the front door, on her way to save the world again.
*****
He slams the door behind him, then strides down the front walk to the street, so angry that he just wants to hurt something.
How could she ask that of me? We can't just give up on Etta! We're going to find her. She's wrong about that, she has to be. Etta's still out there waiting for us, and I'm going to find her and bring her home, and then she'll see. I'm not going to give up so easily. What's wrong with her that she can't see that?
His disjointed thoughts race through his mind as he paces back and forth along the sidewalk, kicking at the broken pavement as he inwardly rages against his wife's words. She's wrong, and he knows it, believes it with every fiber of his being.
After a few minutes of pacing angrily, he has burned off what little energy he has left, so he sits down on the stone wall surrounding the yard of the house next door, then startles when he hears a car door slam. Whirling quickly around, he looks for the source of the noise, and is surprised to find her on the curb, opening the driver's door of their car, having apparently just put something into the back seat. He hasn't stopped being furious with her for what she'd suggested, but she's still his wife, so he hurries over and arrives at the car just as she starts the engine.
He knocks on the window, trying to get her attention, and when he sees her duffel in the back seat he realizes that she isn't just going for a drive to clear her head. She pointedly ignores him, and he feels the car rock slightly as she puts it into gear, so he moves to the front of the hood, slams his hands down on it and plants his feet, blocking her path.
"Hey! Exactly where do you think you're going? Get out of that car now!"
Instead of getting out, she cranks down the window and replies clearly and coldly, in the voice he knows she reserves for the people she despises.
"I am going to New York to help Walter. Now get out of my way."
"I'm not moving until you get out and explain yourself."
He knows all too well how stubborn she can be once she sets her mind to something, but he also knows how to wait her out, and he does just that right now. After several tense seconds, she exits the car, shutting her door behind her, and then moves to stand a few feet away, all the while glaring at him.
"Etta's gone. You don't even talk to me. And the world needs us. That has always been what I was meant to do, what I was designed for. So I am going to New York."
She stops for a second then, and he hears her voice soften as she takes a few steps towards him and starts again.
"Please, Peter, come with me."
But he's still too angry with her, too absorbed in his own emotions to even consider what she's asking, so he simply gives her the same answer he did earlier.
"Never."
He can tell he has hurt her, but he doesn't care right now, barely listens to what she says next, ignores the tears forming in her eyes as she tries one more time.
"Listen to me, Peter, please. Even if you don't care about us anymore, don't you care about everyone else? This world is going to die without us, Peter, and..."
He cuts her off abruptly, grabs her arm and pulls her closer as he growls down at her.
"I. Don't. Care. Etta matters more than all that stuff. Don't you get that? I have to find her... The world can go to hell for all I care. I just need to save her..."
A look of shock momentarily crosses her face at his words, and she stares at him in disbelief.
"Can't you hear yourself? You sound just like your father... And you swore you'd be better than him..."
At that, he steps away from her, cut to the heart by her accusation. Turning away, he opens the car door, and speaks in a low voice.
"I think you should go now."
She hesitates then, but he pulls her roughly towards the car, grabbing the keys off the seat as he shoves her into it. He presses the keys into her hand, slams the door shut, then wheels around and begins to walk away. He almost wants her to call out to him, to apologize, but her next words drive home the wedge between them.
"Fine. You go ahead and destroy yourself. But we're done. Do you hear me? We're finished. And if you ever change your mind, don't even think about coming crawling back to me asking for a second chance, because it's not going to happen."
And he hears the car start up again, and the engine noise fades as she pulls away from the curb and starts down the street. He turns then, watches the faded tail lights vanish into the dusk, and as she rounds the corner and disappears, he suddenly realizes what he has done.
He hasn't taken care of the people he cares about. Rather, he has lost his daughter, and now he's driven his wife away. And he sinks slowly onto the stone wall, buries his head in his hands as the tears start to come, as he sees how completely he has failed the ones he loves.
He slams the door behind him, then strides down the front walk to the street, so angry that he just wants to hurt something.
How could she ask that of me? We can't just give up on Etta! We're going to find her. She's wrong about that, she has to be. Etta's still out there waiting for us, and I'm going to find her and bring her home, and then she'll see. I'm not going to give up so easily. What's wrong with her that she can't see that?
His disjointed thoughts race through his mind as he paces back and forth along the sidewalk, kicking at the broken pavement as he inwardly rages against his wife's words. She's wrong, and he knows it, believes it with every fiber of his being.
After a few minutes of pacing angrily, he has burned off what little energy he has left, so he sits down on the stone wall surrounding the yard of the house next door, then startles when he hears a car door slam. Whirling quickly around, he looks for the source of the noise, and is surprised to find her on the curb, opening the driver's door of their car, having apparently just put something into the back seat. He hasn't stopped being furious with her for what she'd suggested, but she's still his wife, so he hurries over and arrives at the car just as she starts the engine.
He knocks on the window, trying to get her attention, and when he sees her duffel in the back seat he realizes that she isn't just going for a drive to clear her head. She pointedly ignores him, and he feels the car rock slightly as she puts it into gear, so he moves to the front of the hood, slams his hands down on it and plants his feet, blocking her path.
