|The Five Stages
Author: SunnyWinterClouds PM
Five stages. Long and rambly chapters, each containing a healthy dose of Polivia.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Drama - Olivia D. & Peter B. - Chapters: 3 - Words: 9,231 - Reviews: 8 - Favs: 5 - Follows: 3 - Updated: 10-08-11 - Published: 09-29-11 - Status: Complete - id: 7421929
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
This is short. Like, REALLY short. Sorry, guys, I wrote it all and it got deleted and I was too pissed to work on it again for a long time. This isn't nearly as good as the original version, either.
"Walter says this tech isn't from here. And that it's broken. But it is proof, and if they can fix it, they can have an army who can look like anyone they want them to. You tell them you can get this tech, and they can have it, but they are not shutting us down. From now on, we're calling the shots. We're done reacting. We're not gonna be too late anymore. After all, somebody's got to save their asses, right?"
Although there was a time where his life revolved around secrets and lies, tricking people into getting what he wanted, Peter Bishop was now a man of his word.
It shocked everybody, namely himself, but he didn't like lying. He didn't like deceiving. He didn't like providing people with false hopes that would only be dashed down later.
So when he spoke these confident words to Broyles, when Olivia was in the hospital and Walter was preparing for his unwanted birthday party, he completely meant every single syllable.
But he was wrong.
We're not gonna be too late anymore.
They were always too late.
They tried so damn hard to save lives and stop these things from happening, but they never managed to make it in time.
They were always too late.
Well, not always.
The vast majority of the time.
Perhaps 91/100 times, they made it in time.
And the other 9% was spent reacting to deaths that they couldn't prevent.
The past three years had been perfectly wasted.
What a load of shit this was.
If you hadn't guessed, Peter was sulking.
God, he was just so angry.
Screaming seemed to be becoming a new all-time favorite pastime.
It just pissed him off more that nobody could hear his cries of fury, which led to more frustrated howls.
He didn't even get thirsty. After hours of endless noise, his throat should have been on fire. He should have been dying from lack of liquid.
Peter wasn't dehydrated because, hey, dead people don't drink water.
And that's what he was.
A fucking walking dead man.
Walter could hear him.
He was sure of that.
Knowing who he was, however, was another matter.
The more he tried to talk, the more the man tried to ignore him.
He couldn't pretend he wasn't there when he was.
But he continued to try.
It was almost humorous, the way he tried to hide from the sound of his only son's voice, but Peter was long past the point of laughter.
He was mad.
The word 'mad' has too definitions.
The first, of course, is angry.
The second is crazy.
And that is why it is the perfect word to describe the youngest Bishop.
He was snapped out of it when the old man injured himself.
While trying to escape Peter's haunting.
So, in all technicalities, he had just hurt his father.
The man that he had always tried to protect was being harmed by his protector.
That was when he realized exactly what he was doing.
He was driving the poor old man, the man that had, in another time line, crossed universes twice just to save him, past the brink of insanity.
And he didn't even remember him.
His Peter had died as a child. Walter hadn't been able to save him. And now Peter, the one who had grown to be a man, was just hurting him more. If he ever did manage to reveal who he was, it would just bring up more despairing thoughts. The scientist would probably lose any lucidity that remained in his mangled mind.
The truth hit him hard.
He had to stop.
It would be so easy.
To just go outside, slip onto the nearest train, and never see Boston or these damn people again. He didn't exist. He didn't matter. Nobody cared, so neither should he.
But he did.
Oh, God, he did.
Which was more of a burden than anything else in his fucked up, nonexistent life.
So he went to Astrid's.
It was unlikely, and a bit odd, but he couldn't deal with Olivia or Walter. They meant far to much to him.
Not that Astrid didn't. Of course she did.
But he didn't love her, not romantically, in any case, and she wasn't his already slightly-insane father, so he decided to haunt her.
He was surprised at her apartment.
Never in his life had he actually been there, and it was very neat and orderly. The opposite of the lab.
It was... nice.
And there were lots of reflective surfaces for him to work with.
It didn't last too long.
He didn't mean enough to Astrid to get to her.
She didn't mean enough to him.
Not that they weren't close friends, not that he wouldn't be absolutely devastated if something happened to her, but she wasn't close enough.
So he left.
Peter Bishop had to haunt Olivia.
And he did.
In her dreams.
He couldn't bring himself to do it in real life.
So he came to her in her dreams.
And it worked.
To a degree.
She sketched him, and searched for him, but she didn't remember him.
But she would.
This just puttered out. It sickens me. :( I don't expect a single review for this chapter.