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Disclaimer: I still don't own!

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Olivia prays for him desperately, to any god that'll listen.

Okay, initially she prays for John (she's not a perfect person), but realizes that her best, first, most desperate choice is only alive inside her mind.

So she wishes for her second best—her real best. Her actual, still-alive best. Her sunshine.

You really don't have a best friend?

She hears clanging in the distance. Her head is pounding violently and her body is shaking like an earthquake. Her heart seizes, fear convulsing her stomach, making her nauseous. She breathes hard, feeling her head spin as someone speaks to her in a tongue she doesn't understand. There has to be a way out of here.

She feels herself slip away.

--

She wakes slowly, coming to with the bangs of guns close to her head. People rush toward her, and her muscles clench painfully in reaction.

You really don't have a best friend?

She sees his face, unusually fraught with worry. She feels his hands all over her, trying to get her out of here. She can't imagine a more reassuring touch.

More people rush past. Her eyes are glued to his.

"You're going to be okay, Liv," he promises, voice stained with angst. He gets her untied and lifts her gently. She notices blood on his shirt and realizes she's leaking.

"I'm leaking." She tells him.

He lets out a strained, panicked, bark of a laugh.

She's delirious. He doesn't say a word, so she says a few: "Will you be my best friend?"

She falls back into black unconscious.

--

She has four bruised ribs, a broken arm, and cuts covering every inch of her, including a large gash in her forehead.

Peter is there, always. He doesn't want to leave her alone. Any other time, she would comment, tell him to leave. Instead, she reaps his presence in selfishly. He is her new best friend, after all.

She wishes she could lean over and touch him. Blindly, she tries, and ends up jostling something, hurting herself. She whimpers, and his eyes fly to her, search alertly for signs of distress.

When he notices what she wants, he moves closer. She drops her hand and smiles at him.

They watch each other, appraising the mood, grasping for words.

His clever comeback drawer must be empty, because he repeats himself: "You really don't have a best friend?"

She ponders for a moment, grin slowly lighting up her beautiful, marred face. Olivia answers just the way he wishes: "I do now."