"Hey! Exactly where do you think you're going? Get out of that car now!"
Instead of getting out, she cranks down the window and replies clearly and coldly, in the voice he knows she reserves for the people she despises.
"I am going to New York to help Walter. Now get out of my way."
"I'm not moving until you get out and explain yourself."
He knows all too well how stubborn she can be once she sets her mind to something, but he also knows how to wait her out, and he does just that right now. After several tense seconds, she exits the car, shutting her door behind her, and then moves to stand a few feet away, all the while glaring at him.
"Etta's gone. You don't even talk to me. And the world needs us. That has always been what I was meant to do, what I was designed for. So I am going to New York."
She stops for a second then, and he hears her voice soften as she takes a few steps towards him and starts again.
"Please, Peter, come with me."
But he's still too angry with her, too absorbed in his own emotions to even consider what she's asking, so he simply gives her the same answer he did earlier.
"Never."
He can tell he has hurt her, but he doesn't care right now, barely listens to what she says next, ignores the tears forming in her eyes as she tries one more time.
"Listen to me, Peter, please. Even if you don't care about us anymore, don't you care about everyone else? This world is going to die without us, Peter, and..."
He cuts her off abruptly, grabs her arm and pulls her closer as he growls down at her.
"I. Don't. Care. Etta matters more than all that stuff. Don't you get that? I have to find her... The world can go to hell for all I care. I just need to save her..."
A look of shock momentarily crosses her face at his words, and she stares at him in disbelief.
"Can't you hear yourself? You sound just like your father... And you swore you'd be better than him..."
At that, he steps away from her, cut to the heart by her accusation. Turning away, he opens the car door, and speaks in a low voice.
"I think you should go now."
She hesitates then, but he pulls her roughly towards the car, grabbing the keys off the seat as he shoves her into it. He presses the keys into her hand, slams the door shut, then wheels around and begins to walk away. He almost wants her to call out to him, to apologize, but her next words drive home the wedge between them.
"Fine. You go ahead and destroy yourself. But we're done. Do you hear me? We're finished. And if you ever change your mind, don't even think about coming crawling back to me asking for a second chance, because it's not going to happen."
And he hears the car start up again, and the engine noise fades as she pulls away from the curb and starts down the street. He turns then, watches the faded tail lights vanish into the dusk, and as she rounds the corner and disappears, he suddenly realizes what he has done.
He hasn't taken care of the people he cares about. Rather, he has lost his daughter, and now he's driven his wife away. And he sinks slowly onto the stone wall, buries his head in his hands as the tears start to come, as he sees how completely he has failed the ones he loves.
*****
New York is not the solution she thought it was going to be. Every moment she spends working with Walter is a reminder of their years in the Harvard lab, of the days when she worked alongside both Bishops, not just one. Their plans progress, with every day bringing them just a little bit closer to being able to defeat the Observers, but though she thinks she has convinced herself that this is where she is supposed to be, her subconscious feels otherwise.
During the day, she is alright, but her dreams repeat the same story every night - terrible nightmares in which she is always left holding a broken body in her arms. Sometimes the body is small and fragile: her daughter, found too late to save her. And sometimes it is him instead, dead because she wasn't there for him, because she didn't save him from being shot or tortured or simply giving up. Every time, she wakes calling out their names with tears streaming down her face, then instinctively reaches out for him but always finds herself alone. And she tries to tell herself that they are just dreams, but they are too close to the truth, could too easily be reality for her to put them behind her.
She buries herself in her work to escape her thoughts.
But on the day when Walter sends her to retrieve a vital piece of the plan, at the moment when she pulls the trigger on the ambering device, it is their faces she sees - her husband and her daughter. Not the way they looked when she last saw them, though, but the faces from her dreams, dead eyes staring at her.
I failed you both...
And that is the thought that is frozen in her mind.
New York is not the solution she thought it was going to be. Every moment she spends working with Walter is a reminder of their years in the Harvard lab, of the days when she worked alongside both Bishops, not just one. Their plans progress, with every day bringing them just a little bit closer to being able to defeat the Observers, but though she thinks she has convinced herself that this is where she is supposed to be, her subconscious feels otherwise.
During the day, she is alright, but her dreams repeat the same story every night - terrible nightmares in which she is always left holding a broken body in her arms. Sometimes the body is small and fragile: her daughter, found too late to save her. And sometimes it is him instead, dead because she wasn't there for him, because she didn't save him from being shot or tortured or simply giving up. Every time, she wakes calling out their names with tears streaming down her face, then instinctively reaches out for him but always finds herself alone. And she tries to tell herself that they are just dreams, but they are too close to the truth, could too easily be reality for her to put them behind her.
She buries herself in her work to escape her thoughts.
But on the day when Walter sends her to retrieve a vital piece of the plan, at the moment when she pulls the trigger on the ambering device, it is their faces she sees - her husband and her daughter. Not the way they looked when she last saw them, though, but the faces from her dreams, dead eyes staring at her.
I failed you both...
And that is the thought that is frozen in her mind.
*****
That day in the park, everything is stripped away.
And for twenty-one long years, their world is left to die.
That day in the park, everything is stripped away.
And for twenty-one long years, their world is left to die.
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